Lowbrow
 


Published: The Vancouver Sun, January 20, 2001, Op-ed column
By Deborah Jones

    I wasn't going to say anything, about the boobs, the sleazy clothes, the "girls," even the scalpels. Life is short, there's important stuff to write about. But the eyebrows got to me.

    "If your eyebrows aren't happening, you aren't happening," pronounced the cover of a women's magazine. I carried it to a mirror and peered at my brows. "Are they happening?" I fretted, until a phone call brought me to earth. The next day a good friend called to tell me about eyebrow stencils that could make me look like a famous actress. "I'll bring them over and we'll do our brows!" suggested my friend. Then an ad for eyebrow gel arrived in my mail, suggesting I carry the stuff with me always, lest an errant brow need a touch-up.

    Gee. I've never thought much about eyebrows, noticing them on others only when they're raised to convey doubt or surprise. Useful gizmos but really, well, boring. Maybe that's my problem: I would be less boring if I just fixed my brows. I'd be on my way to being the very best I could be . . .

    Of course, I'd need a wardrobe makeover, nascent crows-feet acupunctured, lips injected to make them just swell, breasts pumped with silicon, bulges liposuctioned, eye crease sculpted with a scalpel. Then, golly gee, I'd look so glamorous I could have a night out with the girls!

    In my salad days, I read a nasty little book called The Women's Room by Marilyn French, who waxed vituperative about society's tendency to call adult females "girls," and railed against males for gender inequities. Having the fortune to mature in the gentler wake of strident feminism, I was taken aback by the incendiary hatred French -- and other feminist writers -- flung at males. I've never been comfortable calling myself a "feminist," much as I buy its equality arguments. But the "girls" thing stuck, and not just to me. In my late-boomer/early Gen-X generation, calling a mature female a "girl" was an insult. Until now.

    Now, it seems, grown-up females regularly call one another "girls." Now, we're also preoccupied -- no, obsessed -- with appearance.

    Have we lost our marbles? Whatever came of all that consciousness-raising by earlier generations about inner beauty, self-worth, beauty being in the eye of the beholder, don't judge a book by its cover, maturity is a good thing?

    I dropped in at a Vancouver dance for Grades 5, 6 and 7 kids a while back. The boys were relatively innocuous. But the girls! Slinky short dresses held up by the slimmest of straps, high heels, red lips, raccoon eyes. They looked like hookers.

    I'm not alone in being appalled by this trend. "Parents are increasingly alarmed by some of the changes in dress, especially with very young girls looking more and more provocative all the time," says sex educator Meg Hickling. "I think this is a much bigger question than the girls realize. I'm also quite concerned that parents would allow their daughters to dress this way. Somebody buys the clothing and somebody allows them to go out of the house that way."

    Who? Why, their moms, some of whom are bigger girls in similar dress. For example, one fashion trend is for women to wear a bikini bra instead of a blouse with a business suit. Take a walk where fashion-conscious women congregate -- a campus, some workplaces, Robson Street -- and gape at the revealing dress.

    English professor Katherine Sirluck of the University of B.C., who takes a special interest in women's issues, first noticed students dressing this way 12 years ago, when Madonna burst into popular culture. "They said in Madonna's view it was okay to be overtly sexual, no one had to hide behind an asexual image to court the male gaze. One could court the male gaze almost as a dominatrix. It was empowering to dress up as a slut," says Sirluck.

    And now obsession with appearance has swept up all generations and both genders.Glossy men's magazines suggest males are also increasingly conscious of appearance. Today's self-respecting male works out and boasts a six-pack, visible biceps and a sculpted torso. Men's products are getting increasing shelf space in cosmetics boutiques. The boys I know are highly aware of fashion, a sea change from the scruffy guys I grew up with.

    And we're going to grotesque lengths to be fashionable. Recent news reports inform that more than 1,800 American boys had cosmetic breast-reduction surgery in one year; 423,719 Asian-Americans had plastic surgery to make almond-shaped eyes look "Western," and that all such trends are mirrored in Canada. Quebec medicare just paid for a $5,000 breast augmentation on a 15-year-old girl because a psychiatrist said it was necessary for her mental health. There are sporadic reports that some parents of teenage girls are paying for breast surgery for 16th birthdays, to enhance their daughters' self- esteem.

    This week Canadians have been treated to a serial expose by National Post columnist Sondra Gotlieb exploring the pros and cons of a face lift. I've long admired Gotlieb, an intelligent writer whom I first noticed as a correspondent from Washington, where her husband was once Canada's ambassador. But, sorry Sondra, all this stuff about your face lift is way too much information, besides which, you're a mature woman and ought to show some leadership.

    People are going to amazing lengths to keep up appearances. Are we substituting rules of appearance for lapsed rules of conduct in a secular society? Are we striving for physical perfection as a shield against a complex world that's often unnerving?

    Don't get me wrong -- I like fashion, sometimes. Clothes and makeup and accessories can be fun, make us feel good, make a statement, sometimes transcend banality to become art. But when looks become the be-all and end-all, when girls and boys, women and men are material to be dressed, painted on and surgically sculpted, it's apparent we've forgotten that self-worth is not skin-deep.

    Life is short. There's important stuff to deal with. Let's get real.

Copyright Deborah Jones 2001
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