Haters Gonna Hate: Victoria's Secret and Ugly, Jealous Women

Last night was the highly-anticipated annual Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, the runway that in many ways sets the standard for "sexy" in America. As expected, my social media feeds flooded with statuses about the show-- or I should say, about the models. Not a single one of the posts was about the production or the garments; they were all about the women working the catwalk.

Most of the posts fell into two categories: adorers and "haters." Some of these people thought the models were absolutely stunning and some were unhappy with the how thin the models were. However, this one Instagram post really seemed to capture the theme of the conversations:

In case you can't read the text, it says "Hating on her makes you fat, ugly, miserable, and jealous." Indeed, across the board, those who were supporting the models weren't just saying, "they're pretty," but that if you don't like the models, it's because you're insecure. The idea behind this post is that women don't like the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show simply because they are jealous of the models, not because they actually see something wrong (of course, we're women; we're incapable of thinking rationally).

This quote perfectly demonstrates everything wrong with the media's representation of female beauty. I refuse to watch the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. It's not because I'm jealous of these women or hate them. It's because I recognize that there is something fundamentally wrong with the way beauty is portrayed, and it's not that the models are thin.

The problem with Victoria's Secret is that it sells an idea of what's sexy that is extremely limited. Yes, these women are beautiful. There's no doubt about it. But all of them are extremely thin, light-skinned (even the women who are not Caucasian, who are the overwhelming majority), and much taller than most women. The problem is not that they are these things, but that they are ONLY these things. 

There are no dark-skinned women. There are no short women. There are no bottom-heavy women or women with broader shoulders. Essentially, according the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show (and most of the media), the only people who are sexy are tall, thin, fair-skinned women. THAT is a problem.

Let's go deeper: The problem with the tall, thin, fair-skinned model is that it is not attainable for the majority of the female population. As super model Cameron Russell said in her TED Talk, having the features to be a supermodel is basically hitting the "genetic lottery." So, why, then, is that the standard if it is anything but standard?

Because CAPITALISM, duh. 

Consumer culture relies on the purchase of commodities. People only buy commodities when they feel need. People with money typically are able to meet many of their physiological needs without spending much. How, then, do we get them to part with the excess? 

We create social need or fear. The media presents a standard of beauty, which is anything but standard, so that women purposefully feel dissatisfied and imperfect. And we use the words "sexy/beautiful" or "ugly"  and "confident" or "jealous" to foster this feeling. We create a fear of rejection and convince women that they are lacking, so that they will fill the void with things-- cosmetics, clothes, hair dye, skin bleach, laser hair removal, gym memberships.... lingerie. 

This should piss you off.

If doesn't, also think about the fact that with Victoria Secret's PINK line, this dislike of the self is being sold to young girls, not just women. And remember that studies show that girls as young as 9 years old now think that they are fat and need to go on diets.

And because, PATRIARCHY, duh.

And on top of the media broadcasting these images, the messages embedded within are internalized and shared. Men tells us that sexy is tall, thin, and fair-skinned. They circulate images of heavily photoshopped, unrealistically thin women (women who are photoshopped to look thinner when they are already underweight) who somehow magically still have large, symmetrical breasts and butts. Also, they don't have pores, lines, or cellulite. We have people of both sexes telling us that if we don't worship these women as the most beautiful women on earth, we're jealous.

When we don't buy into the standard, we are quite literally stripped of our voices-- called ugly and ignored. Ugly is basically a word for useless women in our patriarchal society. If you aren't aesthetically pleasing, you become ugly. But of course, now that you see how the media markets beautiful, you also understand that most women easily fall into the "ugly" category.

So, these standards of beauty not only make women feel unhappy and drive us to buy products (that are mostly produced and marketed by men), but also create a culture where it easy to suck the power from women by simply insinuating that those unable to meet the unrealistic standards of beauty are not worthy of notice, not capable of saying anything worthwhile. They're just "fat, ugly, miserable, and jealous."

And just saying....

we all know Victoria's multi-billion dollar secret now: Victoria was a man, Mr. Roy Raymond, and the store was created so men didn't feel humiliated when they wanted to buy lingerie for their ladies, not to make women feel sexy.

Are you angry yet?

You should be.

Access, Voice, and Globalization

Today, my Facebook newsfeed was covered with stories about government-mandated oppression and silencing across the world. At least 94 protestors were killed in Egypt by state security forces. A US woman was deported from Bahrain after writing articles and comments on social media that the Bahraini government decided "incited hatred against the government." 

As I read these headlines, I was also moved by an email I received: a student could not participate in my course because the government of the nation where this student resided blocked access to many sites. The student could not perform unbiased research-- or perform research at all, in some cases-- so the student was forced to withdraw, hoping to take the course again when back in the U.S.

This made me think hard about the globalization that many universities aim to promote. In my online summer course, for example, I have several international students, and they are taking the course from their home country. While I took into consideration time frame issues, language barriers, and the ways that cultural notions of identity might affect their writing, I did not consider permission to access information or speak about that information. I did not consider that freedom of speech is not a right in every country.

I come to education with a very Western view. I believe in democracy. I believe in freedom of speech. I use a more hands-off approach to teaching, rather than an authoritative stance, and I don't mind or discourage students when they have different views from my own. But these instances make me realize the challenges to embracing a globalized society and appreciating diverse cultures. How do I even begin to work within the frame of a culture that considers most of what I stand for is a threat to its way of life? Can I educate those students? How do I respect their culture and still teach in a way that I believe is most ethical? What is ethical? 

For all the complaints I make against the United States of America and its government, I feel very lucky to live here, where I'm allowed to make those complaints and where I am allowed to have a voice despite being a woman. This is highlighted for me when I see headlines like the one I mentioned or hear people speak about their own governments that restrict information access. I know that my voice is shaped by cultural forces, and that a truly free voice is an ideal that likely cannot been reached, but I have been able to develop my voice in ways that would not be possible in more restricted areas of the globe. Is my freedom to develop my voice oppressive to others thought? Is it freedom or oppression if I ask students to buy into the view that unbiased research is important and that authority figures are fallible? Am I expanding their worldview, or am I making it impossible for them to complete their American educations? 

Of course, I am also curious about university policy. I have seen almost every university push for globalization by advertising the number of countries that have sent students to the university, by pushing students to study abroad, and by allowing and promoting the existence of cultural organizations on campus. However, at least an adjunct, I have never seen any policy in regards to international students' abilities to complete work from their home countries. Does the university consider that governments may restrict access or limit free speech when they allow students to take courses online internationally? And how do they expect me, as an instructor, to respond when a student says that he or she is unable to fulfill the requirements of a course because of government restrictions in their home nation? 

In this instance, I can only continue to develop more questions. It is too soon in my thinking process to come up with answers. 

Th1rteen R3asons Why

Th1rteen R3asons Why by Jay Asher was recommended to me by a student in the early part of the semester, and I only now got a chance to read it. The story revolves around a high school junior named Clay Jensen, who mysteriously receives voice recordings of Hannah Baker, a classmate who committed suicide. It most likely falls into the YALit category, but I wouldn't let that deter you from reading it. This is a powerful story. It would make a great addition to a high school syllabus, especially in 9th or 10th grade.

I don't want this to be a book review, though. That's not really why comPOSITION exists. Instead, I want to talk about this book's take on education and writing, especially education about writing.

For Hannah, like real life student Phoebe Prince, writing became an outlet to address the confusion she was experiencing in her life. Hannah particularly took to writing poetry. It should also be noted that she made fun of the self-indulgent "miserable poets" in her poetry class. Outside of class, she shared with a classmate what she considers to be her real poetry. At first, she found this experience freeing and thought it might be her ticket to finding comfort, but eventually, writing was not enough. It wasn't enough because her words became twisted by others, just as her reputation does.

This became especially true when classmates tried to interpret a poem they did not know she wrote. The professor refereed to the assignment as akin to interpreting a "dead poet." As the students tried their hand at revealing the hidden meaning of the piece, Hannah became more and more upset with their inability to understand her meaning-- which, underneath it all, was clearly a cry for help. This moment only further severed the ties between her peers and herself.

Eventually, the only way Hannah believed she could express herself was through her 7 tapes. She would be the "dead poet," with the power of her name left behind, but this time, her meaning would not be hidden by imagery and meter.

If one looks back, though, the problem for Hannah was not that she was not allowed to express herself, but that she felt that her voice was never heard or that her messages were contorted. As a writing teacher, this is a major concern of mine, especially when I either congratulate a student for using voice well or tell them that I can't really hear "their voice." Am I hearing them correctly? Am I helping them to express themselves? And even if I am, so what? What do I want those words to do? Do they have an effect if they stop at me? These are questions to which I have no answers.

Speaking more towards education as whole, Hannah also talked about her favorite class, Peer Communications. This is a class that encourages students to talk about the real issues they are facing in their lives, including topics like abortion, drug abuse, and, eventually, suicide. The teacher promotes positive reinforcement between peers, as well, which is something that almost never happens in classes that rely on tests and grades to separate the strong from the weak. Hannah noted that despite her suicide she believes that Peer Communications class should continue. She also talked about how the class must be defended every year against those who believe it is a waste of time because it does not teach the "hard facts." Several of the teachers of those "hard fact" classes, Hannah said, resent the Peer Communications class because it is "fluff" and, more likely, because they are jealous that students are so engaged. Hmm... reflection of real life much?

For me, Hannah's trials speak directly to what is going on today with our youth. So many of them feel unheard, especially at school, the place that is supposed to be preparing them for the real world. School often fails to be a microcosm of the real world, to prepare students to be socially responsible citizens, and to deal with the things that are really happening in the lives of students. I think many times, when in front of a classroom, we forget that we are not supposed to fill empty vessels, but to help our future generation create progress. We worry about "correctness" rather than building imaginations and problem-solving skills. Furthermore, little is done to deal with the subtle ways that students-- and even adults-- tear one another down. The competitive nature of the classroom translates into social lives.

The last note-- and possibly the most important one-- that I want to make is that Hannah doesn't want to "move on" from her experiences, which is the advice she is given. She doesn't want to just get over her traumas, but she does want to own them and live. Yet, no one is able to help her take ownership of the things that have happened in her life because they are all too focused on reputations and expectations. Agency is really the matter at hand here. Like Hannah, many students feel trapped and unable to act. They want agency, but they are confined to a set of rules, social practices, and fears of being outcasts. As a teacher, I'm still wondering-- as I did in my earlier post about the recent teen suicides and writing-- how we can give students this agency, or anyone really.  How can we make sure others do not share their traumas only to have them thrown back in their faces? And what does it take to move a someone to use a trauma rather than to repress it?

The scariest thing for me... Hannah's final tape goes to her English teacher.

Trauma. Writing. Agency. Education. Microcosm. Expectations. Social Responsibility. Those are the key words of this book.



For a sampling of the novel, as well as clips of Hannah's voice recordings, you can visit: http://www.thirteenreasonswhy.com/. Bonus: This book is an easy read. I finished it in a few hours.

Voice and Normativity

Yesterday, in one of my graduate courses (Composition Theory and Teaching Writing), we were talking about the work of Brodkey, Grimm, LeCourt, Port, Denny, and Villanueva. Some really interesting critiques/theories arose. For me, the most compelling idea-- given my interests in voice, authenticity, and grammar-- was the notion that one can only have a (writing) voice if she/he is close to the center/the norm. As a middle-class, well-educated, white woman, I am very close to that norm, which means I have been granted access to my "voice," and I never considered that the language of education might deny others their own.


I have since begun to understand that when students are far from that normative ideal, their voice is denied, labelled incorrect. Instead of embracing these different voices, education seeks to mold it into the language of the white middle class. Furthermore, in order to do this, students are forced to give up their accented language, which is ripe with their ethnic, cultural, and familial ideology and identity.

This idea is frightening. As a composition teacher, I unconsciously enact this middle class ideal all of the time. How many alternative voices am I squashing by saying, "This is a bit too conversational," or "This is a sentence fragment" or the dreaded "This sentence reads awkwardly"? On the other hand, when we have a society which functions primarily on middle class capitalist/consumerist ideals, is it right to dismiss these notions of middle class correctness and accept all voices as correct in my classroom? Should students be forced to make that choice? Is it ethical to teach them code-switching, or is that teaching them to lie about their identity? 

Furthermore, once they have given up those working class ideals, it seems that students (or any one for that matter) can never truly go back. In my own life, my friends would certainly look at me funny and even think that I was pretentious if I began to talk about Foucault's theories of inscribing power in Discipline and Punish and their relationship to democratic education. It is something I simply cannot do if I want to remain an accepted member of our group. I must stifle my educated voice because it is incorect. If I wanted to fully embrace my scholarly identity, I most likely would have to give up my childhood friends. It seems that in order to enact one class role, I must give up the other. For me, these are minor denials of self, but for someone far from the center, they are forced to give up much more. 

Fan Shen's "The Classroom and the Wider Culture" is a perfect example of this. Shen came from China and was taught that the use of "I" was bad. He should never be concerned with the personal, the "I'; he should only be concerned with the collective "we." In American composition and culture, however, we are obsessed with the "I," and so to write well for school, Shen had to embrace the "I" and leave behind the "we." It wasn't just a shift of language, but a shift of ideology. He had to give up his Chineseness to become Americanized.

Truly, there are so many questions I am left with. How can I ethically teach when my views are clouded by classed ideologies? How can I advocate a "good use of voice" when it's clear that by invoking standards of grammar and English, I am pushing a certain voice on my students? After all, grammar is a set of rules for the most unruly thing-- language. While it sounds like a good idea to have a standard middle ground, whose middle ground is it really? Is it fair that some people are coming in closer to that "middle ground" than others and yet all being held to that same standard? And finally, if grammar is all about normativity, is it productive to enforce it, especially in a cultural that proclaims its appreciation for diversity and individuality? 

What constitutes a "real writer"?

On Twitter, I've been following all sorts of writers and teachers, trying to see if these issues (of grammar, voice, authenticity, etc.) are coming up in the real world. Today, I saw a tweet that asked followers to check out a new blog post, "Are you a real writer?" on Corey Mandell: Professional Screenwriting Workshops. 

The blog talks about advice from screenplay writers to novice writers. The big skills are apparently having a unique, original, authentic voice and telling a story no one's told before. 

After reading theorists like Joseph Campbell, however, I'm not sure that such a thing exists. Everyone says, "you need to write original stories," but archetypal theory shows us that there are no original stories. We are simply repeating the same motifs over and over again. Even Harry Potter is essentially a mix of Cinderella and the boarding school novel. So are there any original stories? How can we be original if we're really just pulling from stock characters and stock situations that have been stuck in our collective unconscious since the dawn of humanity?

I think the big point Mandell tries to make is the argument that "bad writers copy." The clear mark of a novice is someone who obviously imitates. Then again, aren't we imitating all the time? I'm sure I didn't come up with my style of prose from sitting in a vacuum. The writing I read influences me, consciously and unconsciously. The other half of the coin is that "good writers steal."

Furthermore, I think Mandell's screenwriting pals also give a nod to this idea of authorship, that writing comes from the person who creates it and nowhere else. There are lots of great movies and television shows that riff off of other's concepts. For instance, Goodfellas, Casino, and Carlito's Way. They all tell a very similar story and were written in a space of only five years from one another. Clearly, they were all also influenced by The Godfather. Yet, they're all classics, despite imitation. Unoriginality didn't hurt them one bit. Can you truly consider yourself the author of something, though, if you're imitating or collaborating? Does it matter?


And in the end, especially in screenplay writing, what the heck does voice mean? Especially an "authentic voice"? If you're trying to give dialogue to characters who clearly couldn't be you and give them their own voice, does your voice even exist?

Voicing Concerns...

As a reader, I often look for work that gives off a unique voice. Good writers, I believe, have a fresh way of saying things, and from their work, you get the feeling that it is genuine and reflects their values.

As a teacher, I find myself commenting on student work, "Great work! I can really hear the real so-and-so coming through." I hate it when students sound like they are writing solely to appease a professor. I like it when I see a spark of their personality come through on the page.

The problem is that in this post-modern world, where we have begun to accept Cultural Relativisism as the basis for truth, is really possible for someone to have an "authentic voice" when it comes to writing? Since the role of the person is always changing in reaction to the forces around her/him (authority positions, venues, curent events, etc.), as are the writing situations (class, work, Facebook, etc.), is there really one unified voice, unified presence, or unified self that can truly come across in writing? If I'm shifting how I write for one audience as opposed to another, does that mean I'm changing my voice, that I have many voices, or that voice does not exist?

Furthermore, if this is what I believe, than how can I ask students to develop a voice as writer? Can I judge their work based on the voice they present? And as a writer, should I be striving to develop my own "voice"?

On the flipside, if I accepted that there was no such thing as authentic voice, would it be ethical for me to teach students that the only thing that really matters is the constructed self/voice? Isn't that giving my students the right to lie or to get to the end, regardless of the means?