In keeping with our class' recent discussion of feminism, I decided to read Simone de Beauvoir's "The Second Sex." The work uncovers the paternalistic assumptions behind feminine "mystery," but it also seems prophetic in its account of men's perceptions of women in power. De Beauvoir writes, "Woman's dress in becoming practical need not make her appear sexless: on the contrary, short skirts made the most of legs and thighs as never before. There is no reason why working should take away woman's sex appeal."
Today I made a trip with my roommate to the mall, and we walked through various women's clothing stores, including my personal favorites: Express and The Limited. Both of these stores cater to today's working woman because they include racks upon racks of matching suits with blazers, dress pants, and skirts. To me, these stores embody class combined with youth.
However, these stores also emphasize another attribute: sexiness. Express' website proclaims a sale on "Sexy Basics." The model on the Limited's website leers at the camera, which takes note of the woman's curves-- from head to toe. The Limited also sells overpriced fishnet tights. Scandalous! Especially when paired with high heels!
While I can find plenty of beautiful clothes in these stores that allow me to maintain my self-respect, it's clear from the stores' merchandise that the granddaughter of de Beauvoir's "working woman" should have sex appeal.
But why? I believe that de Beauvoir would argue that women desire this sexiness because 21st century culture still serves men. While we may feel better when we are dressed up in our high heels, short skirts, and clingy tops, our feelings result from societal constructs. Seeing women in sexy business clothes gives men carnal satisfaction. So while women contend that they have asserted themselves in the workplace, perhaps fashion undermines that achievement. Perhaps we still have a long way to go in the pursuit of beautiful, yet respect-inspiring fashion.
Meanwhile, I continue to sift through the clearance racks.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Virginia Woolf and Androgyny
I'll admit it. My first glance at Virgina Woolf's text "A Room of One's Own" left me skeptical. However, I emerged from the text sharing many-- if not all-- of Woolf's opinions.
Woolf advocates an awareness of the individual's androgyny, which appears bizarre on the surface but makes sense once examined. Essentially, she declares that every person has man-womanliness or woman-manliness, or that we have a mixture of the masculine and the feminine in us. I don't find this statement far-fetched at all, but perhaps I can accept it because of my situatedness as a supposedly "liberated" 21st-century woman. In my opinion, masculinity and femininity lies on a spectrum; maleness or femaleness is not a clear, black-and-white issue.
I believe this perspective gives us considerable flexibility in our pursuits without fear of receiving labels. For example, a boy can enjoy ballet without being called "queer," and a girl can dream of becoming a construction worker without being denigrated as a "tomboy." However, women pursuing traditionally male gender roles has become more accepted than the reverse, men in female gender roles. While the women's liberation movement brought both bane and blessing, women have benefited in terms of occupational opportunities and other societal expectations. Perhaps we need a men's liberation movement in order to make it more socially acceptable for men to show strength mingled with gentleness and beauty. Women have, in general, managed to balance femininity with masculine assertiveness, and I wonder whether such a balance is possible for men.
Another facet of Woolf's argument that intrigued me concerned the implications of affirming both the female and the male within the individual. Woolf implies a respect for the masculine by stating that women must embrace their repressed manliness. I wonder whether contemporary feminists would condemn all masculinity-- even that which Woolf claims exists in women-- as a representation of the male oppressor. It appears to me that many contemporary feminists have argued for female supremacy, and it seems that these women would find Woolf's thoughts unsettling because of their recognition of our mutual need for masculinity. Can women live on the feminine alone? Similarly, can men live on the masculine alone?
Woolf advocates an awareness of the individual's androgyny, which appears bizarre on the surface but makes sense once examined. Essentially, she declares that every person has man-womanliness or woman-manliness, or that we have a mixture of the masculine and the feminine in us. I don't find this statement far-fetched at all, but perhaps I can accept it because of my situatedness as a supposedly "liberated" 21st-century woman. In my opinion, masculinity and femininity lies on a spectrum; maleness or femaleness is not a clear, black-and-white issue.
I believe this perspective gives us considerable flexibility in our pursuits without fear of receiving labels. For example, a boy can enjoy ballet without being called "queer," and a girl can dream of becoming a construction worker without being denigrated as a "tomboy." However, women pursuing traditionally male gender roles has become more accepted than the reverse, men in female gender roles. While the women's liberation movement brought both bane and blessing, women have benefited in terms of occupational opportunities and other societal expectations. Perhaps we need a men's liberation movement in order to make it more socially acceptable for men to show strength mingled with gentleness and beauty. Women have, in general, managed to balance femininity with masculine assertiveness, and I wonder whether such a balance is possible for men.
Another facet of Woolf's argument that intrigued me concerned the implications of affirming both the female and the male within the individual. Woolf implies a respect for the masculine by stating that women must embrace their repressed manliness. I wonder whether contemporary feminists would condemn all masculinity-- even that which Woolf claims exists in women-- as a representation of the male oppressor. It appears to me that many contemporary feminists have argued for female supremacy, and it seems that these women would find Woolf's thoughts unsettling because of their recognition of our mutual need for masculinity. Can women live on the feminine alone? Similarly, can men live on the masculine alone?
Weighing Meaning: Issues in Oral Literature
Peter Wasamba's lecture last Monday intrigued me because of its insistent relevance. While we could have spent the entire hour discussing theoretical issues of textuality as they pertain to oral literature, I felt that Dr. Wasamba chose to tell stories in order to illustrate their own functions within his society instead of making his culture fit into our critical theories. His form of oral literature has a purpose-- to bring about social justice. If we can include it in our discourses about theory, then that is fine, but its intended purpose transcends literary criticism.
Dr. Wasamba's lecture was filled with points of interest, but one of his statements struck me as particularly powerful. He said that the compiler of oral literature cannot merely collect information and subsequently walk away. He argued that the recorder's role should include action on the part of the oppressed, and he used the story of the Kenyan woman who was raped fourteen times to illustrate this. The recorder's compassion for the woman led him to help her find medical attention, and his story has helped to open the eyes of lawmakers concerning the country's injustices.
The lecture showed me how social justice and nonfiction intertwine, and it has caused me to question the importance of fiction. As writers, shouldn't we work to expose the horrors of the world through our works of nonfiction (or reality-based fiction) instead of writing fairy stories or internal musings about the sublime? How does such an outlook on fiction affect our literal "ethic" of reading? Is it ethical to spend our time reading works that seem to do nothing to improve the plight of the oppressed? Personally, after finishing a poem by Wordsworth or an essay by Barthes, I rarely feel moved to improve the world. I appreciate the world as a result of my reading, but I don't take action. Should I feel guilty?
Dr. Wasamba's lecture was filled with points of interest, but one of his statements struck me as particularly powerful. He said that the compiler of oral literature cannot merely collect information and subsequently walk away. He argued that the recorder's role should include action on the part of the oppressed, and he used the story of the Kenyan woman who was raped fourteen times to illustrate this. The recorder's compassion for the woman led him to help her find medical attention, and his story has helped to open the eyes of lawmakers concerning the country's injustices.
The lecture showed me how social justice and nonfiction intertwine, and it has caused me to question the importance of fiction. As writers, shouldn't we work to expose the horrors of the world through our works of nonfiction (or reality-based fiction) instead of writing fairy stories or internal musings about the sublime? How does such an outlook on fiction affect our literal "ethic" of reading? Is it ethical to spend our time reading works that seem to do nothing to improve the plight of the oppressed? Personally, after finishing a poem by Wordsworth or an essay by Barthes, I rarely feel moved to improve the world. I appreciate the world as a result of my reading, but I don't take action. Should I feel guilty?
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