The" Ida B Wells " Entry
Date: 2.10
Climate: getting chilled
Eating: --
Drinking: h2o
Feeling: confused
Listening to: NPR news
Watching: Oprah
Reading: Tunnel Vision
Today I watched Oprah, as it was re run at eleven thirty after I got home.
Ironically, I began watching thinking she'd have her deconstructed female stereotype/empowerment schtick on full throttle, which I rationed could help me out of this state I am in...
Yet like the perfect world it is, the first half of the show was devoted to this BBC show where these two gorgeous women deconstruct other women's fashion sense, or lack thereof. For Oprah, they picked on a handful of women, pointing out just how badly they looked in their "before" shots and how stunning they appeared after they got their hair cut, dyed, wore what was considered "better fitting" clothing, got their make up done, and figured out how to hide their "problem areas."
Just what constitutes a "problem area?" And does investing dinero into attire that is designed to "hide" or "conceal" it (One woman charmingly said "with the folds on the shirt, you don't know if its fabric or fat") make you really feel any better? Or just confused that to look sexually and socially acceptable that you have to wear carefully crafted clothing in case you can't shed that extra fifteen pounds because you had four kids?
And not to pull the gender card, but rarely do you see shows like this for men. And when you do, they don't shove them into clothes that are "strategized" to make them appear in a way that they just aren't built: they're just shaven, get a hair cut, and put on clothes that are a stark contrast to what they typically where: never does it get personal.
Thats what struck me about the show, just how personal it was. No one understands why some women pay their dues to the fashion gods and the image pyrhana's (I know I spelt that wrong but i'm on a roll), and some don't. OR, why some women feel it just to judge others on what they view as acceptable attire and hair styling.
Truth be told, I have always been told that I dress well and all that good stuff, and seeing the acid washed tapered, high rised pleated pants wasn't pretty, nor was the cowboys boots and broom skirts with peasant blouse. YET if it were to appear on a rail thin fashionista vis a vis Nylon magazine, its trendy; en vogue; and oh so haute.
These women were women, with "saddle bags" (who invented that term? Who? Bring them out into the yard and shoot them, women aren't and never should be compared to livestock), big or small breasts (what again is the ideal cup size?), short legs (but remember, to wear pants that hit the base of your heel so as to appear to have longer limbs)...they were just typical women who run households, jobs, and lives that span over twenty five years.
It made me think of the time I asked my mother what she remembers the 80;s to be like, and she simply responded: "I don't remember the 80's. I was having babies"
But I don't have children and don't intend to have any (knock on wood)-- not in the near future, at least. I see this on TV--on Oprah for chrissakes--and it just makes me think "Oh, i'm glad I didn't eat again. Because I don't want to get saddle bags and have to invest in clothing that will hide my 'problem areas.' "
Eddie is more than upset. If anything, its a paradox: I want to begin a normal nutironal pattern to appease him and to become "healthy" but my fear of blimping out so that he loses his attraction to me overrides that...even though we all know that me as a headcase is much more unappealing--yet my rational is solid. I wish I was a drug addict or a sex fiend, too, so that I didn't feel like I was intellectually deconstruction reason/irration in why I can't bear to eat.
Per the entry title, I got to come back to Chicago (thank heavens) and was promptly placed in the projects: the Ida B Wells projects, where its true: they were constructed as though the poor were cattle: only one door in and one door out...and if there was a fire, god help them all. The windows were boarded up so it appeared abandoned, but when I walked the three flights of stairs upwards to find someone, and got yelled some sexually explicit comments on the way up, a level of fear that I have never felt rose up in my throat, in that "oh god, I can't believe that I have to walk down that narrow and cramped staircase to get out, where they'll be standing, making me feel uncomfortable and scared while they act inappropriate and say horrible things."
I won't repeat what they say, but i'm shivering thinking of just the look in their eyes.
Up until that point, it was mainly this phrase repetitiously going through my mind:
"even though they're poor doesn't mean they're criminals...even though they're poor doesn't mean they're criminals"
Date: 2.10
Climate: getting chilled
Eating: --
Drinking: h2o
Feeling: confused
Listening to: NPR news
Watching: Oprah
Reading: Tunnel Vision
Today I watched Oprah, as it was re run at eleven thirty after I got home.
Ironically, I began watching thinking she'd have her deconstructed female stereotype/empowerment schtick on full throttle, which I rationed could help me out of this state I am in...
Yet like the perfect world it is, the first half of the show was devoted to this BBC show where these two gorgeous women deconstruct other women's fashion sense, or lack thereof. For Oprah, they picked on a handful of women, pointing out just how badly they looked in their "before" shots and how stunning they appeared after they got their hair cut, dyed, wore what was considered "better fitting" clothing, got their make up done, and figured out how to hide their "problem areas."
Just what constitutes a "problem area?" And does investing dinero into attire that is designed to "hide" or "conceal" it (One woman charmingly said "with the folds on the shirt, you don't know if its fabric or fat") make you really feel any better? Or just confused that to look sexually and socially acceptable that you have to wear carefully crafted clothing in case you can't shed that extra fifteen pounds because you had four kids?
And not to pull the gender card, but rarely do you see shows like this for men. And when you do, they don't shove them into clothes that are "strategized" to make them appear in a way that they just aren't built: they're just shaven, get a hair cut, and put on clothes that are a stark contrast to what they typically where: never does it get personal.
Thats what struck me about the show, just how personal it was. No one understands why some women pay their dues to the fashion gods and the image pyrhana's (I know I spelt that wrong but i'm on a roll), and some don't. OR, why some women feel it just to judge others on what they view as acceptable attire and hair styling.
Truth be told, I have always been told that I dress well and all that good stuff, and seeing the acid washed tapered, high rised pleated pants wasn't pretty, nor was the cowboys boots and broom skirts with peasant blouse. YET if it were to appear on a rail thin fashionista vis a vis Nylon magazine, its trendy; en vogue; and oh so haute.
These women were women, with "saddle bags" (who invented that term? Who? Bring them out into the yard and shoot them, women aren't and never should be compared to livestock), big or small breasts (what again is the ideal cup size?), short legs (but remember, to wear pants that hit the base of your heel so as to appear to have longer limbs)...they were just typical women who run households, jobs, and lives that span over twenty five years.
It made me think of the time I asked my mother what she remembers the 80;s to be like, and she simply responded: "I don't remember the 80's. I was having babies"
But I don't have children and don't intend to have any (knock on wood)-- not in the near future, at least. I see this on TV--on Oprah for chrissakes--and it just makes me think "Oh, i'm glad I didn't eat again. Because I don't want to get saddle bags and have to invest in clothing that will hide my 'problem areas.' "
Eddie is more than upset. If anything, its a paradox: I want to begin a normal nutironal pattern to appease him and to become "healthy" but my fear of blimping out so that he loses his attraction to me overrides that...even though we all know that me as a headcase is much more unappealing--yet my rational is solid. I wish I was a drug addict or a sex fiend, too, so that I didn't feel like I was intellectually deconstruction reason/irration in why I can't bear to eat.
Per the entry title, I got to come back to Chicago (thank heavens) and was promptly placed in the projects: the Ida B Wells projects, where its true: they were constructed as though the poor were cattle: only one door in and one door out...and if there was a fire, god help them all. The windows were boarded up so it appeared abandoned, but when I walked the three flights of stairs upwards to find someone, and got yelled some sexually explicit comments on the way up, a level of fear that I have never felt rose up in my throat, in that "oh god, I can't believe that I have to walk down that narrow and cramped staircase to get out, where they'll be standing, making me feel uncomfortable and scared while they act inappropriate and say horrible things."
I won't repeat what they say, but i'm shivering thinking of just the look in their eyes.
Up until that point, it was mainly this phrase repetitiously going through my mind:
"even though they're poor doesn't mean they're criminals...even though they're poor doesn't mean they're criminals"