When the aliens come, they’ll eat the skinny blonds first

Thank you, obese white women of the greater Thurston County. When the sun comes out to play, the worst dressed in the city find license to expose themselves in bedroom appropriate attire. If booty shorts and halter camisoles are the “uniforms of hookers and ladies of ill repute the world over,” why is Susie Plumpinstein wearing them to Lakefair?

Does Susie “desire the attention that [she thinks] hookers find comfort in”? Perhaps.
*Interjected aside: we shall currently disregard the discussion of women dressing in competition with other women, and women as horrendous critics of each other*

It is the dilemma of attention seeking. Attention is nice, from almost any one. Differentiating between positive and negative attention is often impossible and perhaps undesirable. It’s easier to live with a false sense of security. Now, either this girl doesn’t know she’s big and therefore can wear a size 8 instead of an 18, or she knows she’s big, but thinks she looks darn sexy in that floral two-piece Paris Hilton was wearing in Hawaii.

In a way, I’m tempted to give props to the boldness of a self-confident woman. At the same time, I’m concerned by the misappropriated pursuit of recognition. Maybe the scantily clad, plus-sized woman is a product of socialization. The first problem is that women have been conditioned to seek attention and validation from men. The second problem is that one stroll down Main St. supports the belief that little is more. The 5’8”, 36-26-36, bleached-blond turns quite a few heads. So if I want a similar response from a thoroughly captivated audience, then I will follow her example in mannerisms and apparel. My result: masculine attention.

What’s the solution? We ought to give attention to, recognize, and audibly appreciate women for substantial manifestations of beauty—inner beauty demonstrated in attitude, demeanor, and character. Men need to step up and recognize their role in the perpetuation of the Plumpinstein phenomenon. Men can be powerful advocates for the transformation of this culture.

In the meantime, we continue to battle societal notions of beauty that are dictated by culturally encapsulated individuals. I recently witnessed an attack upon the notion of thin=beautiful with the new reality show Fabulous and Thick hosted by Comedian Mo'Nique. Granted, I couldn’t help laughing as I stuffed my face with ice cream, critiqued the contestants, and passed handfuls of peanut M & Ms to my sister and friend but the show had a point—the misconception of beauty as transcendent of culture. Hardly. Physical beauty is a social construct. I also want to add that while my previous paragraph listed elements of “inner beauty,” I’ll admit to the influence of my cultural values on what I consider important elements of beauty. Thus I continue to wrestle with myself, surrounding culture, and the shapely, buxom girls who float by on the Green River.

Hope in the Dark

O the beauty of an Evergreen summer contract!! How I love to construct my own knowledge and pursue academics my way. Stifle the laughter on your lips. Yes, I’m reading a book called Hope in the Dark. This is my first exposure to the writings of Rebecca Solnit and I am quite pleased. The official and notorious “Hope Teague book review” shall be posted “after a while” (as they say in the Philippines—which usually means an indefinite period of time).

So, what is hope? It is more than wishful thinking. It’s more than a passing comment of cheerful intent to lift one’s spirits. “To hope is to gamble. It’s to be on the future, on your desires, on the possibility that an open heart and uncertainty is better than gloom and safety. To hope is dangerous…to live is to risk” (p. 4). Borderline trite, but perfect for my current state of mind.

Thumbing through my Word files, I found a reflection that I failed to post. Hindsight is a powerful thing. So I think I’m going to offer it as an appropriate prologue to my current tangent. I wrote it in March, so it's in my archives. Enjoy.

A weak synopsis

I have been inexcusably silenced for nearly three months, due primarily to the conclusion of my first year at graduate school, an adjustments in priorities, and the surge of personal greed. Overtime dangled provocatively, a temptress that knew my weakness. Alas, mandatory twelves and volunteerary fifeteens take a toll on the emotional, physical, and spiritual sanity of even the strongest.

While I experienced American life on the corporate level, I was introduced to high school cliques on an adult level. I discovered my annoyance with office culture and the invisible walls that divide blue and white collar. Ugh.

A few weeks ago my pastor spoke about walls—sometimes they are a figment of imagination. Other times a reality that must be broken through or climbed over. As I reflect over the last few months, I don’t know if the walls in my life are self-constructed, mental or legitimate hurdles. Terrible at pull-ups and a scaling amateur at best, I awkwardly maneuver my way through the unknown towards goals that remain beyond my reach.

Nearly swallowed by exploitation (willingly I might add), I am recovering from a truly educational experience in the world of business. I’m washing out the bad taste in my mouth, praying that my month and a half as an office girl had value other than monetary. I did learn a lot about myself and the way I relate to others. I am thankful for new friendships and the strengthening of old.

And now I anxiously stumble into the summer, anticipating challenges and hoping for the best.