Dear Mr. President,
Tonight my neighborhood is alive with revelers. Halloween on Capitol Hill is more exciting than Christmas, and really any other celebration (except perhaps Block Party or Pride.) In a neighborhood where no one needs an excuse to wear costumes, All Hallow's Eve is on opportunity to pull out all the stops. And while some might disapprove of the troops of wildly dressed, raucous partiers, I think the festivity is uplifting. Even the increasingly skimpy costumes favored by the women of my generation, which I used to decry as anti-feminist and degrading, seem like harmless fun. After all, what better night could there be than this to celebrate the very thing that has terrified so many for all of human history, that plays villain in most major religions, the horror of a woman's unabashed sexuality? (And, to be fair, I know more than a few men giving sexy little dresses a try this year.)
While my roommate and I watch a marathon of creepy movies and I drink the first cup of coffee I've had all week in preparation for the inevitable all-night paper-writing session I have ahead, the shouts of a neighborhood somewhat drunkenly celebrating don't seem taunting or annoying, but rather festive. Our little black cat is curled up at my feet and our apartment is still covered in decorative cobwebs, carved pumpkins, and flickering candles. Small children are running around dressed as ghouls and tea party candidates gobbling all the waxy chocolate and high-fructose corn syrup they can stand. The busses are filled with Mad Hatters and Fantastic Foxes and every imaginable kind of zombie. No talking head is complaining about the lack of tradition or the over-commercialization of the day, warning us of a "war on Halloween." Halloween's great sacrement is to hold nothing sacred; to celebrate the depraved, the frivolous, the ugly.
It is cold but, for Seattle, an October day as dry and clear and full of bright fall leaves as this one is a rare treat. I spent more Halloweens soggily trick-or-treating under an umbrella than I care to remember, and I'm glad to know that this year local children will be spared our usual deluge. I should get to work on my midterm papers and stop musing about this lovely, spooky holiday I hope I'm never too old to appreciate. Happy Halloween.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Showing posts with label beauty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beauty. Show all posts
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Day 287- Misogyny
Dear Mr. President,
In my many years at various bookstores in various cities, I've encountered more than a few authors and politicians I disliked. Dick Cheney shopped at one store I worked in, which also hosted signings by conservatives like James Baker and Ann Coulter. Some authors are just rude- a historian I previously had nothing against once turned me off of his World War Two books forever by yelling at me over his book's not-quite-prominent-enough location. Glenn Beck was scheduled to do an event at my Seattle Borders, but luckily re-routed his tour and was unable to make it. I'm usually pretty good at staying calm even when I don't like an author's politics, or when they turn out to be completely arrogant and self-absorbed. For every Philippa Gregory or Alex Kershaw there are the Margaret Atwoods, Laurie Notaros and Don Cheadles, who have enough grace and good humor to make up for it. Tonight, an author who seems to make his money demeaning women was in my store signing for a huge crowd of frat boys and, sadly, more than a few women. I dont understand what women possibly see in this man's humor that would make them want his autograph. (I wanted to punch him in the face just for looking at me, but, luckily for him, it's a recession and my job is worth slightly more than that.)
I watched the line twist down the staircase, and between the large groups of (largely white) gym-toned and fake-tanned frat boys, I'd catch glimpses of the girls. They all seemed to be a variation on the same theme of long hair, heavy make up, too-short shorts or too-tight dresses with designer bags and long artificial nails. With impossibly thin limbs and shimmering highlights, they wore expressions of affected disinterest as they texted on phones in one hand and clutched copies of his books in the other. On the paperback of his first memoir, the author stands pointing at a blonde under his arm, her features replaced with the words "your face here". I've often longed to be more beautiful, but tonight, watching these lovely, sad creatures in all of their splendor, I have never been so happy to be homely.
While considering the mystery of this man's appeal, I came across this article on political misogyny. The recent popularity of anti-choice female candidates like Sarah Palin, Michele Bachmann, and Christine O'Donnell has given me serious pause about my desire to see more women in high office. I would like my gender to have more representation in government- but not by the political equivalent of those tanned, bleached and very thin girls standing in line to meet Tucker Max. I'll fully own my nerdy plain girl's mistrust of those who make being pretty their full-time jobs, but I think that there is a significant difference, for example, in the politics of Senator Snowe and those of the Palin/O'Donnell crowd. American women are far too diverse to ever be expected to vote for the same party, but it is so difficult to understand women who don't stand up against the subjugation of other women. Women who don't even take themselves seriously, let alone offer voters reason enough to. I want to feel the bonds of sisterhood, some common struggle that connects me with women like this, but I just don't. Does that make me just as bad as Tucker Max? I think in some ways it must. I don't know what kind of feminism there might be that could possibly include all of us, but I know for sure we're never going to find it worshipping men like him.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
In my many years at various bookstores in various cities, I've encountered more than a few authors and politicians I disliked. Dick Cheney shopped at one store I worked in, which also hosted signings by conservatives like James Baker and Ann Coulter. Some authors are just rude- a historian I previously had nothing against once turned me off of his World War Two books forever by yelling at me over his book's not-quite-prominent-enough location. Glenn Beck was scheduled to do an event at my Seattle Borders, but luckily re-routed his tour and was unable to make it. I'm usually pretty good at staying calm even when I don't like an author's politics, or when they turn out to be completely arrogant and self-absorbed. For every Philippa Gregory or Alex Kershaw there are the Margaret Atwoods, Laurie Notaros and Don Cheadles, who have enough grace and good humor to make up for it. Tonight, an author who seems to make his money demeaning women was in my store signing for a huge crowd of frat boys and, sadly, more than a few women. I dont understand what women possibly see in this man's humor that would make them want his autograph. (I wanted to punch him in the face just for looking at me, but, luckily for him, it's a recession and my job is worth slightly more than that.)
I watched the line twist down the staircase, and between the large groups of (largely white) gym-toned and fake-tanned frat boys, I'd catch glimpses of the girls. They all seemed to be a variation on the same theme of long hair, heavy make up, too-short shorts or too-tight dresses with designer bags and long artificial nails. With impossibly thin limbs and shimmering highlights, they wore expressions of affected disinterest as they texted on phones in one hand and clutched copies of his books in the other. On the paperback of his first memoir, the author stands pointing at a blonde under his arm, her features replaced with the words "your face here". I've often longed to be more beautiful, but tonight, watching these lovely, sad creatures in all of their splendor, I have never been so happy to be homely.
While considering the mystery of this man's appeal, I came across this article on political misogyny. The recent popularity of anti-choice female candidates like Sarah Palin, Michele Bachmann, and Christine O'Donnell has given me serious pause about my desire to see more women in high office. I would like my gender to have more representation in government- but not by the political equivalent of those tanned, bleached and very thin girls standing in line to meet Tucker Max. I'll fully own my nerdy plain girl's mistrust of those who make being pretty their full-time jobs, but I think that there is a significant difference, for example, in the politics of Senator Snowe and those of the Palin/O'Donnell crowd. American women are far too diverse to ever be expected to vote for the same party, but it is so difficult to understand women who don't stand up against the subjugation of other women. Women who don't even take themselves seriously, let alone offer voters reason enough to. I want to feel the bonds of sisterhood, some common struggle that connects me with women like this, but I just don't. Does that make me just as bad as Tucker Max? I think in some ways it must. I don't know what kind of feminism there might be that could possibly include all of us, but I know for sure we're never going to find it worshipping men like him.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Day 244- Interior design and how much I don't care what your office looks like
Dear Mr. President,
My room is a mess. I often have several piles of "clean" "not clean" and "questionable" laundry lying around, coffee mugs lining my window sil and bookcases, a perpetually unmade bed and a dresser I started painting in my time of mourning after my best friend left and have never finished. My walls are covered in old photos, posters, paintings done on cardboard and a giant Palestinian flag. Three of my bookshelves I inherited from a roommate relocating abroad, another I bought for $20 at a thrift store, and another was salvaged out of the dumpster when a neighbor threw it out. The books on them are organized into two categories: "relevant to my major" and "not". They are not alphabetized.
Clearly, I'm not an individual with much sense for interior design. I understand that my room's chaos would make most people crazy, but luckily it is my room and most people don't have to spend any time there. This is how I feel about your office. Granted, you have important meetings in the Oval office so you can't exactly leave your laundry sorted in piles on the floor. But when it comes to color scheme or furniture selection, I feel like you, as the person who has to spend the most time looking at the inside of your office, should probably be allowed to decorate it however you want. So when I heard that people were actually upset about this, and that respected, intelligent journalists with a huge reading audience and enough common sense to know better were writing about this, I was disgusted.
Maureen Dowd really needs a new editor. Since when, first of all, is the Oval Office the classiest place on earth? Who cares what it looks like? Dowd goes on to say "The recession redo, paid for by the nonprofit White House Historical Association, was the latest tone-deaf move by a White House that was supposed to excel at connection and communication. Message: I care, but not enough to stop the fancy vacations and posh renovations." So, it isn't classy enough but it's too "posh" for these economic times? I'm confused. How much personal luxury is acceptable for a President during a recession?
The added shot about "fancy vacations" is a reference to Dowd's previous gripe about the First Lady's vacation to Spain. Does Maureen Dowd not realize that we have actual problems? Her influence allows her a tremendous amount of power and to waste that week after week on these non-issues is really disappointing. I'm sure that you don't pay much attention to these absurd complaints, but just in case I want you to rest assured that I, for one, couldn't care less what kind of color scheme you chose for your office.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
My room is a mess. I often have several piles of "clean" "not clean" and "questionable" laundry lying around, coffee mugs lining my window sil and bookcases, a perpetually unmade bed and a dresser I started painting in my time of mourning after my best friend left and have never finished. My walls are covered in old photos, posters, paintings done on cardboard and a giant Palestinian flag. Three of my bookshelves I inherited from a roommate relocating abroad, another I bought for $20 at a thrift store, and another was salvaged out of the dumpster when a neighbor threw it out. The books on them are organized into two categories: "relevant to my major" and "not". They are not alphabetized.
Clearly, I'm not an individual with much sense for interior design. I understand that my room's chaos would make most people crazy, but luckily it is my room and most people don't have to spend any time there. This is how I feel about your office. Granted, you have important meetings in the Oval office so you can't exactly leave your laundry sorted in piles on the floor. But when it comes to color scheme or furniture selection, I feel like you, as the person who has to spend the most time looking at the inside of your office, should probably be allowed to decorate it however you want. So when I heard that people were actually upset about this, and that respected, intelligent journalists with a huge reading audience and enough common sense to know better were writing about this, I was disgusted.
The Oval Office, the classiest, most powerful place on earth, is now suffused with browns and beiges and leather and resembles an upscale hotel conference room or a ’70s conversation pit with a boxy coffee table that even some Obama aides find ugly.
Maureen Dowd really needs a new editor. Since when, first of all, is the Oval Office the classiest place on earth? Who cares what it looks like? Dowd goes on to say "The recession redo, paid for by the nonprofit White House Historical Association, was the latest tone-deaf move by a White House that was supposed to excel at connection and communication. Message: I care, but not enough to stop the fancy vacations and posh renovations." So, it isn't classy enough but it's too "posh" for these economic times? I'm confused. How much personal luxury is acceptable for a President during a recession?
The added shot about "fancy vacations" is a reference to Dowd's previous gripe about the First Lady's vacation to Spain. Does Maureen Dowd not realize that we have actual problems? Her influence allows her a tremendous amount of power and to waste that week after week on these non-issues is really disappointing. I'm sure that you don't pay much attention to these absurd complaints, but just in case I want you to rest assured that I, for one, couldn't care less what kind of color scheme you chose for your office.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Day 189- Anonymous
Dear Mr. President,
After an inexplicable night of insomnia, I found myself awake at 5am. Bird song, and the early first light were too tempting to pass up, so I donned my running shoes and went for a jog. The city was empty. Skyscrapers on the horizon were just beginning to reflect the pastel light of the rising sun, which was still competing with street lamps for dominance. Crows dotted the wires of telephone poles, the lines of the intersection on the empty road, and scuttled away from me in the park. It was the perfect morning, warm, but only beginning to hint at the oppressive heat that would rule the rest of the day. After I got tired, I walked for a ways, read the newspaper on a bus bench, and watched the city begin to wake up. I've never been a morning person, so this voluntary predawn excursion seemed to signal something deeply wrong. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was an indication that I've finally overdosed on 90's sci-fi television. Maybe I was just restless for the expansive luxury of an empty city street.
Then I saw the interview you gave with an Israeli journalist. Your answer to the question about what parts of your old, pre-white house life that you missed, struck a chord with my strange morning excursion. You miss going for walks, being anonymous, experiencing the world in private. This freedom, which I take for granted, most days, is the steep price of your office. I am often overwhelmed and frustrated by my invisibility, my smallness, my inability to affect change. I have not often stopped to consider the benefits of this anonymity; the peace of insignificance. When one is as alone in the world as I often feel myself to be, it is hard not to envy some one like you.
You also spoke of Jerusalem, of walking through the streets of the old city. Even reading your words in the simple light of my laptop screen, I could almost see the affection that compels them. Every one I speak to, young, old, Israeli, Palestinian, American, every one I know speaks of Jerusalem this way. It is why I dislike hearing it referred to as "The Holy Land." It is not about the shrines or the churches or the mosques or the synagogues. It is not about the dead men who died so that others could die for it, or who died trying to take it away from the people who died to take it away from the people before them. It is about the living. The sounds of the old city markets, the smooth stones in the street, the punishing sun brought low at sunset, spilling a softer, more forgiving light across the palm trees and the balconies and the minarets and the satellite dishes. The clothes that dry on lines, the foods that cook on street corners, the hum of so many people in one place. It is the same beauty, perhaps, of every city, but made all the more precious by the great powers that have battled for it in the background of its entire life. The life in this city, not the history or the blood spilled, but the mundane, anonymous, boring life is what makes it so beautiful. These things that cannot often be found in briefing books, or, as you've sadly reminded me, practically anywhere in the lives of those in power. I am glad to know you still remember it, and while I am grateful that you've given up that part of your own life for this service to our country, I hope that one day you are again able to walk in the old city, or in any city, and feel anonymous, even if it is only for a moment.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
After an inexplicable night of insomnia, I found myself awake at 5am. Bird song, and the early first light were too tempting to pass up, so I donned my running shoes and went for a jog. The city was empty. Skyscrapers on the horizon were just beginning to reflect the pastel light of the rising sun, which was still competing with street lamps for dominance. Crows dotted the wires of telephone poles, the lines of the intersection on the empty road, and scuttled away from me in the park. It was the perfect morning, warm, but only beginning to hint at the oppressive heat that would rule the rest of the day. After I got tired, I walked for a ways, read the newspaper on a bus bench, and watched the city begin to wake up. I've never been a morning person, so this voluntary predawn excursion seemed to signal something deeply wrong. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was an indication that I've finally overdosed on 90's sci-fi television. Maybe I was just restless for the expansive luxury of an empty city street.
Then I saw the interview you gave with an Israeli journalist. Your answer to the question about what parts of your old, pre-white house life that you missed, struck a chord with my strange morning excursion. You miss going for walks, being anonymous, experiencing the world in private. This freedom, which I take for granted, most days, is the steep price of your office. I am often overwhelmed and frustrated by my invisibility, my smallness, my inability to affect change. I have not often stopped to consider the benefits of this anonymity; the peace of insignificance. When one is as alone in the world as I often feel myself to be, it is hard not to envy some one like you.
You also spoke of Jerusalem, of walking through the streets of the old city. Even reading your words in the simple light of my laptop screen, I could almost see the affection that compels them. Every one I speak to, young, old, Israeli, Palestinian, American, every one I know speaks of Jerusalem this way. It is why I dislike hearing it referred to as "The Holy Land." It is not about the shrines or the churches or the mosques or the synagogues. It is not about the dead men who died so that others could die for it, or who died trying to take it away from the people who died to take it away from the people before them. It is about the living. The sounds of the old city markets, the smooth stones in the street, the punishing sun brought low at sunset, spilling a softer, more forgiving light across the palm trees and the balconies and the minarets and the satellite dishes. The clothes that dry on lines, the foods that cook on street corners, the hum of so many people in one place. It is the same beauty, perhaps, of every city, but made all the more precious by the great powers that have battled for it in the background of its entire life. The life in this city, not the history or the blood spilled, but the mundane, anonymous, boring life is what makes it so beautiful. These things that cannot often be found in briefing books, or, as you've sadly reminded me, practically anywhere in the lives of those in power. I am glad to know you still remember it, and while I am grateful that you've given up that part of your own life for this service to our country, I hope that one day you are again able to walk in the old city, or in any city, and feel anonymous, even if it is only for a moment.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Day 138- On beauty
Dear Mr. President,
Our new Miss USA is sparking some unfortunate (if completely unsurprising) ignorance from the far right fringe. I generally (and equally unsurprisingly) don't like beauty pageants. I think they're absurd rituals focusing far too much on a person's physical characteristics and encouraging unrealistic images of the perfect female. I say this, of course, because I will never win any beauty pageants (not even for bloggers) and because that is out of my control, entirely. Also, because many of the most beautiful women I know have a difficult time being taken seriously as the intellectuals and professionals that they are. I think when we glorify the kind of superficial qualities that it takes to win a pageant we perpetuate the idea that those qualities are all that women who look that way have. Still, I find the grounds on which these right-wing bloggers (and the FOX senior beauty pageant analyst who takes them seriously) object to Miss Fakih offensive. To cite her race and her religion as the "PC" or "affirmative action" rationale for her winning is both stupid (even I can concede that, whatever else she may be, Miss Fakih is obviously an exceedingly beautiful woman,) and degrading. It implies that she is less "qualified" for this (exceedingly subjective) honor than her white, Christian, runners-up.
I don't know very much about Miss Fakih, aside from her being beautiful and from Michigan. She may be very bright, she may be rather stupid. I don't think her being Miss America tells us anything conclusive about her personal merit or intelligence. Gretchen Carlson, herself a former Miss America, certainly isn't a stupid woman, even if she does a convincing job playing one on TV. If I have to be represented by a pageant winner, I think that Rima Fakih is just as representative of me and the rest of America as any previous winners; that the history of Miss USA winners is growing more diverse reflects our own growing diversity, well. There will likely be many, many white, Christian winners in years to come, just as there will likely be Miss Americas representing other racial, religious and ethnic minorities. If people are really going to get upset every time the winner's background doesn't match up with their idea of what "American" looks or sounds or acts like, I suppose that's their prerogative.
For me, this debate recalls the sentiments of people who thought you weren't "American" enough to represent us as President. Be these the crazy people who think you were born in Kenya, the crazy people who think you're a Muslim usurper, or the crazy people who think you're against the flag and/or pledge of allegiance and/or Christianity, they all seem to imply that there's an American class of citizens who are more American than others, and that you (and Miss Fakih, and Elena Kagan,) don't belong in it. I'm all for free speech, so I absolutely believe they have a right to say all of this, and whatever other crazy, offensive stuff they can think of, but I don't think that organizations aiming to be taken seriously a news sources ought to cover it as anything other than what it is; racism, plain and simple. There's some strange contradiction in a kind of hatred based largely on physical appearances being directed at the winner of a competition based on the same thing, but I'm not sure it's enough to make either the people or the pageant consider changing their ways.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Our new Miss USA is sparking some unfortunate (if completely unsurprising) ignorance from the far right fringe. I generally (and equally unsurprisingly) don't like beauty pageants. I think they're absurd rituals focusing far too much on a person's physical characteristics and encouraging unrealistic images of the perfect female. I say this, of course, because I will never win any beauty pageants (not even for bloggers) and because that is out of my control, entirely. Also, because many of the most beautiful women I know have a difficult time being taken seriously as the intellectuals and professionals that they are. I think when we glorify the kind of superficial qualities that it takes to win a pageant we perpetuate the idea that those qualities are all that women who look that way have. Still, I find the grounds on which these right-wing bloggers (and the FOX senior beauty pageant analyst who takes them seriously) object to Miss Fakih offensive. To cite her race and her religion as the "PC" or "affirmative action" rationale for her winning is both stupid (even I can concede that, whatever else she may be, Miss Fakih is obviously an exceedingly beautiful woman,) and degrading. It implies that she is less "qualified" for this (exceedingly subjective) honor than her white, Christian, runners-up.
I don't know very much about Miss Fakih, aside from her being beautiful and from Michigan. She may be very bright, she may be rather stupid. I don't think her being Miss America tells us anything conclusive about her personal merit or intelligence. Gretchen Carlson, herself a former Miss America, certainly isn't a stupid woman, even if she does a convincing job playing one on TV. If I have to be represented by a pageant winner, I think that Rima Fakih is just as representative of me and the rest of America as any previous winners; that the history of Miss USA winners is growing more diverse reflects our own growing diversity, well. There will likely be many, many white, Christian winners in years to come, just as there will likely be Miss Americas representing other racial, religious and ethnic minorities. If people are really going to get upset every time the winner's background doesn't match up with their idea of what "American" looks or sounds or acts like, I suppose that's their prerogative.
For me, this debate recalls the sentiments of people who thought you weren't "American" enough to represent us as President. Be these the crazy people who think you were born in Kenya, the crazy people who think you're a Muslim usurper, or the crazy people who think you're against the flag and/or pledge of allegiance and/or Christianity, they all seem to imply that there's an American class of citizens who are more American than others, and that you (and Miss Fakih, and Elena Kagan,) don't belong in it. I'm all for free speech, so I absolutely believe they have a right to say all of this, and whatever other crazy, offensive stuff they can think of, but I don't think that organizations aiming to be taken seriously a news sources ought to cover it as anything other than what it is; racism, plain and simple. There's some strange contradiction in a kind of hatred based largely on physical appearances being directed at the winner of a competition based on the same thing, but I'm not sure it's enough to make either the people or the pageant consider changing their ways.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
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