When Words Are the Problem

You’d think that, as a writer, I would say, “Words are the solution!” But no. Sometimes—in fact, most of the time—they are the problem.

We have all of these words—all this language—and yet, how many of us actually manage to say what we mean? History is fraught with misunderstandings, he-said-she-said, bogus interpretations, poor phrasing, and flat-out carelessness. Think Shakespeare, think Jane Austen, think Three’s Company.

How many times has the person you’re speaking with heard things you never said? And how many times has adding more words only made a bigger mess?

We communicate via so many channels all of the time. People read body language, pauses between words, eye flickers. We can move and touch each other in ways that communicate infinitely more than twelve pages of writing ever could. Despite the infinite communicative capacity of our bodies, we find ourselves in a world centered on words.

Phones remove faces from conversation; texting goes even further. We have to convey personality with the words and symbols we choose, which often provides an inaccurate reflection of the true emotions at play. We give up very few secrets; whereas, in person, the truth is often easier to detect.

Thank goodness for video on the internet, or else the Web could completely collapse into a tangled scrapheap of words, where real people no longer exist, only language and our fitful attempts to inject tone or personality into the figures we type. The internet is a dangerous place for personal communication.

Regardless of our culture’s ever-growing reliance on virtual communication, I have a difficult enough time expressing myself in person—at least in a way that comes across as intended. Am I a linguistic lummox? I feel so rarely heard and so often like the inflictor of unintentional pain. If I waited until I could think of a perfect way to say something, I’d never say anything. So, unfortunately, what comes out of my mouth often lacks the tact and kindness I envision.

Fie you, words! You always get in the way of what I’m trying to say.

Since I thus far have proved myself unable to bring my on-the-spot speech to the level I desire, I am choosing to cultivate other methods of communication. Although I have greatly improved my ability to say what I mean, it is nowhere near where I would like it. I’ve concluded that verbal communication is something that will only improve with time, growth, and experience. By studying language for years, I’ve topped out on any kind of unnatural progress that could be made.

So if you see me dancing about, gesticulating wildly, touching more people, painting more pictures, making more collages, or using more grunts and squeals than words, you’ll know why. A picture’s worth a thousand words? Well, I’ve heard sighs that say twice as many.

Confession

Okay, I confess. I have seen every season of America’s Next Top Model. I have also seen several seasons of Top Model shows from other countries. Yes, yes, it’s true. The positive body image princess secretly consumes hours of not-so-trend-bucking beauty stereotypes. I swore I would say no to this season. But boredom intervened.

I have maligned myself for this interest too long. Time to replace shame, fear, and confusion with curiosity. Curiosity always seems like a good way to go. Why am I interested in this show? Why do I watch it? After thinking about this question, I highly encourage all of you to do the same.

What do we think is beautiful, and why do we think it’s beautiful? First, let me describe a little about how I feel about the beauty of people who I meet in person, as opposed to images in the media.

When I meet women who are very thin, thinner than me, I am a little let down and a little repulsed, actually. Women whose veins stick out of their heads, with jaws as sharp as blades, bother me. A woman can be thin and still be soft; a slender softness belongs to people who are naturally slim. However, on other skinny women, I see bones clearly aching for some skin.

Now, I realize that this feeling I have is clearly judging based on appearance alone. How a person looks, whether thin or fat, is no indication of what lies within. But can I just say that SOMETIMES, sometimes a body can indicate something deeper about the owner. Honestly, I meet women who are so frenetic—they can’t sit down, they’re worried about what others think, and they take such meticulous care of their bodies—that I can practically feel their own restriction.

I know that they are holding themselves in. They are tightly controlling and managing their lives, the same way I do. Seeing someone else wearing my tendencies is difficult. I want to tell them to let loose, that the women I most respect move with a deliberation, have a spaciousness to them, and a softness. I respect the beauty of those who fully inhabit their bodies rather than simply ensuring that their bodies are physically acceptable. Women who use their bodies in a holistic way are usually more adept and feeding it properly, giving it adequate rest, while also moving it enough to keep themselves energized. I want to inhabit my body that way.

In person, I expect people to come in all sizes, and beauty truly does flow from within. People who are comfortable in their bodies, no matter how big or small, glow. Their energy isn’t focused primarily on concerns related to physical appearance, so they have more to offer the world. That is the kind of beauty I want.

Then, I turn on Top Model. The joy of judging clicks on even higher, and all my standards of beauty morph into their opposites. I forget that he jaggedness of thin models is smoothed away by airbrushing, and that models who aren’t thin enough get slimmed down. My idea of big and small completely changes, and I wonder why girls who look like me are even in the competition.

My paradoxical approach to beauty in different formats shocks me and guides me toward this investigation of why we think certain things are beautiful and in what context.

Beauty trends started decades ago in person or in media have now continued and evolved, placing us where we are: in a time when media images no longer reflect reality in the least. Even the most perfect among us aren’t perfect enough. What is ugly in person is desirable in a magazine. Women who look like my friends have no place in leading roles on the big or small screen. We will never measure up.

Despite all my feelings about bodies and beauty in person, my standards for a “model” or for what I should see in a fashion editorial are completely non-human. This is the very reason why alien-esque girls rise over and over again to the top model ranks. We have been trained to think that bodies that look completely unlike any person we’ve ever met belong in the pages of Vogue, not people who look like me or my friends.

And as long as we keep looking at those images, a piece of us will think people are supposed to look that way. We are too diverse a species for that. I want people to stop paying attention to media images (fat chance, I know!) and realize that soft can be beautiful. Not every muscle must be toned. Hair can be matted. Teeth can be less than white. Hourglass or twig are not the only shapes.

Back to my obsession with model-making shows. Why do we pick THESE girls as being beautiful? What gets them kicked off the show? What is not good enough? How is each contestant different? Why do we like different things about each? Why is one thing okay for one person and not for another? What is perfect? Why do we have these ideas? And who is feeding us these ideas? Why do we really like or dislike these shows and the characters in them?

I applaud organizations like Dove and all the many, more localized efforts to place people who look a little more human in their ads. I have nothing against models in general. But by the time pictures of them have gone through dozens of rounds of production, the model herself doesn’t even measure up to her own perfect picture. And even though I have no hatred of the actors on television, I do have a problem with the fact that body types that match only a tiny percentage of our world’s population make up the vast majority of what is projected on television. The world the media has constructed only vaguely resembles our own.

My project is to fill my mind with images of real people. This requires getting out and meeting them, of course, but my own sanity is worth the annoyances of human interaction. By noticing natural beauty more often, I can remember what is real and what I truly admire. And those traits have nothing to do with how a person looks. Perhaps by feeding myself with more and more of the real, I could even lessen my in-person skinny prejudice. The world is much less one-sided than our media depicts.

Worth a Look - at the Houston Center for Photography

I visited the Houston Center for Photography today and saw a thought-provoking exhibit that hit home for me. Beauty Knows No Pain features images by O. Rufus Lovett and Leah DeVun that examine the expression and perception of femininity in contemporary American culture. Lovett’s work follows the Kilgore Rangerettes, a well-known drill team that dresses in boots, hats, and cowgirl-style skirt sets typical of Texas cheer or drill teams. DeVun has photographed young girls dressed up in Hannah Montana gear, complete with the blond wigs, flashy jewelry, and black leggings girls beg their parents to buy them at Wal-mart.

I first made my way through the Rangerette photos, a group of images dating from 1989 to today, and the smile would not leave my face. The joy in those girls’ expressions combined with the unbelievable contortions some were performing reminded me of the strength within all of us. Although some might say that the short skirts and even the entire idea behind drill teams in general pigeon-hole women into a negative female stereotype, I found the images satisfyingly wholesome. I could tell these girls worked hard and did their best to put on an amazing show.

I also connected with what I imagined might lie behind those pasted-on smiles. It was obvious that the girls loved what they were doing. Nonetheless, what they do is ultimately a show, and the performers have real lives beyond the kick-up-yer-heels routines. In those photos, I saw real girls demonstrating their strength, teamwork, and beauty in a forum acceptable to our society.

I have little doubt that eventually drill teams like the Rangerettes will be phased out as old-fashioned. But places where women can work together as a team and show their strength while being appreciated for their beauty will always exist. These elements are critical to almost every woman’s maturation. Entities like the Rangerettes provide a place for women to express their femininity, and they serve as one portrayal of femininity in our culture.

Is this portrayal positive or negative? Probably a little of both. The main thing is not to see it as a whole. The Rangerettes and the images of them represent one version of femininity (although that version may be multi-layered and different for every girl depicted in the photos and every person who sees them). Viewing possibilities for women through a narrow scope limits everyone in our culture. There are many more ways to be a woman.

Speaking of those many different ways, I moved on to DeVun’s portion. I expected my smile to continue. I usually adore seeing happy little girls playing dress up. Instead, I walked through with a slightly troubled feeling in my stomach. The girls didn’t seem happy, and they didn’t seem like they had chosen their outfits to dress up in. Society had chosen their outfits. Their very self-expression had arrived pre-packaged in a cardboard box labeled “Hannah Montana.” No doubt these girls are finding their way through girlhood in America, doing the best they can to express themselves with the tools given, but in their wigs and bangles, they seem prematurely adolescent. Seven year olds draped in scarves and already projecting the slightly bored expression worn by too many fashion models makes even a cynic long to gift these girls with a childhood—a childhood not branded with Disney.

Granted, I have a slight resentment against Disney. After I worked for them, the Walt Disney synergy so overwhelmingly diffused throughout American (and global) culture became too downright creepy to enjoy anymore. I still haven’t completely rid myself of that “ick” in my belly.

More than that, though, the juxtaposition of these two ways of expressing femininity (the Rangerettes and Hannah Montana) made me consider all the other ways women are portrayed and how I want to portray myself. What tools are given to me for the purpose of self-expression? Do I use those tools? Do the portrayals society gives me affect or distort how I view myself as a woman? Have these images limited me? Did they at one time? How can I transcend popular representations of women and assert my true self, loving every bit of it? Can I dissect those popular representations and determine the truths they hold from the lies?

In any case, the exhibit is certainly worthwhile. And at the astoundingly reasonable price of FREE, Beauty Knows No Pain serves as yet another example of why the Houston Center for Photography is one of my favorite places to go.

In this same vein, photographer Shelley Calton will be giving an artist talk at the Houston Center for Photography on March 25th at 7pm. She’ll also be signing copies of her new book Hard Knocks: Rolling with the Derby Girls. This collection and her last one, Invisible Thread, offer more images that remind viewers of feminine strength and the things that tie us all together as women. She’s worth checking out.

Best wishes, love, and strength to you all! Men and women alike.