"From our bodies, through our bodies"

Last week, I ended my presentation on female bodybuilders with Stevn Davis and Maglina Lubovich’s conclusions about the impetus for women, particularly hypermasculine bodybuilders like Bev Francis, to complicate gender stereotypes by participating in “physical feminism.” Stevn and Davis say in Hunks, Hotties, and Pretty Boys that women like Francis participate in an “embodied resistance that operates through fleshy transformation. Bev Francis, as a practitioner of this form of somatic emancipation, directs women towards the fact that they can only liberate themselves from their bodies through their bodies” (157). Some class members were hesitant to readily accept this premise. Half of the class responded that these women were in fact liberating themselves by complicating gender stereotypes and possessing control (in the most drastic and literal ways) of their bodies, thereby evading traditional hegemonic and cultural notions of femininity. The other half, however, argued that female bodybuilders were actually inhibiting themselves (through their bodies) by “trapping” themselves in typically male-like bodies, and subsequently, actually purporting the brawny, male physique as the most desirable. 

                                   

I maintain that though these women are aspiring to achieve a “manly” body and are thereby suggesting the man’s body is more desirable to possess as one’s own, they are still using their physical bodies to liberate themselves from their physical bodies. This type of meta-transformation, in which traditional ideals of gender rest in, and are then disrupted in, the “somatic” body, indicates control over “[what] nature has given but [what] fortune has taken away” (Gaspare Tagliacozzi quoted in “Proud Flesh” by Rebecca Mead).  Fortune, in this case, is less a matter of “luck” and more a matter of discipline. The quote could also be read as “what nature has given but what discipline has transformed.” In this case, those who labor hard enough on their bodies, fortunately, are liberated from them.

However, Ollivier Dyens says it’s not just fortune or hard work which allows human beings to be free from their bodies. Of bodybuilders specifically, Dyens says: 

[These] strange and sometimes obsessive behaviors stand for [this: They] all demonstrate a need on the part of those involved to be present and dominant in the cultural environment. A bodybuilder who bulks up with steroids is definitely not a healthy person, but his predominant position in the cultural environment turns him into a desirable individual…Good biological health and reproductive effectiveness are no longer the object of our quest. What we long for is cultural dominance. (Metal Flesh and the Evolution of Man: Technology Takes Over 22, emphasis mine)

Bodybuilders (and all human beings) who labor to attain self-perfection (through affectations both innocuous and drastic—from makeup application to bodybuilding or cosmetic surgery) do so because the transformation is worth something more than healthy biological enhancement; it is worth desirability. And desirability is, as Dyens would argue, an intangible product of our culturally mediated bodies.  

But, then, isn't it one of our most basic human needs to feel desired? Certainly we have studied how closely desirability, sexuality, beauty, and the body are all dependent on one another, but Dyens says the new conceptions of our bodies as technobodies, "plasticized by power, technology, and culture," allow for a new manifestation of desire-to-be-desired (72). Now, we want to become "memes,...vehicles for cultural replication" (22). This is not to say that we do not want to be physically desirable, but that we no longer need to be only "healthy looking" to do so. Starving models are not healthy. But they are attractive to many, because what makes them relevant is cultural stamina. Claudia Benthien would call this "the sexual experience of the future-- autoerotic and narcissistic" (Skin: On the Cultural Border Between Self and the World 226). As long as we can perpetuate our image (the perpetuation itself indicating a relevance), we remain desirable.

And in the 21st century, to achieve any sort of cultural, autoerotic stamina, we must be plugged in. 

Our social presence is no longer limited to our physical presence. In this sense, we are disembodied cultural bodies. Marshall McLuhan says that simultaneously, through our "cultural bodies," "by means of electric media, we set up a dynamic by which all previous technologies that are mere extensions of hands and feet and teeth and bodily heat controls...will be translated into information systems" (Understanding Media 57). Twitter and Facebook have become places where we not only create virtual identities, but also where we dictate thoughts and engage in dialogue without ever having to utter a single word aloud. Our physical appendages become conductors of thought and vectors of our cultural significance. Our fingers now do the labor which our entire bodies once did, and therefore, these machines upon which our fingers touch and click, perform the functions our physical bodies once did. They are extensions, but they are also attachments.

Benthien says: 

The goal is no longer to have the body excluded from the electronic web (integrated merely via the eyes through eyephones, the ear through earphones, the hands through keyboards, data gloves, joysticks, or touch screens) but to bring it into virtual reality as an entity with complete sensual perception. (222)

The irony here is that to be somatically emancipated (as Davis and Lubovich state above) by technocratic socialization, one must not detach but attach oneself to external aids, technology specifically, which allow us "freedom from our bodies" (in that we no longer have to walk to our friend's house to talk to her) but which literally adhere to our bodies, which then must adapt.

And we manage to adapt just fine.

This image shows us two things. First, it shows us what is clear to anyone who's read this post-- the cell phone acts as a cultural transmitter, transmitting our meme and connecting our cultural bodies to other cultural bodies, making us significant. But more than that, the gloves show how we have altered and adapted our essential articles of clothing (gloves originally intended as a survival tool to keep warm) to allow for this interaction (with the phone and with each other). 


Below is another example of technology mediating the world for us, via our own physical functions (in this case, seeing).

 

This smart-phone app, called "Type'N'Walk" allows users to do just that--type (text) and walk simultaneously. The phone itself takes on the function of our eyes, laboring for us, so that we do not have to look up and back down repeatedly while walking and texting (an act in and of itself which connotes social significance).

The question I leave you then is this: if we are inclined to adapt and let technology enhance our functionality, even at the cost of literally attaching technology to one's body, do we do so out of necessity? Benthien talks about the bodysuits which transmit touch to other people wearing other bodysuits halfway around the world; these suits are what McLuhan would call "extensions of one's body." My question is then are these "extensions" (via body suit, cell phone, Facebook, and on and on) going to ultimately inhibit our own ability to function without these enhancers? Do we submit to our technobodies because they are convenient?  Because they are more fun? Because we are curious? Because they really do make life easier? Or because in order to be socially significant, to be a meme, to posses cultural stamina, we must? 

Works Cited:

Benthien, Claudia. Skin: On the Cultural Border Between Self and the World.
Davis, Stevn and Lubovich, Maglina: Hunks, Hotties, and Pretty  Boys.
Dyens, Ollivier. Metal Flesh and the Evolution of Man: Technology Takes Over. 
McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man.
Mead, Rebecca.  Proud Flesh.  New Yorker.  Nov. 13, 2006. http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2006/11/13/061113crbo_books?currentPage=all

The science of narcissism

Susan Douglas opens her article, "Narcissism as Liberation," coincidentally, with the title of my first post ("You're worth it!"). She says that this type of new found narcissism reflected in advertising in the 1980s were "geared to the woman who had made it in a man's world, or who hoped she would, and the message was Reward yourself, you deserve it" (246). Without rehashing my last post, I'd like to mention one particular point Douglas touches on that I did not, but which complements the Kerry Washington video in my previous post. Douglas summarizes the thesis of  Christopher Lasch's book The Culture of Narcissism as such: "the emergence of people who seemed self-centered and self-satisfied but were really deeply anxious about what others thought of them...Americans were desperately insecure, consumed by self-doubt and self-loathing..." (248).

So really, it's a faux-narcissism, if you will. A defensive way to portray an image we are not necessarily and to look over insecurities. And ultimately, Douglas says, this is the condition upon which model spokespeople, cosmetic manufacturers, and plastic surgeons all base their pitches.

Most striking in her article was how the use of both war metaphors and "science" seek to both exaggerate and validate our "struggle against"  (to use a war metaphor) nature. War/violent metaphors like "conquering biology," "systems," "penetrate," "intercellular structure," and "active anti-age agents," all ultimately allow "cosmetics [to become] weapons" (254, 265). Science in this case serves two functions. First, it provides a concrete and quantifiable defense, and second, it legitimizes or proves (Douglas argues) the defense. Further, it affords newly-liberated women the confirmation that they are smart enough to understand these "complex" scientific procedures which are fighting for us.

Though Douglas writes about the '80s, not a thing has changed.

Sarah Haskins is a comedian and Harvard graduate who has a show on Current TV called "Target Women," which satirizes the media's stereotypes of women. In one particularly relevant segment, she covers precisely the silliness of cosmetics commercials which use "science" as a way to boost the products' credibility (and simultaneously make us, the insecure, narcissistic consumer, feel smarter):



But not only are we made to feel like "science" is doing something for us, now, through cosmetic surgery, we are able to make science do something for us. Virginia Blum, in her chapter entitled "Untouchable Bodies," from her book Flesh Wounds: The culture of Cosmetic Surgery, focuses on the psyche of both cosmetic surgery patients and their surgeons. Amidst explanation of her research, she notes her own tendency see the allure of cosmetic surgery:

The world of rejuvenating surgery beckons me as an option-- all along, offering this conviction that I don't have to age if I don't want to, if I'm prepared to intervene... (47, emphasis mine)

Science, specifically the metaphorically warlike "open[ing] yourself up to the scalpel to a bloody and material intervention in the formerly pristine sheath of your skin," affords cosmetic surgery patients the ability to manage one's beauty (44). Science in this case does not reside over us as an incomprehensible element made clearer to us (and more accessible to us) via television commercials selling products with "molecules." With cosmetic surgery, science is at the mercy of our narcissism. In Rebecca Mead's New Yorker article entitled "Proud Flesh," she quotes surgeon Alex Kuczynski, who says:

Scars aren't healed, they are managed. Pain isn't stopped, halted, alleviated; it, too, is managed. (emphasis his)

Blum, in another of her chapters entitled "As If Beauty" points to three Melanie Griffith's "Defy Your Age" campaign print ads (1995, 1996, and 2001), noting the happy coincidence that "she looks like three different women in these ads" (177). Looked at individually, each ad can be consumed to mean "buy age defying makeup, look like Melanie Griffith does here." But when viewed in conjunction with one another, the ads which purport "defy you age" take on a whole new meaning. Griffith doesn't look like the same person. She, too, has defied her age through external means (and, no, not through Revlon age-defying makeup).

Physical dissatisfaction can be managed simply: "Don't like it? Change it!" Even without resorting to such extreme measures as scalpel-to-flesh, we are encouraged to be "real" and "free" by way of doctor-injected gel-fillers like Botox and Juvederm:






We are, in essence, "altering the stor[ies] our bodies tell" (Blum 43). It seems, according to the makers of Juvederm and Botox, we are the realist when we erase those body marks of our "body landscape," when we succumb to the dissonance caused by "sites of comparison--a place where the defective events on your face either happen or don't" (37). Blum notes these sites of comparison are often those you "view on television, or in a magazine"-- celebrities, essentially-- who in their own narcissism, insecurity and vanity, too, undergo cosmetic procedures to restore a a more perfect look (37). Amanda Fortini, in her New York Magazine article "Lines, Please" concludes her piece with this sentiment:

[Performers and celebrities] have forgotten that there's a measure of narcissism in the act of viewing, not just in the craving to be viewed. If we [you and I] can't see ourselves onscreen--or our more ideal selves--movies and TV shows lose much of their allure. The fantasy is no longer real.

Who then is mimicking whom? Stars are perpetually seeking youth (and using cosmetic surgery to secure it, like in Melanie Griffith's case), and we are longingly using these same stars as our sites of comparison. In a chapter entitled "Seeing Through and Seeing Beyond Media visions of Race and Gender" from Karen Dill's book How Fantasy Becomes Reality, Dill notes "viewers identify with or want to be like the characters they watch" and thus, "to want to be like a fictional character he or she must have a certain reality for you" (104).

My assumption is that Heidi Montag's appearance holds little reality for us. But maybe it once did. Maybe the way she looked after her initial surgery served as a site of comparison for some of us. After all, while her appearance did change, it wasn't [as] drastic [as her next surgeries]. Perhaps the first surgery could be seen as a reflection of the kind of subtle-yet-beauty-enhancing transformation one would ask a cosmetic surgeon to emulate. But in her own dissatisfaction, in her own "insecurity, self-doubt and self-loathing," Montag's narcissistic scientific, medical undertaking removed her even further from relatability (Douglas 248). Just as some gain validation by trying to look like other, prettier people (our sites of comparison), so too are we validated by other's emulation of us. In Montag's case, in an effort to self-admittedly look like Barbie, she has lost the ability to serve as a site of comparison or emulation for others.

Thus, our own insecurities which manifest themselves through narcissism-- in seeing our more ideal selves onscreen (as Fortini points out)-- get complicated when the very stars we look to for perfected images of ourselves are also seeking to perfect images of themselves. When the influencer and the influenced are both dissatisfied, and use science and cosmetic surgery to gain self worth, we both ultimately subvert our ability to become and to find ourselves at those sites of comparison.

Works cited:

Dill, Karen E.  How Fantasy Becomes Reality:  Seeing Through Media Influence. Ch. 4, “Seeing

Through and Seeing Beyond Media Visions of Race and Gender."

Blum, Virginia L.  Flesh Wounds: The culture of Cosmetic Surgery. Ch. 5, “As If Beauty,” pp.145-187; Ch. 2, “Untouchable Bodies,” pp.35-66.

Mead, Rebecca.  Proud Flesh.  New Yorker.  Nov. 13, 2006. http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2006/11/13/061113crbo_books?currentPage=all

Fortini, Amanda. “Lines, Please.” New York Magazine. Mar. 7, 2010.  http://nymag.com/movies/features/64504/

Because You're Worth It

L'Oreal has consistently told women that they are worth it. Maybelline tells women maybe we're born with it, or maybe it's Maybelline. But what is this ethereal "it"? It seems "it" is beauty, or at the very least, the ability to feel beautiful and, in turn, feel satisfied, wanted and self-confident. L'Oreal tells us we deserve those feelings (which we can attain by way of buying and using L'Oreal products) and Maybelline says it's possible we naturally possess that beauty and confidence, but it's equally probable that thanks to handy Maybelline(!), we buy our way to that confidence. Both these slogans evoke empowerment and serve as a confirmation that even if we don't feel beautiful, we deserve to (and what woman doesn't want to hear that?).

In Nancy Etcoff's chapter "Beauty and Bait" from her book Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty, Etcoff's explanation of the phenomena of beauty and attraction sheds light on the logic and appeal of these slogans. Ultimately, we do feel empowered when we feel we appear beautiful. She says: "Attractive people do tend to be more at ease socially, more confident, and less likely to fear negative opinions than are unattractive people. They are more likely to think that they are in control of their lives rather than pawns of fate and circumstance” (47).

Below is an ad for L'Oreal, in which the company isn't selling any product in particular, but rather a message, by way of actress Kerry Washington. In the ad she says: "I feel most beautiful when I feel most empowered....beauty comes from knowing who you are." In essence, L'Oreal is selling the idea of confidence, naturalness and worthiness to feel beautiful without explicitly selling products which provide or enhance that beauty. In this case, beauty is about how you feel inside, not how you look outside. Ironically, the empowerment meant to be exuded in this advertisement, and reflected in the L'Oreal's slogan itself, is external. We are told we're worth it, as though there exists the possibility of not being worth it (or the possibility that, without being told, we wouldn't know we are worth it). In fact, in the mid-2000s, L'Oreal changed its slogan from "Because I'm worth it" to "Because you're worth it." Thankfully, L'Oreal has empowered us, since we may be incapable of empowering ourselves...



Tertullian would take great offense to the concept of this ad. We know this is not purely an altruistic message from L'Oreal-- it tells us we should feel beautiful when we feel empowered, and we feel empowered when we look beautiful (using L'Oreal products). In On Ugliness, Tertullian admonishes women who gain empowerment through temporary physical application or modification: "In fact, those women who torment their skin with make-up, or stain their cheeks red and extend the line of their eyes with soot sin against Him. There can be no doubt that these women dislike what God has created..." (160). These messages--which, on the surface, say the same thing--(feel empowered because of who you are not what you look like) conflict because we know L'Oreal's ultimate goal is to have us buy their makeup, so we can feel worth it. 

We see Tertullian's pronouncement echoed in the "Dove Evolution" video we watched in class (where the message is essentially: look how we've distorted beauty). At the end of the Dove video, there is a title card for the "Dove Self-Esteem Fund," after a message that says, "No wonder our perception of beauty is distorted." The paradox here, once again, is that the creator of these "self-empowering" messages are essentially using simple, natural, internal beauty to sell products which are non-natural and enhance outer beauty.






If we've distorted the idea of beauty by Photoshopping and airbrushing, then essentially we've stepped away from "naturalness." In class, Anna asked us what we thought "naturalness" meant. Some said "not being fake," others said, "abstain from affectation (in the form of makeup or cosmetic surgery)," and still others said naturalness was an exhibition of inner beauty. It seemed unanimous that, amongst the girls in our class, natural beauty was perhaps more desirable than affected beauty. We don't want to look like we're trying too hard, even if that means trying hard to not look like we tried too hard. There exists an appeal to seem inherently beautiful, to seem, hopefully, "born with it."

Consequently, our empowerment is reflected through our actions as well as our upkeep and attraction, which falls in line with Umberto Eco's discussion of physiognomy. Though in Eco's chapter it's used while defining ugliness, physiognomy is simply "a pseudoscience that associated facial features with character and moral dispositions" (On Ugliness, 257). If we can alter (or at least alter the perceptions of) our external facial features by minimizing their harshness or "ugliness" with the application of makeup or plastic surgery, then according to the idea of physiognomy, we've altered and enhanced character and moral perceptions of us as well. 

In the United States, where, as Etcoff points out, "our efforts to please good-looking people...are one way we reinforce beauty as a form of status," pressures to feel "worth it" are perpetuated by external forces including cosmetic companies which use "self-empowering" messages to ultimately empower you to feel beautiful on the inside, and perhaps consequently, exhibit that on the outside. Try as we may to distinguish inner from outer beauty, it is easy for us to make snap judgements about someone based on his/her outer appearance. By way of portrayals of worth, companies like L'Oreal have appealed to our ultimate desire to feel worthy of "it." Beauty, therefore, becomes commodified even in commercials which say "beauty comes from knowing who you are you."

Works Cited:
Eco, Umberto. On Ugliness. New York: Rizzoli, 2004.
Etcoff, Nancy. Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty.