“At least a third of a woman’s life is marked with aging; about a third of her body is made of fat. Both symbols are being transformed into operable conditions so that women will only feel healthy if they are two thirds of the women they could be. How can an “ideal” be about women if it is defined by how much of a female sexual characteristic does not show on her body, and how much of a female life does not show on her face?” – Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth
‘Plain of feature, and certainly overweight, she was nevertheless a woman of wit and warmth. In one interview she said: ‘I’ve never been into clothes or figure and the interesting thing is I never had any trouble attracting men’
This is the translation for anyone not yet up to speed:
‘Although she was fat and ugly she still managed to have some smarts and charm. And overall she’s okay ‘cause men still wanted to fuck her.’
I’m not naive. I know that the way a woman looks, matters. It is what it is. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. We know this because even our representatives of the “ideal” in this culture have the shit photo-shopped out of them. Women, and men, are prescribed a female beauty standard that is cruel, unachievable, and extraordinarily limiting.
So we start there. From infancy. Women being told they are fundamentally flawed in order to sustain the cosmetic/beauty industry and men being told a woman’s worth is dependent upon her striving for the cruelly unachievable, in order to be attractive to the very men who use the unachievable ideal to criticize real women. This becomes even more diabolical as women and men age. Women are cautioned about aging as if it were a disease, an illness which can and should be treated. A woman with a soft belly and stretch marks, ample bottom, and boobs like pendulums, is thought to have “let herself go”. ‘Exactly where have I let myself go to?’ I always want to ask. Seems like my body is going places without me. And as my body goes it seems I have to get louder.
Men, on the other hand, have no such sanction. They can become fat. They can wrinkle and go grey and be bald and be impotent and people will still listen to what they have to say. The world has created forgiving and respectful euphemisms for fat, old, impotent men. They are well-built, dignified, regal, and have EDD. EDD, for fuck’s sake. And this pomposity is completely accepted.
I think Colleen McCullough was beautiful, and her beauty was the least of her triumphs. But that’s because I listened to what she had to say. And the tragedy is, if she had a dick, The Australian would have celebrated her beauty as much as I do.