Fairy Tale Reflection: John, Whose Disappearance Was Too Bad
I finally finished (at least near enough to my satisfaction) a collection of essays about fairy tales. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall contains twenty-eight essays all written by female authors. The collection is, needless to say, delightful, and the essays raise many questions regarding feminity, indoctrination, and the cultural integration of fairy tales. I have been forced to consider how Western culture potentially manipulates women into believing in a happily ever after. Some interesting thoughts:
"My feeling--probably much influenced by reading Gatsby at an early age, and no doubt reinforced by the trial of O. J. Simpson--is that men are tenacious about getting back what they think they shouldn't have lost. Because to have lost it reflects badly on them , whereas women assume they will lose things. (In our lifetime, it was once an unspoken assumption that a big part of women's so-called maturation was to lose their last names)" (from John, Whose Disappearance Was Too Bad by Ann Beattie, pg. 45).
Interesting point Ms. Beattie. I'm not entirely true I agree with the sentiment fully but the last name example really does strike a chord. Of course, if one does decide to take the name of one's husband there is the inevitable legal hassle, the many documents and credit cards that need to be changed and updated. I know a woman who is uncomfortable taking on the name of her boyfriend if they should ever wed and so, they have talked about combining their last names to make a new one. I too, have asked myself what I would do if I were to be married. Of course, this possibility is far from coming true for me, but what if? I must admit that I would be hesitant in changing my last name. I like my last name, it is part of my identity. I find something very creepy about taking on your husband's last name. It feels like a marking of territory--"This is MY woman". I've always imagined marriage to be an equal union, afterall, it is not possible to know a person fully no matter how much time you spend with them. I think it is therefore presumptious to label them as yours. I heard somewhere that once you married you ceased to be solely identified as yourself. You should expect to be "Sally's husband" or "Bob's wife". This only becomes worse once you have children. Now you are "Jimmy's Mom" or "Lucinda's Dad". Your primary identity is now defined by your relationship to someone else. Thoughts on this?
" Small moments define us, dig deep into our psyches to lay their spotty eggs. When Billy Simms showed me the mirror and suggested I looked like a monkey, I believed him though I can't say why that particular moment remains in my memory...Like the easily deceived Little Red Cap, I too fell into the seducer's trap. But craftily, I internalized the model, carrying that mirror like a flash card inside my head. No longer would I need Billy's critique; from now on, I would monitor myself" (from Little Red Cap by Patricia Foster, pg. 139).
I am fully ready to admit that this isn't a solely feminine problem. All people are inundated with images that demand we look a certain way, act a certain way, and own certain things. If we do not act on these cultural admonitions we can expect censure and derision from our peers. Perhaps the saddest and most ironic of things is that despite all of us telling ourselves that these cultural standards are incorrect and harmful, we abide and judge others by them. It is all well and good to say that everyone is beautiful, and maybe we even believe this at times. But you rarely see someone admiring someone else that doesn't in some way conform to societal norms. Those who are overweight, speak with a lisp, have trouble walking, etc. all get pushed to the side along with countless others. There are millions (if not billions) of dollars to be made in weight loss plans, cosmetic surgery, make-up, etc., all in the name of bringing out everyone's inner beauty. We say that we would rather not be in a relationship with someone if they cannot appreciate "the real us" but rarely does this sentiment crossover into the actions of our daily lives. Eating disorders seem to be on the rise and magazine models seem to grow skinnier (if women) and buffer (if males). Movies insist that we must be glamorous in order to find "that special someone". How tragic that we self monitor ourselves, repeating the mantras of society over and over again in our heads. Patricia Foster continues:
"But deep inside me, I have learned a difficult lesson: I cannot will my body into acceptance. The body, like the mind, is too messy, too curious to bend itself to such intimidation. It will be years before I understand that my hair fell out and my face broke out as a result of starvation and stress. What fairy tale creature had I trained myself to become?" ( Litte Red Cap , pg. 146)
What indeed? What sort of person do we become when we listen to those endless tapes full of pop culture advice? Let us suppose we did acheive societal perfection--the perfect body who drove the perfect car who parked it at their perfect house where they were greeted by their perfect girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife. Would we then be happy? I think we all know the answer to this and yet, for whatever reason, refuse to let that knowledge enter our hearts. I do not know why this is. Perhaps it is because so many of us are desperately lonely and we long for an attainable panacea. In fact, I'm going to go out of a limb and say that I believe many of our insecurities, our lashing out at others, our avarice and power plays stem from loneliness. I feel this is confirmed by the host of Internet dating sites out there, the singles bars, and Post Secret. If you are not familiar with Post Secret (postsecret.blogspot.com) it is a website that displays people's secrets written on postcards. Thousands upon thousands of secrets are sent to the founder Frank Warren who chooses which ones to display on the website and include in the books that are published periodically. The secrets are sometimes funny, sometimes scary, and, most often, heart breaking. For example,
"I told my ex my tattoo means "Spirit" in Chinese...but really it's his name" or "Sometimes I think the only reason I like Kate Winslet is because her naked body reminds me of my ex-girlfriends'". If these secrets, and countless others exhibited on the site, don't cry loneliness I don't know what does.
"My feeling--probably much influenced by reading Gatsby at an early age, and no doubt reinforced by the trial of O. J. Simpson--is that men are tenacious about getting back what they think they shouldn't have lost. Because to have lost it reflects badly on them , whereas women assume they will lose things. (In our lifetime, it was once an unspoken assumption that a big part of women's so-called maturation was to lose their last names)" (from John, Whose Disappearance Was Too Bad by Ann Beattie, pg. 45).
Interesting point Ms. Beattie. I'm not entirely true I agree with the sentiment fully but the last name example really does strike a chord. Of course, if one does decide to take the name of one's husband there is the inevitable legal hassle, the many documents and credit cards that need to be changed and updated. I know a woman who is uncomfortable taking on the name of her boyfriend if they should ever wed and so, they have talked about combining their last names to make a new one. I too, have asked myself what I would do if I were to be married. Of course, this possibility is far from coming true for me, but what if? I must admit that I would be hesitant in changing my last name. I like my last name, it is part of my identity. I find something very creepy about taking on your husband's last name. It feels like a marking of territory--"This is MY woman". I've always imagined marriage to be an equal union, afterall, it is not possible to know a person fully no matter how much time you spend with them. I think it is therefore presumptious to label them as yours. I heard somewhere that once you married you ceased to be solely identified as yourself. You should expect to be "Sally's husband" or "Bob's wife". This only becomes worse once you have children. Now you are "Jimmy's Mom" or "Lucinda's Dad". Your primary identity is now defined by your relationship to someone else. Thoughts on this?
" Small moments define us, dig deep into our psyches to lay their spotty eggs. When Billy Simms showed me the mirror and suggested I looked like a monkey, I believed him though I can't say why that particular moment remains in my memory...Like the easily deceived Little Red Cap, I too fell into the seducer's trap. But craftily, I internalized the model, carrying that mirror like a flash card inside my head. No longer would I need Billy's critique; from now on, I would monitor myself" (from Little Red Cap by Patricia Foster, pg. 139).
I am fully ready to admit that this isn't a solely feminine problem. All people are inundated with images that demand we look a certain way, act a certain way, and own certain things. If we do not act on these cultural admonitions we can expect censure and derision from our peers. Perhaps the saddest and most ironic of things is that despite all of us telling ourselves that these cultural standards are incorrect and harmful, we abide and judge others by them. It is all well and good to say that everyone is beautiful, and maybe we even believe this at times. But you rarely see someone admiring someone else that doesn't in some way conform to societal norms. Those who are overweight, speak with a lisp, have trouble walking, etc. all get pushed to the side along with countless others. There are millions (if not billions) of dollars to be made in weight loss plans, cosmetic surgery, make-up, etc., all in the name of bringing out everyone's inner beauty. We say that we would rather not be in a relationship with someone if they cannot appreciate "the real us" but rarely does this sentiment crossover into the actions of our daily lives. Eating disorders seem to be on the rise and magazine models seem to grow skinnier (if women) and buffer (if males). Movies insist that we must be glamorous in order to find "that special someone". How tragic that we self monitor ourselves, repeating the mantras of society over and over again in our heads. Patricia Foster continues:
"But deep inside me, I have learned a difficult lesson: I cannot will my body into acceptance. The body, like the mind, is too messy, too curious to bend itself to such intimidation. It will be years before I understand that my hair fell out and my face broke out as a result of starvation and stress. What fairy tale creature had I trained myself to become?" ( Litte Red Cap , pg. 146)
What indeed? What sort of person do we become when we listen to those endless tapes full of pop culture advice? Let us suppose we did acheive societal perfection--the perfect body who drove the perfect car who parked it at their perfect house where they were greeted by their perfect girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife. Would we then be happy? I think we all know the answer to this and yet, for whatever reason, refuse to let that knowledge enter our hearts. I do not know why this is. Perhaps it is because so many of us are desperately lonely and we long for an attainable panacea. In fact, I'm going to go out of a limb and say that I believe many of our insecurities, our lashing out at others, our avarice and power plays stem from loneliness. I feel this is confirmed by the host of Internet dating sites out there, the singles bars, and Post Secret. If you are not familiar with Post Secret (postsecret.blogspot.com) it is a website that displays people's secrets written on postcards. Thousands upon thousands of secrets are sent to the founder Frank Warren who chooses which ones to display on the website and include in the books that are published periodically. The secrets are sometimes funny, sometimes scary, and, most often, heart breaking. For example,
"I told my ex my tattoo means "Spirit" in Chinese...but really it's his name" or "Sometimes I think the only reason I like Kate Winslet is because her naked body reminds me of my ex-girlfriends'". If these secrets, and countless others exhibited on the site, don't cry loneliness I don't know what does.
