I personally think that women like Meryl Streep and Helen Mirren, who let themselves age gracefully, are far more attractive, intriguing, and inspiring than women like Cher or Sophia Loren, who froze themselves in time and, to me, look completely artificial and downright scary.
But I know that aging is difficult for women- the world we live in, particularly the show business world, favors youth. I have nothing against delaying wrinkles and trying to look like the best version of ourselves at any age. I already use eye cream, for example, and I know I don't need it. I like to take care of myself and I certainly do not judge women for pursuing youth, but I do think some women go too far. When I see an older woman with a frozen forehead and mouth, excessively artificially tanned, and filled with scars behind her ears and on her scalp from countless face-lifts, it makes me sad. It makes me sad that women go to such measures to look like they have won the battle against time- and thus won the battle against society's prejudice against older women. It makes me sad to know they haven't- the world looks at them and, for the most part, thinks them ridiculous.
I read a book on beauty the other day (while in my dermatologist's waiting room- go figure), where the author interviewed hundreds of women on beauty. They all seemed to agree that what made a woman beautiful was confidence. And I have always agreed- what made Sophia Loren seem so sexy to me was her confidence. When I see her now- stretched out and orange, barely able to speak- I want to scream. Or cry. Where did the confidence go? Does it seep out of these women as aging takes its toll? Was it really confidence that made them beautiful, or was it beauty (the beauty of youth) that gave them confidence?
I know, even as I write this, that I understand very little about it. I haven't watched the face I'm used to seeing in the mirror change into one I don't want to recognize. I don't know what it's like to find fragile white hairs amidst my mane of thick black hair. I can still look at my hands without them accusing me of having lived more years than I care to remember. These are all things I can imagine, but I do not know them yet. And, like most young women, I think I'll be different- I'll handle aging with grace, I'll wear my white hair long, I'll sneer at botox, I'll find the beauty of every wrinkle. And I really do hope I will- but who knows? I think Meryl Streep is aging gracefully, but maybe she doesn't think so at all. Maybe she wishes she had taken the hormones Cher took, even if just to fool herself, for a little while.
We can't know how each woman is really handling aging- it's such a personal thing. Even Gloria Steinem, mama of Feminism, shocked people when, on her 75th birthday, she was asked about aging and, instead of answering that she was above that, she said, "Now, I look in the mirror, I see all kinds of age changes, and I think, 'Well, I expected that, but not THAT!' Beginning at around 50, I started to realize that our bodies lose what they need to support someone else, and keep what they need to support us. How smart is that!? It’s interesting to watch my body do something that it knows how to do but I don’t. (...) When reporters started to ask at about 50 if I would have a facelift, I used to say maybe after 70. Well, here I am and I still wouldn’t. I’d like to say it’s because I can’t imagine Georgia O’Keeffe or Eleanor Roosevelt or Rosa Parks with a facelift, but the truth is I’m afraid I’d become like the guy with a bad toupee; when you’re talking to him, you can’t think of anything else." (http://www.wowowow.com/politics/gloria-steinem-75-feminists-pro-choice-268505?page=0%2C0)
So what do we do? I don't have advice yet. Check back in, say, 40 years?
Monday, January 18, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The Doctrine of Vanity
Let's talk about superficial things.
I was twelve years old when a completely bizarre problem presented itself in my life. Louis Vuitton launched a $700 back-pack, which was totally revolutionary. $700 for a bag was a lot of money then, even for Louis Vuitton, which was never as expensive as brands like Prada or Chanel. No brand of its caliber created products for young girls to wear to school. Moreover, the bag was completely unpractical- too heavy, oddly shaped, difficult to open, and, well, too expensive for a teenager.
But in Sao Paulo it sold like water, and soon enough half the girls in my school had one. And that's when I started having a problem. I didn't know if I wanted one, but I knew that everyone else wanted one. I didn't know if I was a "patricinha" (the word attributed to the Brazilian gossip girls of the 90's), but I knew that if I wore that bag I would immediately be one. I couldn't buy one and not wear it if I didn't like the profile attached to it. You couldn't un-buy a Louis Vuitton bag. Even if you sold it or gave it away, once you bought a Louis Vuitton bag you were forever someone who had bought a Louis Vuitton bag. It would mean I was part of a group- and there was a certain power attached to being part of that group- a group that was rich and fashionable, and therefore untouchable. Appealing thought for a 12-year-old. But if I didn't buy one I was also part of a group- the group that rejected fashion and money. The latter was a bit risky, though- someone who rejected fashion and money might be really cool, but they might also be super losers. A huge risk for a 12-year-old to take.
I didn't know whether I wanted it or the profile attached to it, but I didn't know who I was otherwise either. I hadn't defined a "personality" yet (and what 12-year-old has??) and I was scared of what might come up if I didn't make something up soon. I still hid in my closet to play with my Barbies, and I kept waiting to "grow up" but had no idea how to do it. Where was my personality, I wondered?
I didn't want to be a loser-hippie who only had one friend. I didn't want to be a nerd- that would require knowing a lot about computers, which was simply never going to happen. I didn't want to be an athlete- I hated sports, I couldn't even have been a cheerleader. There weren't a lot of options.
I bought the bag.
The reactions were subtle, but it was done. I was someone who spent $700 on a bag that hundreds of other girls had. I was someone who spent $700 on a bag I didn't even know I wanted. People would look at me and think anything ranging from, money to futile to luxury. And I was okay with it. It started to feel kind of nice. I started to embrace the life-style. I kept on buying ridiculously expensive accessories and doing my best to "look the part".
I kept it up until I went to college, where I experimented with myself over and over again, trying to figure out what was my style, what I liked, who I was. For a while I wore long skirts and hand-made bags I bought from street vendors, for example.
In the end, I found high-fashion again, but with a clearer mind, and without feeling trapped in it. Now I like Louis Vuitton because that back-pack is still in perfect condition, after 12 years, and I know it will remain so for at least 30 more years. Now I choose Prada shoes because, well, they have my size, and they are also immortal. I like Chanel hand bags because they're classic and elegant- and it so happens that I enjoy everything that's classic and elegant (although it took rejecting all of it to figure that out). And if I see a $5 bag that I love, I'll buy it and wear it as I would a $1200 Balenciaga bag. I love H&M and Old Navy and Zara as much as I love Dolce & Gabbana and Marc Jacobs. I'm clear now about what I like and what I don't like, and I see that elegance and style have very little to do with the material things themselves, but rather with the person wearing them. I like to know what different designers are defining as fashion, but I don't buy or drool over anything I don't like, or that doesn't feel like me. Next to my Ms. Magazine there's usually a Vogue, and next to my Converse sneakers there's usually a pair of Louboutin's. And the truth is that what "feels like me" changes all the time- it can even change several times on one day, and I just have to learn to respect that.
That might just be the key to style: self-respect.
I was twelve years old when a completely bizarre problem presented itself in my life. Louis Vuitton launched a $700 back-pack, which was totally revolutionary. $700 for a bag was a lot of money then, even for Louis Vuitton, which was never as expensive as brands like Prada or Chanel. No brand of its caliber created products for young girls to wear to school. Moreover, the bag was completely unpractical- too heavy, oddly shaped, difficult to open, and, well, too expensive for a teenager.
But in Sao Paulo it sold like water, and soon enough half the girls in my school had one. And that's when I started having a problem. I didn't know if I wanted one, but I knew that everyone else wanted one. I didn't know if I was a "patricinha" (the word attributed to the Brazilian gossip girls of the 90's), but I knew that if I wore that bag I would immediately be one. I couldn't buy one and not wear it if I didn't like the profile attached to it. You couldn't un-buy a Louis Vuitton bag. Even if you sold it or gave it away, once you bought a Louis Vuitton bag you were forever someone who had bought a Louis Vuitton bag. It would mean I was part of a group- and there was a certain power attached to being part of that group- a group that was rich and fashionable, and therefore untouchable. Appealing thought for a 12-year-old. But if I didn't buy one I was also part of a group- the group that rejected fashion and money. The latter was a bit risky, though- someone who rejected fashion and money might be really cool, but they might also be super losers. A huge risk for a 12-year-old to take.
I didn't know whether I wanted it or the profile attached to it, but I didn't know who I was otherwise either. I hadn't defined a "personality" yet (and what 12-year-old has??) and I was scared of what might come up if I didn't make something up soon. I still hid in my closet to play with my Barbies, and I kept waiting to "grow up" but had no idea how to do it. Where was my personality, I wondered?
I didn't want to be a loser-hippie who only had one friend. I didn't want to be a nerd- that would require knowing a lot about computers, which was simply never going to happen. I didn't want to be an athlete- I hated sports, I couldn't even have been a cheerleader. There weren't a lot of options.
I bought the bag.
The reactions were subtle, but it was done. I was someone who spent $700 on a bag that hundreds of other girls had. I was someone who spent $700 on a bag I didn't even know I wanted. People would look at me and think anything ranging from, money to futile to luxury. And I was okay with it. It started to feel kind of nice. I started to embrace the life-style. I kept on buying ridiculously expensive accessories and doing my best to "look the part".
I kept it up until I went to college, where I experimented with myself over and over again, trying to figure out what was my style, what I liked, who I was. For a while I wore long skirts and hand-made bags I bought from street vendors, for example.
In the end, I found high-fashion again, but with a clearer mind, and without feeling trapped in it. Now I like Louis Vuitton because that back-pack is still in perfect condition, after 12 years, and I know it will remain so for at least 30 more years. Now I choose Prada shoes because, well, they have my size, and they are also immortal. I like Chanel hand bags because they're classic and elegant- and it so happens that I enjoy everything that's classic and elegant (although it took rejecting all of it to figure that out). And if I see a $5 bag that I love, I'll buy it and wear it as I would a $1200 Balenciaga bag. I love H&M and Old Navy and Zara as much as I love Dolce & Gabbana and Marc Jacobs. I'm clear now about what I like and what I don't like, and I see that elegance and style have very little to do with the material things themselves, but rather with the person wearing them. I like to know what different designers are defining as fashion, but I don't buy or drool over anything I don't like, or that doesn't feel like me. Next to my Ms. Magazine there's usually a Vogue, and next to my Converse sneakers there's usually a pair of Louboutin's. And the truth is that what "feels like me" changes all the time- it can even change several times on one day, and I just have to learn to respect that.
That might just be the key to style: self-respect.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Sexuality of a Woman
Gandhi wisely said, "Be the change you wish to see in the world."
For someone who loves arguing as much as I do, it is not always so simple to follow his advice. Although I choose my battles as carefully as I can, there are some things that I can't just sit back and watch or listen to- I feel an immediate overpowering desire to fight it. One of those things is the repression of women's sexuality. As soon as I hear the words- usually coming from a man, but you'd be surprised how often they come from women- "There are two types of women in the world, the ones you marry, and the ones you fuck," or, "A woman who sleeps with a man too quickly is a slut who has no self-respect," I can feel the blood rush up to my head.
I'm in Brazil right now, where, in my opinion, this happens much more often- but maybe people just say it out loud more often, who knows, and last night I went out to dinner with some friends, among them an ex-boyfriend, and a huge discussion regarding this topic exploded. The aforementioned statements were presented as truths and, although the men at the table agreed that it was a cultural imposition of a sexist nature, they still believed in them. It did not end well, and I was very upset by it.
I wish the sex education I received in my life had told me that I would enjoy sex. That I would enjoy it a lot. That I SHOULD enjoy it, and that if I didn't, I should figure out what was missing, I should get to know myself sexually. Although sometimes in magazines I would read about how masturbating was healthy and sex (safe safe safe sex) was wonderful, that information paled in comparison to how rigorously I was taught that I needed to worry about pregnancy and STD's even before I took my clothes off with a guy, that I had to make absolute certain he was the right guy, the perfect guy, and that I shouldn't ever ever be too "easy". The equation was simple- if I turned into one of those girls who was "easy", I would never have a boyfriend again, I would not have many girlfriends, my parents would disown me, I would get pregnant and maybe even die.
So here's what happened. I turned 13 and started going to parties and kissing boys in dark corners, and it felt so good, I mean it felt so so good, that I found myself terribly, tragically confused. I was suddenly having thoughts like, "I hope he touches my boobs," and then when the boy tried I knew I had to slap his hands away and scold him otherwise I would be labeled a slut. I did my best, I did my very best, to be a good girl. To be the kind of girl guys want to marry. But it didn't make any sense, it felt like a complete lie, and I was secretly terrified they would find out how, in my head and when I was alone, I was not a good girl at all.
At 16, I met the guy I mentioned earlier (whom I had a huge discussion with last night- go figure), and he full-heartedly believed I was a good girl. He became my first serious boyfriend, and I figured he was the right guy to lose my virginity to. I played the part of the good girl to an exhausting extent- making sure to set limits in our sexual progression so that he wouldn't lose interest in me. At 17 I lost my virginity to this boyfriend who loved the good girl I had projected. The people I told seemed to approve. No one asked me if I was having orgasms, if I was enjoying the sex, if I was in love with him, if I felt good about it. They asked me if I was being safe and told me it was a good choice, he was the right guy to do it with.
The next phase came in college, when I tried to reject the good girl mask as much as possible. I was living in the U.S. now and attending Sarah Lawrence, so it was easier- maybe, again, who knows. But something wasn't right. I didn't want to treat men like they were disposable and I didn't want to be treated like I was disposable. I wondered why a guy thought he didn't have to respect me because he was "just" having sex with me. I was still confused, but felt a little less repressed than I did as a teenager in Brazil.
Then I started a fling with a wonderful man who seemed to get it (he was raised by a feminist and went to Sarah Lawrence after all); there are not two types of women. Every woman wants to fuck and every woman wants to get married! It was a gift. Through his understanding of women and sexuality, I started to understand myself as a woman and my own sexuality. Although we were monogamous, we were causal. And although we were causal, we were respectful. I could explore my sexuality with him without him ever disrespecting me or for a moment thinking I was not "worthy of marriage". He came into my life at the right time, and when he left, I met another man and I fell in love. Things got confusing again, because although I was in love with him, he and I never made love, and although he was much older than the other guy, he was way inferior in bed.
But that's just part of life. I see now that what I had to learn from him had nothing to do with sex. I would, later on, experience making love with someone I was in love with, and would learn that people in love can also fuck like pornstars and still want to spend the rest of their lives together afterwards. I met several more men who "got it" and treated me with the respect I demanded and deserved, whether we were in a relationship or not, while allowing me to be as sexual and impulsive as I wanted to be. I am always grateful to the universe for sending me these men.
But there are still a lot of men, and women, who don't get it. Last night I couldn't help myself and I tried, in vain I think, to shift the consciousness I was dealing with. I know that it's not up to me to change people, though, and I can only hope that one day life will teach them that repressing a woman's sexuality serves no one. Women can not be categorized. Women may be complicated, but in this area I present you the simplest equation, the "... us" equation:
Love us, Free us, Hold us, Fuck us, Need us, Marry us, Make Love to us and, above all, Respect us.
For someone who loves arguing as much as I do, it is not always so simple to follow his advice. Although I choose my battles as carefully as I can, there are some things that I can't just sit back and watch or listen to- I feel an immediate overpowering desire to fight it. One of those things is the repression of women's sexuality. As soon as I hear the words- usually coming from a man, but you'd be surprised how often they come from women- "There are two types of women in the world, the ones you marry, and the ones you fuck," or, "A woman who sleeps with a man too quickly is a slut who has no self-respect," I can feel the blood rush up to my head.
I'm in Brazil right now, where, in my opinion, this happens much more often- but maybe people just say it out loud more often, who knows, and last night I went out to dinner with some friends, among them an ex-boyfriend, and a huge discussion regarding this topic exploded. The aforementioned statements were presented as truths and, although the men at the table agreed that it was a cultural imposition of a sexist nature, they still believed in them. It did not end well, and I was very upset by it.
I wish the sex education I received in my life had told me that I would enjoy sex. That I would enjoy it a lot. That I SHOULD enjoy it, and that if I didn't, I should figure out what was missing, I should get to know myself sexually. Although sometimes in magazines I would read about how masturbating was healthy and sex (safe safe safe sex) was wonderful, that information paled in comparison to how rigorously I was taught that I needed to worry about pregnancy and STD's even before I took my clothes off with a guy, that I had to make absolute certain he was the right guy, the perfect guy, and that I shouldn't ever ever be too "easy". The equation was simple- if I turned into one of those girls who was "easy", I would never have a boyfriend again, I would not have many girlfriends, my parents would disown me, I would get pregnant and maybe even die.
So here's what happened. I turned 13 and started going to parties and kissing boys in dark corners, and it felt so good, I mean it felt so so good, that I found myself terribly, tragically confused. I was suddenly having thoughts like, "I hope he touches my boobs," and then when the boy tried I knew I had to slap his hands away and scold him otherwise I would be labeled a slut. I did my best, I did my very best, to be a good girl. To be the kind of girl guys want to marry. But it didn't make any sense, it felt like a complete lie, and I was secretly terrified they would find out how, in my head and when I was alone, I was not a good girl at all.
At 16, I met the guy I mentioned earlier (whom I had a huge discussion with last night- go figure), and he full-heartedly believed I was a good girl. He became my first serious boyfriend, and I figured he was the right guy to lose my virginity to. I played the part of the good girl to an exhausting extent- making sure to set limits in our sexual progression so that he wouldn't lose interest in me. At 17 I lost my virginity to this boyfriend who loved the good girl I had projected. The people I told seemed to approve. No one asked me if I was having orgasms, if I was enjoying the sex, if I was in love with him, if I felt good about it. They asked me if I was being safe and told me it was a good choice, he was the right guy to do it with.
The next phase came in college, when I tried to reject the good girl mask as much as possible. I was living in the U.S. now and attending Sarah Lawrence, so it was easier- maybe, again, who knows. But something wasn't right. I didn't want to treat men like they were disposable and I didn't want to be treated like I was disposable. I wondered why a guy thought he didn't have to respect me because he was "just" having sex with me. I was still confused, but felt a little less repressed than I did as a teenager in Brazil.
Then I started a fling with a wonderful man who seemed to get it (he was raised by a feminist and went to Sarah Lawrence after all); there are not two types of women. Every woman wants to fuck and every woman wants to get married! It was a gift. Through his understanding of women and sexuality, I started to understand myself as a woman and my own sexuality. Although we were monogamous, we were causal. And although we were causal, we were respectful. I could explore my sexuality with him without him ever disrespecting me or for a moment thinking I was not "worthy of marriage". He came into my life at the right time, and when he left, I met another man and I fell in love. Things got confusing again, because although I was in love with him, he and I never made love, and although he was much older than the other guy, he was way inferior in bed.
But that's just part of life. I see now that what I had to learn from him had nothing to do with sex. I would, later on, experience making love with someone I was in love with, and would learn that people in love can also fuck like pornstars and still want to spend the rest of their lives together afterwards. I met several more men who "got it" and treated me with the respect I demanded and deserved, whether we were in a relationship or not, while allowing me to be as sexual and impulsive as I wanted to be. I am always grateful to the universe for sending me these men.
But there are still a lot of men, and women, who don't get it. Last night I couldn't help myself and I tried, in vain I think, to shift the consciousness I was dealing with. I know that it's not up to me to change people, though, and I can only hope that one day life will teach them that repressing a woman's sexuality serves no one. Women can not be categorized. Women may be complicated, but in this area I present you the simplest equation, the "... us" equation:
Love us, Free us, Hold us, Fuck us, Need us, Marry us, Make Love to us and, above all, Respect us.
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