By Kristine Maitland
I realize that I’m really hanging out on the limb of that dry rotting tree called feminism here but I’m not afraid to admit it: I watch FT religiously.
Please note that I called it FT and not Fashion Television (Terrorism?” Jeannie “I-look-like-a-mime” Bekker calls it FT, probably because “Find Tits” wouldn’t be appropriate.
Unfortunately, that’s the main problem with FT and the fashion industry anyway. The women on the runways HAVE NO BREASTS. Come on guys, we all known the real reason why we feminists stopped burning our bras. It’s because we got tired of having our nipples hanging down to our knees.
Let’s face it. FT is a salute to fake white women. This is Fantasy Television, where holograms of what the fashion industry considers normal sashay down the endless catwalks. Fashion modles are, in essence, an emulation of the same people who create the clothes and profit from the fashion houses—in short, they are white men with female internal organs. Or perhaps they are emulations of what those fashion gurus wish they were—young teenage boys, hairless with no tits and no hips.
What a role model for us women. Come to think of it, the term “role model” is somewhat ridiculous given the subject matter in question. Is it the models prerogative to play a role that doesn’t exist? And what role are they supposed to be playing anyway? It’s not like they’re sex objects—who wants to have sex with a coat rack?
We are given an ideal that physicalolgically, and psychologically we can’t achieve—at least not with our gene budget. The question is, do we want to emulate a male aesthetic that dates to the 4th century B.C.??? Unfortunately many women do. Look at the seven year old girls running around wanting to look like Kate Moss—complete with the anorexia, nervosa. Look at all those women vomitting at the Y. We must be looking to this, or else Naomi Wolff wouldn’t be belabouring the issue, and making good money at it, might I add.
But what does this have to do with me, a 196 lb black woman with no accent. Everything—and nothing as far as both Naomi and the fashion industry are concerned. As it is, I don’t have anyone to emulate in the world of haute coture…realistically speaking. Black fashion models are so few and far between on the runways; heck I can count all four of them on one hand—five, if you count Ru Paul.
We have Naomi Campbell, a woman who takes the stereotype of black-bitch-from-the-netherworld to new (and glorious?) heights. Then we have Iman, a would-be fashion/famine victim who had to lie about her background so she would appear ethnic enough (African princesses are a dime a dozen these days). And is it surprising that she and the other four (five) black fashion models are constantly decked out in leopard skins. You’d think that we were still in Africa, modelling for cartographers in the 18th century. National Geographic or Vogue, I can’t tell. It’s all black jungle bunnies in the bush to me.
In the mid-seventies, exotic models—that is, anything that wasn’t white—were in. What a Neat-o alternative. You would think that in the nineties we would have gone beyond that—but no. It’s deathly pale women (funny how lack of food can do that to ya), with the occasional black woman tossed in for good measure. Definitely a case “We need an ethnic. Get me a black chick quick!” Of course, you never see oriental models on the runways, just in porno mags. I guess the industry thinks that oriental can’t walk, what with bound feet and all…
But in the end, beyond the race there’s no difference between the black and the white really. Black models can be likened to black barbie dolls: essentially they are white barbie dolls with black (coffee? cafe-o-lait? taupe?) paint on them…different shades but cut from the same mold. Sans eyes, sans teeth—sans hips, sans tits.
So why do I watch FT? Sadomasicistic tendencies perhaps. Or perhaps it’s the comic appeal of the show. As it is, on FT, the joke is on us.
Kristine Maitland, regularly writes opinions for The Varsity and is involved in the U of T Women’s Centre. (She wrote this with input from Moira H. Scott, Ryerson’s Women’s Centre Proramme coordinator)
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