The comic contemplates her next revolutionary move in "Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work."
She’s nipped, tucked, Botoxed, and damn proud of it.
So maybe Joan Rivers is a less-than-likely representative of female empowerment, but the woman has certainly made her mark. The new documentary, Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work examines a year in the life of the legendary comic, and I certainly got more than I bargained for from the indie flick. Like a new role model, for instance.
Sure, many people know Joan more for the ever-progressing plasticity of her face, but the 77-year-old has been cracking jokes and offending the masses for half a century. Whether or not you care for her current repertoire (she’s lately been known to pick on celebs like Lindsay Lohan and Miley Cyrus via Twitter), A Piece of Work underscores the impact Rivers had on a previously prudish American audience.
Regarding one of her earlier risqué routines featured in the film, Rivers said,
I was the first one to discuss abortion, and it was very rough…And I couldn’t even say the word “abortion”…And by making jokes about it, you brought it into a position where you could look at it and deal with it. It was no longer something that you couldn’t discuss and had to whisper about. When you whisper about something, it’s too big and you can’t get it under control and take control of it.
Say what you will about the woman, but bringing an issue like abortion to the forefront of America’s consciousness in the ‘60s was pretty courageous.
Equally audacious was making a joke about Hollywood casting couches and ending it with, “I’m Joan Rivers, and I put out!”
While it seems totally tame for this day and age of gross-out humor, the legendary Jack Lemmon was so revolted by the gag, he declared “that’s disgusting,” and walked out. And while public condemnation by an internationally renowned male superstar might scare some into submission, Joan didn’t change her tune one bit.Not even when all-mighty late night host Johnny Carson abruptly cut their professional ties and had her banned from NBC (to be fair, it wasn’t entirely unprovoked).
So no, she hasn’t led a feminist revolution. And yes, her pursuit of an ever-tighter face has only perpetuated America’s obsession with youth and beauty. But if you’ve ever even mildly chuckled at Sarah Silverman, Kathy Griffin, Roseanne, Tina Fey, Margaret Cho, or Ellen DeGeneres, you have to give some credit to Joan.
She certainly does: “Women come up to me and say I’ve opened doors for them and I want to say f— you. I’m still opening doors.” You can’t argue with that.
Check out the trailer for Joan Rivers: Piece of Work: –Michelle
Edward and Jacob continue to romantically woo/tyrannically control Bella
Fans swoon as Robert Pattinson sparkles! Hearts thump as Taylor Lautner shuns superfluous garments! And I was right there in the thick of it all at Eclipse‘s opening night, lining up to watch sexy vampires and six-packed werewolves battle it out for the love of one inexplicably lucky human girl (you’d think that would be enough to get Kristen Stewart smiling once in a while).
In the interest of brevity, let’s try to disregard the fact that I’m a theoretical adult and still fangirling over Twilight. Instead, let’s take a look at this mythical love triangle between Edward, Bella, and Jacob, shall we?
As a true fan (or freak, whatever), I diligently read all four books in Stephenie Meyer’s vampire series, so I was fully aware of what was to unfold onscreen in Eclipse. But seeing the action come to life reminded me of how disturbingly disconcerting some of the story’s romantic details really are.
Now remember, I’m saying all this as the most dedicated Twilight addict this side of the quarter-century age mark. I love the ridiculously contrived dialogue and the debatably unreadable prose. But let’s be honest here: Edward is kind of a possessive jerk and Jacob is pretty much a creepy perv. Now hold up! Don’t throw blunt objects at my head yet! Let’s break it down.
Edward wants to keep Bella very, very (VERY) close.
Jacob flashes his biceps before putting the moves on Bella.
Subject A: Edward is so intent on “protecting” Bella that he dismantles her truck’s engine so she can’t escape his watchful eye. Um, perhaps a bit dramatic?
Subject B: Convinced that he is, in fact, Bella’s true love, Jacob forcefully kisses her against her will, insisting, “You love me too.“ Sure, she (unsuccessfully) punches him, but in real life, behavior like that invites a swift kick to the groin and a healthy mist of pepper spray.
The guys commit a long list of other moderately offensive/borderline abusive acts throughout Eclipse, and I’m certainly not the first one to take note of their testosterone-fueled antics (seriously, Google “Twilight, abusive relationship” and see what comes up).
But I want to know what other Twilighters have to say. Are Edward and Jacob overbearing, macho losers, or just fools in love? And is Bella really a 21st century female role model, or just another lame damsel in distress (our blog contributor, Ashley, has already shared her thoughts)?
Talk it over in the comments section. Just be aware that however compelling your arguments are, my inner fangirl will continue to squeal as soon as Breaking Dawn comes out.
Dakota Fanning as Cherrie Currie and Kristen Stewart as Joan Jett in The Runaways
I confess: I didn’t know about the band The Runaways. I’d heard some of their music, but I didn’t know their story—they were finished by the time I was born. So I was grateful to be able to watch the spectacular tale of the first all-female rock band unfold on the screen in The Runaways, director Floria Sigismondi’s first feature film.
The movie focuses on lead Singer Cherie Currie, played by a grown-up Dakota Fanning, and guitarist and vocalist Joan Jett, played by a very un-Bella-like Kristen Stewart. (Stewart’s performance in this film, by the way, is fantastic.)
It’s 1975 and girls don’t play electric guitar, or, as The Runaway’s manager Kim Fowley puts it later in the movie, it’s a time when men only want to see women “on their knees or in the kitchen.” Then all of a sudden there’s a group of talented, kick-ass girls on the music scene—rebelling, experimenting, and rocking crowds.
One of the film’s most interesting focuses is the way Currie and Jett deal with the pressure to exploit their sexuality for the sake of success—an issue still very relevant in the music industry today.The movie opens with a drop of blood splattering on the sidewalk. It’s Currie’s. She’s fifteen, she’s just gotten her first period and apparently, she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Two minutes later she is in her sister’s boyfriend’s car and the boyfriend has just found out that Currie is now a “woman”; this revelation prompts the boyfriend to put a hand on Currie’s knee and make a sexual comment. Currie looks disgusted and sort of shocked but doesn’t seem to know how to react.
Cut to the first time we see Jett. She’s in the men’s section of a vintage clothing store. After the clerk points out her “mistake,” Jett points to a guy in a black leather jacket and says, “I want what he’s wearing.”
The real Runaways in 1975
And as different as their characters begin, so do they end up.
From the very creation of the group, band manager Kim Fowley, played by Michael Shannon, asserts that The Runaways are selling sex: The music is just a bonus. He picks Currie out of a crowd at a bar after deciding a blonde is just what the band is missing. She is only fifteen and he is thrilled: “jail-f*&^ing-bait!” he exlaims. And it goes on from there, with Fowley teaching the entire band of teenage girls how to exploit their sexuality for the sake of the audience’s desire. This, he tells them, is the only way they’ll become successful.
Sound familiar?
Jett and Currie react to the commodification of their sexuality in very different ways. Currie buys into it, deciding that the best strategy is to use this sexual “power” to her advantage.
Jett, on the other hand, refuses. She doesn’t conform to set standards of female sexuality, does her best to focus on the music and sees Fowley for what he is–a salesman out to market his product in the most effective way possible. In the end, Jett’s story is one of empowerment and Currie’s is one of caution.
Although I doubt Jett and Currie’s realities were so black and white, I think the contrast in the film pushes the viewer to reconsider how she herself deals with the pressure to exploit her own sexuality.
It also reminds us that we haven’t come very far.
There are still more Cherrie Curries than there are Joan Jetts. And young girls, maybe now more than ever, are enthustiastically buying into the idea that sexual exploitation equals self-empowerment.
So let’s talk about the new film directed by Tim Burton, Alice in Wonderland. I saw it last weekend, and the Alice character surprised me in her multi-dimensionality and courageousness. It’s rare to see female characters portrayed so evenly. Herein I make my case.
You can read a synopsis of the film elsewhere, but here are my top 6 reasons why Alice (played by Mia Wasikowska) is a very good role model for girls and women.
Reason #1: Girlfriend is scared to death, but overcomes her fear and kills the Jabberwocky anyway. It may be written that she’s fated to kill the Jabberwocky on the Frabjous day (calooh callay!), but she can’t believe it (“I don’t slay,” she says). After the delightful, caring White Queen (Anne Hathaway is hilarious as a floaty girly-girl) asks her to be her “champion”, Alice puts on her armor and picks up the sword. Though she’s shaking in her boots, she reminds herself of what her father used to say: “I believe six impossible things before breakfast.” She names off six impossible things (“There is a place called Wonderland…”) as she goes to face the Jabberwocky. And you’d better believe she is victorious.
How refreshing is it that she feels the fear and does it anyway? We really don’t hear much about great women feeling scared to go for what they want, but most gutsy women know that it’s part of their apparent courage. We may appear fearless, but we work very hard to overcome the fear first, and we sure do give ourselves little pep talks in the process. Little and big girls would do well to take note.
Reason #2: Alice has a mind for business. The dull guy may be asking Alice’s hand in marriage in front of 100 or more guests at the garden party, but when Alice returns from Underland, she (nicely) turns him down and tells his father — who owns her dead father’s business — that they “have business to discuss”. She goes off propose a brilliant strategy and becomes a business partner. Score one for the ladies! — or smart people who happen to be ladies.
Yep, she's about to fall right down that hole.
Reason #3: She doesn’t have to be pretty. Being a “beautiful heroine” is not part of Alice’s character, and it’s not her main job in this film. Instead, she has sallow skin and dark circles around her eyes, and a mostly flat chest. This Alice is plain, and it’s her strengths that shine through.
But I’m a little bit irritated by the review of this film in the New York Times. Manohla Dargis wrote: “Alice… every inch a Tim Burton Goth Girl, from her corpselike pallor to her enervated presence, presents a more convincing vision of death than of sex.” Clearly Alice was supposed to be hot, and that would only expected of a female character. Sexism alert!
Reason #4: Alice fights to keep her spirit intact. The Mad Hatter accuses 19-year-old Alice of losing her “muchness” since she was last in Wonderland at age 6, and Alice spends quite a bit of energy proving that she has not lost her muchness.
This speaks to an actual phenomenon a lot of us go through as young women. We ask ourselves, “Am I as confident or strong as I was when I was a little girl, or am I losing that? How can I get it back?” And it acknowledges the well-documented decline of girls’ self-esteem around age 12.
Reason #5: This girl is no one’s pawn. Alice states multiple times in the film that her purpose is to be herself — not to marry someone she doesn’t love or even to slay the Jabberwocky. And she seems to have a pretty clear sense of who “herself” really is. She stands up for herself so she doesn’t end up in a loveless, stifling marriage, and she refuses to wear a corset in Victorian England. What more could a woman’s studies major want?
So many costume changes, such a short movie!
Reason #6: She’s kind, too. In all her strength, Alice doesn’t need to act “like a boy” or be self-absorbed — not by a long shot. The Mad Hatter (Johnny Depp) is absolutely insane, completely not useful at all to Alice’s future goals. But he helped her escape the Red Queen’s henchmen and the Bandersnatch early on, so she is loyal to this guileless man. When he’s taken by the Red Queen, she courageously goes to her castle to save him, nearly sacrificing herself in the process.
But given these reasons, should we call this character “feminist”, as John Boot of Pajama Media did? Should we call Alice in Wonderland a “feminist movie”? I think not. Much has been written about whether “feminism” is the next f-word and whether young women even identify with that word anymore. Not everything a girl does that’s strong or courageous makes her a feminist. I would like us to think, collectively, as a culture, “It just happens that the hero of this film is a woman.”
And the truth is, women who identify as feminists want and expect female characters to be given the same full, brave roles as male characters. In Alice, we finally have a character who is equal to male protagonists, and then some. Thank you, Tim Burton.
I recently saw Alien at a local cinema. I hadn’t seen it since I was a little girl (and I’m not sure why my parents let me watch Alien when I was a little girl). Anyway, I had forgotten about Ellen Ripley. Ellen Ripley seems impossible: a female lead in a sci-fi film with a mullet, loose-fitting clothes and no noticeable makeup. A human being! A strong, rational (yet also feeling), ass-kicking woman who we follow in awe not for her body, but because she is the hero of our movie. As Zoe Saldana put it at a recent Comic-Con conference, “Ellen Ripley could have been a man. … Objectives would have been the same. … but [she] happened to be a woman, thank God.”
Sigourney Weaver as Ellen Ripley in "Alien"
Much has been written about the importance of Ellen Ripley to female characters in sci-fi. As John Scalzi put it on the AMC SciFi-Scanner blog, “In a nutshell—Before Ripley: Barbarella. After Ripley: Sarah Connor.” As Scalzi also notes, Ripley only gets better in Aliens (although I disagree wih his view that Ripley is “unsympathetic and unlikeable” in Alien and doesn’t actually become that “pivotal, iconic” character until Aliens). Point is, in James Cameron’s 1986 sequel, Ripley is extremely competent, kicks even more alien ass, and isn’t sexualized at all (in the first film, there is a gratuitous nude scene).
So, Ripley made Sarah Connor possible. And Sarah Connor, at least in Terminator 2, would have made Ripley proud. But after that? Let’s take a look at where we are today. We’ve maintained the tradition of interesting, strong and intelligent female sci-fi leads. However, in the majority of cases, the character’s body is equally or more important than her strength, skills and intelligence combined.
Linda Hamilton as Sarah Connor in "Terminator 2"
Think about it. Aeon Flux: Charlize Theron in tight leather. Underworld: Kate Beckinsale in tight latex. Catwoman: Halle Berry in tight leather.Ultraviolet: Milla Jovovich in midriffless tops. The Fifth Element: Milla Jovovich in strips of white cloth. Star Trek: Zoe Saldana in a tight skirt and knee-high boots. Watchmen: Malin Akerman in lingerie-esque latex. And on and on. Plus, some of these films don’t even have actual female leads. Leads yes, but THE lead, no. But the lack of sci-fi films with a female character as THE driving force is an issue for another day. Natalie Portman’s character in V for Vendetta is the only example of a female lead that is not overly sexualized that I came across in my research. Can you think of others?
Is it tempting to say “Who cares”? During a discussion at Comic-Con about why Hollywood has failed to create female archetypes that were “as varied and distinct as the ones created for men” in sci-fi, Zoe Saldana said she didn’t see it as a battle worth fighting anymore: why convince a room full of men that “I should wear pants to do an action scene, when they think I can do it in a skirt and hoochie boots?”
Why indeed? Well, because of Ripley. Ripley reminded me of how exhilarating it is to watch a woman simply be a hero. How it is to believe—even if only for two hours in a dark cinema—that our bodies are not the most important and most powerful aspect of ourselves. It’s so easy to forget that. It’s so easy to forget that the constant focus on our bodies in the media is not just a celebration of our sexual power (and in the media, women are almost always body first and human being second), but harmful exploitation.
Aeon Flux poster
And because it is a world of archetypes—of extremes—I believe sci-fi has a revolutionary capacity to change that equation. In a real-world context, it might be more difficult to believe in a Sarah Connor or Ellen Ripley, but in sci-fi, anything’s possible. Real-world rules are forgotten and the hero is the hero.
Hollywood, of course, isn’t going to give us another Ripley if we don’t demand one. And it is too risky to wait for another Cameron or Scott to offer us one. In fact, Cameron seems to have temporarily abandoned his Ripleys. In Avatar, his Na’vi princess doesn’t save the day in the end, and there’s a very strong emphasis on her traditional female sexuality (Cameron even admitted in a Playboy interview that although it wasn’t anatomically correct for female Na’vi to have breasts, he just felt of his lead: “she’s got to have tits.”)
Neytiri in Avatar
But how to demand better female sci-fi leads? It’s a tricky question.
Our best bet would probably be to support, as much as possible, smart movies created, written, or directed by women. The more influential female players there are in Hollywood, and the more power they have, the more freedom they will have with their content, and the more possibilities to create admirable female characters.
And when a Ripley does show up in cinemas, for god’s sake, go see her. Go see her twice.
A few months ago, comedian Chris Rock released a documentary that investigates the fanatical preoccupation with “good hair” in the black community. It’s a film that takes the viewers from neighborhood salons in Atlanta to rural villages of India, investigating the multibillion-dollar haircare industry. I’m a big fan of any documentary that examines the media and its influence on young women, and “Good Hair” was insightful, provocative and entertaining.
Just as Darryl Roberts’ documentary “America the Beautiful” comically tackled America’s obsession with bodily perfection, Chris Rock’s “Good Hair” comically tackles the black community’s obsession with impeccable locks. Rock talks to a wide variety of people, from celebrities like Raven Symone and Maya Angelou to everyday men, women, and high schoolers—none of whom think twice about getting a thousand-dollar weave or using relaxer in their hair. According to the documentary, worrying incessantly to make your ‘do “less black” is not just common in contemporary African-American culture—it’s expected.
The film focuses its attention on relaxer, the chemical used to make curly hair flawlessly straight. Celebs, like rap duo Salt ‘n Pepa and even the Reverend Al Sharpton, openly admit to using it. Relaxer has so much sodium hydroxide in it that it could potentially burn through one’s scalp, yet people continue to use it to achieve stick-straight hair. The documentary also explores the industry of weaves—wigs made of real hair that cost upwards of several thousands of dollars. These hair pieces, as the film points out, overwhelmingly come from Indian women who sacrifice their hair for religious purposes. The women who admit to wearing weaves show no shame around spending a month’s paycheck (or more) on a vanity item.
What causes this concern for perfect hair, the subjects say, is the desire to “look white.” Comedian Paul Mooney declares in an interview, “When your hair is relaxed, white people are relaxed. If your hair is nappy, they’re not happy.” While seemingly outrageous, this claim is, sadly, probably true.
While I thought “Good Hair” was a fascinating and hilarious look at one aspect of black culture, I wish Rock had more carefully examined this insecurity of looking white. Is it bad? Dangerous? What causes it and how can we stop it? Even toddlers, yearning to have straight hair, get swept up in this physically and emotionally damaging cycle—one girl in the film, just four years old, was getting her hair relaxed. The movie ended up being a comedy that simply rolled its eyes at the issue. The message seemed to be “this is just how it is; you can’t change it.”
When I voiced this concern to an African-American former professor of mine (who rocks the natural ‘do), she told me matter-of-factly that “hair is to black women what weight is to white women.” That analogy is dead on, I thought. Obviously you can’t draw a line strictly down the middle, but just as black celebrities spend thousands on weaves and extensions, white celebrities grace the covers of tabloids after spending thousands on personal trainers and state-of-the-art diets. Both ideas of unachievable perfection trickle down to average women, women who believe this perfection must be the norm.
Have you seen “Good Hair?” What did you think? Are you a black woman, and do you feel an unstoppable necessity to make your hair look like something it’s not? Do you think the comparison between black women and hair and white woman and weight is a legitimate one? Why do black women seemingly desire to have “white” hair? Leave your thoughts in the comments.
The other day my friend and I were flipping through a recent Cosmopolitan magazine, and I was shocked by the comments coming out of my mouth:
“She’s so skinny!”
“Ew, what is she wearing?!”
“Her eyes look weird!”
With these exclamations,I was actually morphing into the person I despise–the person I imagine beauty magazines make you become: she who judges other women.
Magazines seem to always pit woman against woman, or at least encourage it. “Who Wore it Best?” articles in some publications call on readers to vote on which woman celebrity looks better in identical outfits.
Other magazines regularly ask readers to vote thumbs up or down on a celeb’s look—like, “Are these stripes flattering on Kim?” and “Does Eva Look Hot or Boring?”.
Around Oscar season, some magazines completely dedicate issues to Best and Worst Dressed lists, where we scrutinize the dresses and accessories famous women have worn.
It doesn’t stop with magazines. Reality shows, soap operas, romantic comedies–even kids’ movies (think the Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen franchise)–often idealize competition between women, usually over men.
In shows like The Bachelor, Gossip Girl, and The Hills, there always seems to be an immediate enemy inherent in any other woman–often over a prospective boyfriend.
The Bachelor popularized reality shows in which many women compete against each other for one man's attention
But as my friend and I were scrutinizing the obviously-airbrushed Cosmo cover model, I was appalled by the other comments coming out of my mouth: hateful comments about the actress herself.
What was first a critique of the model’s impossibly clear under-eye area and unnatural waistline (thank you, Photoshop) became critiques of her eyebrows, her hair, and even what she said in her interview.
We should not only strive to resist becoming influenced by media messages, but resist becoming the women who judge one another, who compete with one another, who rip on one another’s hairstyles and career choices, and who compete for the opposite sex.
And sure, maybe certain actresses themselves share different values than we, and perhaps the women on The Bachelor DO need to chill out with all the competition over one guy.
But that still doesn’t permit us to pass nasty judgment about anybody. Because what starts as a simple vote on who looks better can easily translate into real life. And who wants to become that woman?
As one of the few successful female writers, directors, and producers in Hollywood, Nancy Meyers has been making movies for over 30 years. Her movies include many romantic comedies featuring middle-aged couples, such as Father of the Bride, Something’s Gotta Give, and the recent release, It’s Complicated.
I’d always just thought of these movies as fun holiday diversions, but a recent piece in the New York Times by Daphne Merkin, called “Can Anybody Make a Movie for Women?”, made me think perhaps more was at stake.
Merkin argues:
“[Meyers] rushed in where angels fear to tread to rescue the middle-aged and manless woman from her lonely plight. She has taken this sorry creature, who is bombarded with reminders of her vanished youthfulness everywhere she turns, and placed her in an alternate universe, where she is…desirable just the way she is.”
Even though I know how much women are pressured to look and act youthful, I was disheartened to read this belief. Merkin seems to think there’s an age between 30 and 40 where women reach their best before dates and instantly become saggy, wrinkly, undesirable hags.
If that idea is out there, then Meyers’ movies might play a more important role than I thought. Her movies tell older women it’s okay to be happy and competent, while also subtly telling younger women not to worry so much, because love can happen later.
Nancy Meyers at work
In It’s Complicated, Meryl Streep plays Jane, a divorced mother of three who runs a bakery in Santa Barbara. One drunken night, she begins an affair with her ex-husband, Jake (Alec Baldwin), who is remarried to a much younger woman. Meanwhile, Jane is also pursued by her architect (Steve Martin).
During the movie, I noticed Jane’s relative security. While she worries about a sagging eyelid, you get the impression that she’s been getting along fine with her work, girlfriends, and kids.
Seeing her happy despite her single status, we get a different message from the traditional one that older women without men are pitiful “spinsters”. Instead, we see an example of how older women don’t need to rely on having men to be happy.
There were things that irked me, though, like how Jane and her friends demonize Jake’s wife and other younger women for “stealing” their men, and I didn’t notice a single important non-white character. Also, the characters’ happiness seemed partly due to their immense wealth.
But at the end of the day, as someone who’s feeling societal pressure to settle down and have kids at age 24, I felt like the movie gave me some license to relax and live my own life without worrying about hitting an arbitrary age where I will be doomed to live a lonely, miserable, single life. As far as fantasies go, I can definitely buy into one where I get to be myself and pursue my career goals, and when I’m pushing 60 maybe have a fling with a paunchy yet charming lawyer.
Do you think the focus on middle-aged women in movies like It’s Complicated is refreshing, or do you think these movies still tell women they’re incomplete without men? What do you think young women take home from watching these movies? Do you think the fact that the characters are usually really rich increases the pressure on women for financial and career success as well as romantic success?
I wouldn’t describe my feelings for the Twilight saga as “love” or even “like,” but more along the lines of “obsessed.” When I read the four books in the Twilight series, along with millions of teenage girls, I was engrossed in a world where one could go to school with vampires and be best friends with a werewolf.
However, another feeling rivaled my fanatic obsession while reading the Twilight saga; extreme aggravation.
One of the reasons why I was interested in reading the Twilight series is that I love books with a strong female lead character. My hopes for Bella Swan as the strong main character started to crumble when I delved a little deeper into the folds of the Twilight world.
Bella has a lot of potential, with her passion, wit, and stubbornness. At times the reader is tricked into thinking Bella is the strong female lead we wish we had more of because we can see her obstinate thoughts and read her bold inner monologue.
But all of that is undermined by the fact that she is constantly seen as the damsel in distress. Stephenie Meyer, the author, chose to put Bella in situations where she was completely dependent on the supernaturally strong men in her life.
Bella (Kristen Stewart) is saved yet again by her supernatural friend Jacob (Taylor Lautner) in New Moon
It isn’t until the of the last book, Breaking Dawn, that Bella actually has an opportunity to showcase her abilities, but even then, Bella undermines her own impact. Edward, her vampire lover, tells Bella her talents saved the family, but we never see Bella own that fact herself.
Millions of young (and not so young) readers have read the Twilight series and are going to flock to the second movie, New Moon, in theaters November 2009. I know there are stories out there that are just as interesting as Twilight AND show girl characters as powerful actors in their own worlds.
Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine
So, where are the compelling stories with strong girls leading the charge? One of my favorite young adult novels with a fantastic main character is Ella Enchanted. Ella is smart, funny, and determined on saving herself in this fairytale with a twist.
What other books out there should girls be reading? Add your ideas to the comments section. Don’t forget to recommend books with action-oriented girl main characters to ALL young readers. It is just as important for boys to see examples of strong females as it is for girls.
While trying to figure out how to top my costume from last year (I dressed up as M.I.A., and yes, I did look pretty fly), I’m reminded of Halloween’s uniform for young women: the “slut”. The 2004 movie Mean Girls said it best:
Mean Girls describes, but doesn’t explain, this Halloween phenomenon. Why do girls care so much about looking sexy? What do they hope to achieve by dressing provocatively? And why do they feel the need to conform to such a narrow model of expressing their sexuality? After doing some critical research and cultural analysis, I decided to attempt to explain just why girls are so gung-ho on dressing up like “hos” on Halloween.
Our culture simultaneously shames and rewards female sexuality, so it makes sense that girls grow up having very conflicted feelings and ideas. Nothing is inherently wrong with a young woman wanting to feel sexy. However, looking like a Playboy Bunny is only one of an infinite number of ways to achieve that feeling. We can dress up as anything on Halloween (or any other day) to express our unique talents, interests, personalities, senses of humor, strengths, etc.—so why do so many of us just choose to be “sexy” for Halloween?
Typical army costumes for women, teens, and girls. I'm pretty sure none of these was designed for combat.
Dressing as stereotypical eye candy has strong cultural implications, and enough young women do so on Halloween that it has become expected. However, when a female chooses to present herself in this stereotypically sexy way, she’s also making an important statement that she might not have considered before going out dressed in what is essentially lingerie: “I am content to be seen as just an object—not a full human being.”
We would like to believe we have achieved sexual liberation and gender equality; we have not. But maybe by focusing on our abilities to dress provocatively, it’s easier to forget the opportunities and rights that we still lack, the violence and discrimination we constantly face.
Ariel Levy discusses this idea, as well as what she refers to as “the rise of raunch culture”, in her book Female Chauvinist Pigs (which I highly recommend). Levy argues:
The proposition that having the most simplistic, plastic stereotypes of female sexuality constantly reiterated throughout our culture somehow proves that we are sexually liberated and personally empowered has been offered to us, and we have accepted it. But if we think about it, we know this just doesn’t make any sense. It’s time to stop nodding and smiling uncomfortably as we ignore the crazy feeling in our heads and admit that the emperor has no clothes. (p197)
Levy also asserts that, these days, women have three options:
1. To act “like a man” (a male chauvinist, in particular)
2. To embody “the most simplistic, plastic stereotypes of female sexuality constantly reiterated throughout our culture” (p197)
3. Do neither 1 nor 2, and be considered a prude or an uptight feminist
None of these options seem too appealing, but only the last one can really get us out of this bind. While the first two options might grant a woman shorter-term, individual success, they also perpetuate sexism and misogyny in our culture (hence the term “Female Chauvinist Pigs”).
Girls learn early that their looks count, often much more than their intelligence, personality, or talents. Cultural messages reinforce the idea that, to be successful, we need to be a particular type of sexy and attractive. I want young women, when they are mature enough, to really own their unique sexualities. But I don’t want our sex appeal to be our sole means of getting attention, status, or money, because ultimately, it doesn’t lead to gaining respect or better rights.
Do what makes you feel happy and confident, but ask yourself who you are being sexy for, why, and if you need to look like a Maxim model to feel that way. And remember that your sexuality is part of you, but it’s not the only part.
If you can dress up any way you want to on this holiday, do you really want to hit the default button and look like just another clone? Or do you want to express yourself (and your sexiness) in a more unique, authentic way?
Just as Darryl Roberts’ documentary 
