Girl #1: Can you move left? Your hair’s blocking my view of the screen.
Girl #2: Why don’t you move your chair some, it’s not like the prof’s gonna care…
Girl #1: You never know, he could undercoverly suffer from O.C.D for like… perfect chair order. His mental health seems fragile enough as it is, and I don’t want to tempt him.
Girl #2: Wait. What? What are you talking about, he’s crazy?
Girl #1:Well, crazy’s a strong word, but haven’t you noticed he’s worn the e-x-a-c-t same outfit to all the classes of both courses he teaches us? That’s weird as hell. And he rambles to himself a lot, which is also suspicious for mental stability.
Girl #2: Ha. He doesn’t smell, so I figure he’s just like one of those cartoon characters; you know how in shows they open their closets and have a million of the same outfit on hangers? … And I don’t think undercoverly is even a legit. word…
Girl #1: Sure it’s a word. I just said it. Hahah, yeah. Maybe colorblind, style challenged, and strange cartoons do. Sure. Hey, listen, there’s really not enough room up here for me to move my chair, so will you move your head, please?? I can’t see anything!
Girl #2: Well it’s not like this documentary’s interesting anyway. Definitely not worth having a stiff neck over. Plus, not only the weird cartoon characters have that same-outfit-all-the-time syndrome! Look at Bart Simpsons! He’s got to be the poster child of cool cartoon people!
Girl #1: Yeah…I guess. But still, there’s a quiz on this after we see it, and I’m not good at bullshitting stuff.
Girl #2: Ugh, just relax. So what’d you do last night?
Girl #1*Sigh* If I do badly, you’ll have it on your conscience! I watched more “Glee”. Did you know dolphins are just gay sharks?!
Girl #2:O-M-G.
Girl #1: What?! What are you looking at me like that for?!
You’re not kidding, are you? You know what? Don’t even answer that, you hopeless child.
Girl #2: Whatevs…So are you gonna move, or do I really need to go sit all the way in the front row?
Girl #1:Yeah, go up front. I’m not moving for anyone who’s as gullible as you. Nuh-uh. Just not happening.
Girl #2: Okay. Fine. I don’t want to be a loner so I’ll stay here, but you’re mean and sour! Oh and by the way, your shoes put a clown’s clogs to shame. They really do.
Girl#1: So what? I’ve got big feet, nothing I can do about it. You, on the other hand, eat way too much pizza, and you have bigger belly rolls than me. Pig.
Girl #2: Bitch! I may have a bigger stomach, but your Confederation Bridge-long feet reek, and they stink up our dorm room! Use some foot odour controller, or something! And would you just move a bit, for Pete’s sake?!
Girl #1: No way that my feet stink, and dream on that I’ll move after what you just said! Pfffft. Especially not for someone who says “Pete’s sake”--That’s embarrassing.
Girl #2: Frig. You’re a gigantic doofus, and you’re stupidity inflicts the effects of a roller coaster of pain on my brain! Just stop talking.
Girl #1:Fine. Eat pizza till you die, and please watch the movie thing. You really need it for your education.
Girl #2: Oh shut it, will you? I wasn’t the one on academic probation last year! So if anything, we probably need it equally
Girl #1:That was really low, and it kinda hurt, but yeah….Let’s pay attention, I guess.
Girl #2: K.
(a few minutes later)
Girl #1: “Oh Dayuum! Dayyyuum, Girl! Can I tell you something? Dayum! The back of yo head, is ridickalous!”
Girl #2: HAHAHA! I can’t believe you even remembered how much I love that old video! Only you…Ah man….This whole thing was all pretty dumb, eh?
Girl #1:Yeah, it was. Sorry, girl. So we good?
Girl #2:Definitely. But about the smell of your shoes…
Girl #1:(death look) Don’t start. Look, the movie’s almost over, I have no idea what it was about after all. Do you?
Girl #2:Not a clue. Let’s ask, before the lights get turned on. Hey. Hey you! Chick sitting right in front of me with a lot of hair and an accent!
Girl #1:Oh, where are your manners? Her name’s Andréa, I think, she was in my group last week.
Girl #2:Andréa? Oh Dayum, Andréa. That’s a French-ass name, girl!
Girl #1:HAHAHA! Man, you have to stop quoting the “can I have your number” video, or everyone will hear us laughing. Alright. Let’s do this, there’s only three mins left of this. HEY! Andréa!
Me: Yes?
Girl #1: Yeah yeah, you. What’s the movie about, I saw you taking notes the whole time and actually paying attention. Help us out! Quick!
Me: Oh. Oh! Sorry… I um...I was..I was doodling. I really don’t know about the movie. Something to do with arts, and the transitions in styles from the olden days to modern arts? Yes. Something like that.
Girl #2: Alright, thanks anyway…
(The lights are turned back on)
Girl #1: Shit. She’s less helpful than I thought she’d be. She’s totally lying. Look at all that paper covered with ink..No doodles on’em. Pffft. Nerds.
Girl #2: Well, good luck to us, then, huh?
P.s: Confession-- Because I eavesdropped the whole time, I had to bull-shit the entire quiz too, and I’m also not any good at it. That is all.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Monday, October 4, 2010
Concept, Form, Voice.
Unctuous foamy cream slowly being lathered on by an “attractive” (read barely clothed and outrageously skinny) made-up woman, splashing hot water, and an expensive five blade razor. Those are the basic elements typically being advertised to women by marketers selling the work (note that I deliberately use the more negatively connoted word “work” in this text, and I’ll come back to the reasons behind this at a later point) of leg shaving. However, because of the experience I’ll expand on below, I have recently come to view with a brand new set of lenses the conscious gender role performance that is the action of removing hair off one’s legs.
It all started when I was approached by a 20-something man I didn’t know, half way through my usual workout at the gym. “If you move your feet like this while lifting the weights, you’ll get a lot more out of your training,” he said. Resenting this unrequested “expert’s help” interruption, I took my earphones off to politely decline further interaction. Before I had a chance to say anything, he had already bent down, and reached out for my legs. As his hand briefly came in contact with my lower calf, he exclaimed “Holy shit! Your legs are hairy!” Uncertain that I had heard correctly, I asked him to repeat. As his statement sunk in a second time, I shrugged with indifference, and then found myself responding with a defiant “Well, so are yours.” “It’s not the same: I’m a guy, and I’m supposed to have hairy legs. For a chick, it’s sick-looking and not right,” he replied.
Not missing a beat, I fired back “And why the hell not?! I have killer legs, and hair grows there naturally just like it does on a man.” “Women are supposed to shave, so they look hot and smooth, and can be pretty enough to find a boyfriend or a husband. I’d _never_ shag a girl if her legs weren’t taken care of,” he arrogantly added.
WOAH! This guy’s first infraction had been to invade my personal space by touching me without my permission. His second was to have assumed I required a man to “teach” me how to work out; when in fact I was perfectly fine on my own. His last statement, however, was deeply wrong on way too many levels. Unsure as to how to even react, I eventually settled on bewilderment and spat out “Who the hell do you think you are, to believe you have the right to judge, police, and govern women's bodies like that?!” Cutting him right off, I launched into a passionate defense of women’s rights to their bodies. This of course led him to abruptly exit the premises of the gym while calling out “Crazy bitch,” leaving me alone to think about all this, and pretty blue in the face.
On my way home I realized that even if it’s been a while since I stopped shaving my legs, I had never actually experienced the broader social and more “political” aspect of the personal choice I have made. The systematic come and go of the blade as it glides from ankle to thigh seems fairly insignificant in itself, and so does applying hair removal cream or strips. Although, when you stop to think of it, this simple action is profoundly ingrained in our society’s standards of female “beauty”, which dictate that only hair-free legs can be beautiful. So who’d possibly want be viewed as other than proper and attractive, right?
Well, this brings me back to the language specification I made earlier. I use the word “work” rather than something neutral like “task” to make a distinction between shaving solely out of personal preference for the short-lasting smoothness; and shaving out of fear of being judged as unattractive and/or by fear of being rejected by partners or friends. And since “work” typically defines something most people “do” not so much for their personal enjoyment, but more in order to gain something (money, usually, but social approval in this case), I attempt through language to mark the two different intentions behind the action of shaving.
The place where these two separate intentions get all tangled and hard to clearly define, is when women stop actively thinking about shaving because they have internalized through consuming advertisement and being brought up with these standards of beauty, what it really means to shave. As a result, it becomes increasingly difficult to differentiate where the end of one intention is, and where the beginning of the other starts. The more I think about it the blurrier the lines get, and I find myself wondering whether it’s still actually possible for a woman to completely disregard the social aspects of complying with this gender role performance, and this, without mixing bits and pieces of both intentions while still thinking they’re only shaving for themselves.
It all started when I was approached by a 20-something man I didn’t know, half way through my usual workout at the gym. “If you move your feet like this while lifting the weights, you’ll get a lot more out of your training,” he said. Resenting this unrequested “expert’s help” interruption, I took my earphones off to politely decline further interaction. Before I had a chance to say anything, he had already bent down, and reached out for my legs. As his hand briefly came in contact with my lower calf, he exclaimed “Holy shit! Your legs are hairy!” Uncertain that I had heard correctly, I asked him to repeat. As his statement sunk in a second time, I shrugged with indifference, and then found myself responding with a defiant “Well, so are yours.” “It’s not the same: I’m a guy, and I’m supposed to have hairy legs. For a chick, it’s sick-looking and not right,” he replied.
Not missing a beat, I fired back “And why the hell not?! I have killer legs, and hair grows there naturally just like it does on a man.” “Women are supposed to shave, so they look hot and smooth, and can be pretty enough to find a boyfriend or a husband. I’d _never_ shag a girl if her legs weren’t taken care of,” he arrogantly added.
WOAH! This guy’s first infraction had been to invade my personal space by touching me without my permission. His second was to have assumed I required a man to “teach” me how to work out; when in fact I was perfectly fine on my own. His last statement, however, was deeply wrong on way too many levels. Unsure as to how to even react, I eventually settled on bewilderment and spat out “Who the hell do you think you are, to believe you have the right to judge, police, and govern women's bodies like that?!” Cutting him right off, I launched into a passionate defense of women’s rights to their bodies. This of course led him to abruptly exit the premises of the gym while calling out “Crazy bitch,” leaving me alone to think about all this, and pretty blue in the face.
On my way home I realized that even if it’s been a while since I stopped shaving my legs, I had never actually experienced the broader social and more “political” aspect of the personal choice I have made. The systematic come and go of the blade as it glides from ankle to thigh seems fairly insignificant in itself, and so does applying hair removal cream or strips. Although, when you stop to think of it, this simple action is profoundly ingrained in our society’s standards of female “beauty”, which dictate that only hair-free legs can be beautiful. So who’d possibly want be viewed as other than proper and attractive, right?
Well, this brings me back to the language specification I made earlier. I use the word “work” rather than something neutral like “task” to make a distinction between shaving solely out of personal preference for the short-lasting smoothness; and shaving out of fear of being judged as unattractive and/or by fear of being rejected by partners or friends. And since “work” typically defines something most people “do” not so much for their personal enjoyment, but more in order to gain something (money, usually, but social approval in this case), I attempt through language to mark the two different intentions behind the action of shaving.
The place where these two separate intentions get all tangled and hard to clearly define, is when women stop actively thinking about shaving because they have internalized through consuming advertisement and being brought up with these standards of beauty, what it really means to shave. As a result, it becomes increasingly difficult to differentiate where the end of one intention is, and where the beginning of the other starts. The more I think about it the blurrier the lines get, and I find myself wondering whether it’s still actually possible for a woman to completely disregard the social aspects of complying with this gender role performance, and this, without mixing bits and pieces of both intentions while still thinking they’re only shaving for themselves.
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