Thus Bakes Zarathustra

Because I move at a glacial pace, I’m responding to Bianca Dye’s accusation that Jennifer Hawkins is, in fact, some kind of not-real replicant. This response is really just a giant RT of Clem’s excellent editorial, but I’m taking this opportunity to articulate some of my concerns about the tactics of body image politics.

I think it’s important to note that the ‘real woman’ tactic of body politics, where sensitive editors note that the snake-hipped professional models usually on their pages aren’t representative of most women, then sprinkle their pages with pictures average broads, frequently naked, frequently grinning maniacally, or strategically dressed to ‘flatter their shape.’  The ‘real woman’ tactic, then, is very much internal to the world of the ladymag, and should be considered in the context of that particular representational economy.  Ladymags trade in two things: aspiration and education.  Truth be told, I love the former. I enjoy wild editorials of irresponsibly extravagant clothes, and I’ll quietly internalise the odd tip on how to apply the perfect smoky eye.  But, increasingly, I’m finding most ladymags impossible to stomach because of their educational content, and my problem with the ‘real woman’ tactic is it’s not about aspiration, it’s about education.

Rather than bring more varied bodies into the aspirational economy, through the ‘real woman’ tactic ladymags assume that the reader must be educated in how to read texts, specifically how to read images of slim women as ‘unreal,’ and that the reader must be taught how to apply good, prophylactic doses of self-acceptance to their own arse and thighs.  ‘Real woman’ is a nasty sort of consolation prize; the ‘real woman’ isn’t fashionable or desirable, she’s just morally upright, emotionally hygienic.

Which is why I rather adore ‘V’s ‘Shape Issue,’ particularly the editorial with the above photo of Crystal Renn. For one thing, the stylist allowed Ms Renn to wear some damned clothes, which is a nice change.  But, more importantly, she looks incredible, impractical, superlative. This is the kind of representational tactic I can get behind.  I want to see Beth Ditto in a pair of Alexander McQueen alien shoes, I want to see Amber Riley with Marie Antoinette hair posed with a leopard, Crystal Renn looking Helmut Lang mean and unapproachable, possibly with Lara Stone. I want to see unreal women, of many sizes.

But that’s just one tactic. Most of all, I would like to see the ladymags I, against my better judgement, still read, have some faith in their readers. One would assume that ‘Marie Claire’ is aimed at a grown-ass adult readership who perhaps don’t need all the ‘ZOMG body luv!1!!’  I’d also appreciate an acknowledgement that an obsessive concern with bodily appearance, loving or not, is unhelpful. The most important bodily experiences we have, the ones that make you respect, appreciate, even admire your body, rarely have anything to do with appearance. How refreshing would it be for ‘Madison’ to release body achievement special issue, rather than body image?