I have recently found myself lazily perusing the reality shows and easy-to-digest gossip news channels, as I have been trying to limit my intake of negative programming. This has been an attempt on my part to exist more peacefully in a world filled with conflict and chaos. I do realize that, though enjoyable, the fashion and makeover shows promote self-hatred and are innately offensive to any self-respecting feminist and/or non-conformist, but I attempt to ignore the blatant oppression of individualism and check out the snazzy outfits. Unfortunately, the harassment of independent women is not always limited to hair and makeup on these shows… even more unfortunate is the fact that real people endure severe humiliation and degradation for the sake of these little-to-no-ratings 30-minute vomit stains. Take Carrie Dockendorff for example. She was unwillingly drafted for a second appearance on the Style Network as a followup “fashion victim”. She originally debuted on “How Do I Look?”, during which they tore her wardrobe and her feelings apart in their noble quest to knock some fashion sense into her. She wound up with a new look and a smile, but, undoubtedly, some internal bruising. Style’s latest violation of her soul was on the follow-up show called “How Do I Look Now?”. They didn’t just examine her wardrobe; they shoved a speculum inside of her “personality flaws” which they claimed to want to help her with. Carrie is an assertive woman who likes to lead while dancing, and tends to be fairly dominant and straightforward. This, the show tsk-tsked, was the reason she didn’t have “a family, like she’s always dreamed of,” meaning of course, a boyfriend. From the start, she seemed reluctant to participate, but I watched as she gritted her teeth and marched bravely toward the self-esteem mulch machine. She sat down with a self-righteous, style-conscious metrosexual and listened to the despair that the show was feeling on her behalf, due to her status as a single woman. She smiled, watching the painful picture being painted about her supposed loneliness and desperation. They were here to help, they claimed, and forced six suitors onto her. Each guy danced with her, and all but one came away claiming that she “had control issues”. This was mostly due to her tendency to lead during the musical numbers, though she demurely threw compliments out to stroke their studly egos and attempted to impress them. However, at the end of the dates, she was asked if she wanted to know what the men thought of her. She said, “Not really,” and commented that she was more concerned about being happy with herself than the level of satisfaction that others had with her. I LOVED the answer, but they pressed her into watching their reactions. A single secure man out of the entire bunch, Keith, said that he thought she seemed confident. The rest of the impotent pussy willows made their accusations about her “control issues”. She looked hurt. She forced herself to state that she had control issues, since it seemed to be unanimous, and, attempting to avoid a breakdown, she asked that the cameras be shut off (which they never do). When that metrosexual prick did nothing but smile and stare at her with his sweeping highlighted mohawk frozen in place, she walked away. She was then drafted into yet another date the next day, during which she was to choreograph a dance with her partner (one of the charming men who had accused her of being too controlling the previous evening). She tried her heart out and shut her mouth. She was cooperative and soft-spoken. She attempted to prove her pliability and submission amidst disrespectful comments from her date, such as “Are you processing this?” and “Are you paying attention? Because you really have to pay attention so that we can get this.” It was barely palatable. I was so angry, I could have worn pantyhose with sequins in protest of the entire channel. (Not really… ewww…) The worst part of all of this was that they seriously got her to “admit” that she “felt better” when she had given control of the situation over to Michael. They concluded with some kind of pathetic consolation prize of a trip to a hotel, or something or other… who knows, I was positively fuming by then. My ears still smell a bit like smoke, as I write this.
Are we still in the twenty-first century? Is this still America? Are they fucking serious?? If you’re not Marsha fucking Brady you will never land a man? If you talk back too much or if you wear the wrong outfit you will never find Mr. Right? Are these lessons seriously coming out of the mouths of the supposed preachers of self-worth and high self-esteem? Are these thoughts the brain-children of top designers, successful women and strong female forces within the industry? Or from Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver? I felt like I was watching Mammy from “Gone With The Wind” trying to give Scarlett advice on how to land a husband. “It ain’t fittin’, it just ain’t fittin’!” Mammy cries in protest to Scarlett’s headstrong ideas. Naughty Scarlett wants to show off some shoulder. The rude little tart wants to eat food at the picnic until she’s satisfied, instead of eating at home first. And so the radical feminist was born.
Listen, Style, I love your “Do’s and Don’ts” and your runway segments, but lay off the booze and the valium. The Style channel is supposed to come up with ways for women to show off, be independent, and take pride in themselves. It’s not supposed to be All Massogynist, All The Time. So, seriously, get your highlights out of your assholes. Sooner or later, you’re going to run out of fashion victims.