Size, the final frontier
Yes, my friends, I'm referring to Star Trek , the network TV phenomenom that legitimitazed man-scaping (was or was not Capt. Kirk one of the first metrosexuals around), promoted multi-species oogling and coopted a sacred Rabbinical hand gesture to create the oh so pervasive Vulcan Salute.
Back in the Star Trek days, Capt. Kirk was the empathetic Don Juan who was always getting the chicks while Spock was the John to his Ponch, someone struggling to understand the complexities of humans and khans, alike. A gentle yet asexual Vulcan wracked with angst, seemingly oblivious to the world of sexuality and sensuality.
Which is why it's kind of ironic that the cover of the Sunday New York Times fashion section (sadly not available in Vulcan) features Spock himself, Leonard Nimoy, in an unlikely new role; ambassador for positive body image. Nimoy, an accomplished photographer, is making headlines, or at least one "Girth and Nudity, a Pictorial Mission" with a new exhibit featuring nude plus-sized women. To loyal Trekkies this mission may not seem as grandiose as a trip to planet Ardana but for many US women, it may prove just as impossible to reach.
In a country whose GDP in part depends on guilting women into thinking that there's something wrong with them, the size/fat acceptance movement is subversive but it's not new. There's fat acceptance organizations, plus size burlesque, online communities such as Dimensions Magazine revolutionary fat zines (the late 'I'm So Fucking Beautiful' by Nomy Lamm comes to mind) and more, all attempting to undo the misconception that being skinny is the bees knees. I'm personally psyched that Leonard Nimoy's joined the fold and brought this message to the front of the NYT.
So, Leonard, let me be the first to Vulcan salute you.
And to everyone one else, please rock out with your Spock out.
Back in the Star Trek days, Capt. Kirk was the empathetic Don Juan who was always getting the chicks while Spock was the John to his Ponch, someone struggling to understand the complexities of humans and khans, alike. A gentle yet asexual Vulcan wracked with angst, seemingly oblivious to the world of sexuality and sensuality.
Which is why it's kind of ironic that the cover of the Sunday New York Times fashion section (sadly not available in Vulcan) features Spock himself, Leonard Nimoy, in an unlikely new role; ambassador for positive body image. Nimoy, an accomplished photographer, is making headlines, or at least one "Girth and Nudity, a Pictorial Mission" with a new exhibit featuring nude plus-sized women. To loyal Trekkies this mission may not seem as grandiose as a trip to planet Ardana but for many US women, it may prove just as impossible to reach.
In a country whose GDP in part depends on guilting women into thinking that there's something wrong with them, the size/fat acceptance movement is subversive but it's not new. There's fat acceptance organizations, plus size burlesque, online communities such as Dimensions Magazine revolutionary fat zines (the late 'I'm So Fucking Beautiful' by Nomy Lamm comes to mind) and more, all attempting to undo the misconception that being skinny is the bees knees. I'm personally psyched that Leonard Nimoy's joined the fold and brought this message to the front of the NYT.
So, Leonard, let me be the first to Vulcan salute you.
And to everyone one else, please rock out with your Spock out.
posted by Anna Rose at
1:12 PM
1 Comments:
As through as I am with the "thin is in" movement, I can't really get down with thick being the fashionable new black. The fact is that this tabu secret of sexual attraction is part healthiness, part confidence, and part good sense of humor. The remaining 95% is humanity.
We need to check ourselves. We have already wrecked ourselves. We need to step off from this creepy shallow preconception of who we are. It's a wicked scheme inflicted through manilpulative social engineering resultant of the intrusive overbearing impulses predicated on the dementia experienced by the undernourished, chemically dependent, bipolar fashion editor in Prada shoes and a retro Thierry Mugler dress. It should have been obvious that this poor man had some issues. Instead, since the Ike Administration in the 1950's, America has allowed this same idiot, who places these absurd social mines in the already outrageous cultural minefields of mass acceptance, to also initiate tearse healing and fraudulent restoration at the close of every fashion fad's season. And, that's just stupid on a level I don't have enough space here to go off on.
We are most attractive to others when they see that we are the best at being ourselves. So , why have we just let go of all the most necessary attributes of character, personality, and wit that are far more important than our physical appearance? Tall, hungry, bottle blonde, and nakedly clad means nothing when it lacks the enticing ability to carry on a coherent conversation about the focuses of the day beyond Dancing with the Stars or American Idolatry. Fat ain't where it's at when all it knows is the direction to every restaurant in town. The day we come into the light of the truth that we are not our looks, the deisgner advertisements we wear so proudly, or any other ignorance we are told about ourselves in Cosmo, People, and O, the Nation will be SAVED!
What about being interesting, intelligent, funny, hell, even a damn smart-ass as a defense mechinism to covertly mask your otherwise coy shyness? Can we cook, work the grill at a picnic, tat a quit, give a great back massage, or whip a piano in a way that shames Jerry Lee Lewis? Are we into Tai Chi or damn good at the Electric Slide, especially when Frankie Bevery is being spun? What about being able to defend your love for your political party, Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Monkey, your favorite food court sushi bar, that downright nasty cherry licorice thong collection hidden under your family Bible in your sweater drawer, and the crush you had on your 4th grade music teacher? Can we please be more than cookie-cutter pretty?
As you've probably noticed, I am freaking sick and tired of living in an America obsessed with that deviantly illusive and irrationally impossible desire to remake the whole of humanity into a derranged definition of beauty poorly paraphrased by the likes of Paris Hilton on her grainy sex tape. What is more irritating is that, when we can't be Paris, we become so Baptist, repressive, and insanely critical of the part of us that makes us attractive one to another. We take it another step further by setting goals that no human being in the history of man was ever capable of achieving, a hell beset with standards no mortal can ever meet. We call this idiotic fantasy our perfect sexual encounter, because we are crazy. Okay? Straightjacket CRAZY!
Now, I am not into narcissism. That notwithstanding, a little compassionate humanity in the form of self love is in order here. There is nothing wrong with appreciating the person you are. When we can do this, we just might come to know, appreciate, and love someone else just as much, no matter what we all look like.
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rage, at Wed May 23, 04:54:00 PM PDT
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