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Real Women Have Curves. What Do Skinny Bitches Have?

(this article originally appeared on City of Tenants, a site which unfortunately is now defunct).

 

Remember when Lauren Conrad was all the rage? Me neither, but she’s come into the spotlight recently for some changes she’s made to her lifestyle site. Ms. Conrad has decided to take on the murky world of body shaming by banning certain words from her website. The twist? The words she’s banning are not what you may have assumed. In a culture where the words “fat” and “cow” are flung around between women on a daily basis (hello, internal sexism), Conrad’s website is now banning the words “skinny” and “thin”.

 

Wait. How can being skinny be a bad thing? When the news bombards us with facts such as the startling revelation that nearly two thirds of all American adults are overweight or obese, skinniness should be desirable, right? How can someone be shamed for being skinny?

 

Yet, it can and often does happen.

 

I know the majority of this country is genuinely unaware of the body shaming skinny people face. However, since most of us are understanding of the struggles heavier women face when it comes to depictions in the media, it should be somewhat easy to understand that body shaming does in fact go both ways. It is very real, and very upsetting. As a very skinny person myself, I am one who would know firsthand.

 

Please take a breath before rolling your eyes and scrolling down to write an angry comment about the way overweight people are treated. I am not for one second attempting to distract from the cruelty that some overweight people face. I am offering another side to the story. I’ve noticed that there seems to be a stereotype that skinny women spend their time huddling in gossip circles and laughing at the ugly fat chick on the other side of the room. Just to be clear, we skinny women don’t do this. Sure, there are always jerks, but as a whole, skinniness does not automatically equal bitchiness. I’m sure I speak for most skinny people when I say I am truly sorry if anyone reading this has ever experienced discrimination or hurtful comments over their weight. I can offer a true apology because I have experienced it as well.

 

Being skinny receives its fair share of criticisms from everyone. We are berated by men for not having curves, and we are sneered at by women for being “anorexic” or “unnatural”. The term “real women have curves” is a big slap in the face to all of us who simply were born without them, and have just as much trouble trying to put on weight as others do trying to lose weight.

 

When an overweight person goes to the doctor, they are given advice on how to exercise and eat better for a greater chance at weight loss. As for me asking a doctor how I can gain weight? After a condescending laugh, medical professionals tell me that all I need to do is either get pregnant or pig out on fast food if I really want to gain weight so bad. Can you imagine if a doctor told an overweight woman that all she needed to do was stop eating in order to lose weight? It is the equivalent to that.

 

Still, some of you may not understand how being underweight can impact a person’s physical health. I get dehydrated faster, my blood sugar levels aren't always stable, I get dizzy and lightheaded because my body can't always get the energy it needs to sustain itself. This is why I need to gain weight. Not for aesthetic reasons, but for my health.

 

Once again, I'm not trying to distract from the fact that many people have trouble losing weight, but if I hear one more person say "I wish I had your problem!" I will probably scream. It invalidates my very real struggle. Gaining weight is hard, and losing weight is hard. Body shaming sucks, and it affects everyone. Rather than attacking each other, let’s attack the components of our society that shame us for being born into the bodies we had no control over.

 

This is why I’m so glad that Lauren Conrad is taking steps to make people with all body types feel better. Considering she is the same woman who totally shut down a sexist creep with what is possibly the best response to a disgusting come-on in recent history, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that she is so wonderfully progressive.

 

The next time you want to say something like, “Real women have curves!” take a moment to think about what you’re actually saying. Think about how that makes us women without curves feel – fake, unnatural, and wrong. In fact, the next time the urge to body shame anyone arises, remember that you are no doubt just as insecure about your body as anyone else is. It’s just not necessary to spend your time worrying about another person’s appearance. Life is full of opportunities, and there are a hell of a lot more effective ways to spend your time than picking apart someone for something they can’t control.

 

Women, we’re in this together. Let’s treat our femininity like the sisterhood that it is. After all, real women don’t have curves – real women have courage, strength, and grace.

 

I guarantee you that those qualities look a hell of a lot better on a woman than jealousy and bitterness.

With ‘Wild’, ‘Big Eyes’, Women Take the ‘Cake’

(this article originally appeared on City of Tenants, a site which unfortunately is now defunct).

 

The call of critics demanding strong female roles in the media has fallen on the deaf ears of Hollywood studios for some time now. Too often, the response from production companies arrives in the form of cliché, one-dimensional characters, hastily drawn up in half-assed attempts to appease the audience’s desire to see relatable, dynamic, and complex female characters.

 

Fortunately, these next few weeks promise to usher in a positive step forward for women in media. Already, three well-hyped movies feature female characters with a lengthy screen time in engaging, three-dimensional roles. Critics have already begun widely praising the performances of three A-list actresses in what most are considering enormously brave and risky roles: Reese Witherspoon as a recovering heroin user in Wild, Amy Adams as a talented yet repressed housewife in Big Eyes, and Jennifer Aniston as a car crash survivor addicted to painkillers in Cake. Judging by the Oscar buzz circulating around these actresses’ performances, it’s clear that the risk has more than paid off for each of them.

 

While the success of these films is great for the actresses involved, it’s even better for those of us, women and men, who will see their performances. It cannot be denied that pop culture and media has an incredibly strong influence on how we communicate, live together, and understand each other as a society. Most, if not all, mediums of art impact our lives in some significant way. The more we see films in which women in nameless roles are merely used for sex and/or to serve as the male protagonist’s ‘prize’ to be won at the end of the film, the more we will walk out of the theater beginning to believe that, in real life, a woman’s sole purpose is to please or serve a man.

 

Unfortunately, Hollywood has a disappointing track record for churning out movies in which women are delegated to the most simplistic, basic roles that can possibly exist. If you haven’t heard of the Bechdel Test, you’re in for a rude, and surprisingly shocking, awakening. The next time you’re watching a movie, ask yourself these three questions:

 

  1. Does the movie have at least two female characters?

  2. Does the movie have a scene in which they speak to each other?

  3. Do they talk to each other about something, anything, other than a man?

 

They seem like simple enough questions, right? Yet as you begin to use this test on your favorite movies, your heart will sink at how few films can actually successfully pass the Bechdel Test. Even films that seem to cater to the test end up merely throwing a disguise over the problem. For example, consider the hit 2012 movie The Avengers. Well-known actress Scarlett Johansson plays Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a Black Widow, a highly trained spy working for S.H.I.E.L.D. She fights with the boys, and is even able to break the villainous Loki’s mind control. What a strong female role! Right?

 

Wrong. So very, very wrong. Take a closer look at the film and you’ll notice that not only does Romanoff’s character serve as a romantic foil to Hawkeye, and not only does her character strut around in skintight clothing, heels, and flawless hair and makeup, but also, no two named female characters ever have a conversation with each other. Seriously. Meanwhile, the many, many male characters chew the fat with each other throughout the film.

 

It hasn’t always been like this, which is important to keep in mind for optimism’s sake, if nothing else. The rise of ridiculously awesome exploitation films in the 70’s, as well as the unapologetic Riot grrl movement of the 90’s, introduced the world to some pretty kick-ass characters (many of which do pass the Bechdel test).

 

Ridley Scott’s classic 1979 horror movie Alien not only passed the Bechdel Test; it endeared audiences to a wonderfully strong and heroic, yet realistically feminine, female character. Sigourney Weaver’s star-making performance as Ellen Ripley ushered in an era of female characters with agency, autonomy, and depth. Up until Ripley’s creation, movies, especially those within the horror genre, had heavily relied on women requiring rescue. This classic damsel in distress trope was widely accepted, and even expected, by most filmgoers. Ripley absolutely annihilated that convention. Smart enough to outwit the ferocious, and majorly Phallic, Alien, Ripley successfully rewrote the rigid gender roles that had plagued movies for so long.

 

Just a few decades later, an even younger generation was being introduced to fantastically well-written female characters. While a good amount of films from the 90’s passed the Bechdel Test, some of the more encouragingly feminist films appealed directly to young boys and girls; namely, 1998’s Mulan. This Disney animated feature centered on the story of a young woman who, rather than passively accepting the limitations placed on her by society due to her gender, decides to creatively work around the system so that she may be an active member of society. Young girls watching Mulan’s brave quest were inspired to challenge the perceived gender roles placed upon them from birth. If that’s not girl power, what is?

 

While it has been difficult to find new Ripleys and Mulans in contemporary depictions of women, perhaps we are now at the cusp of a burgeoning Renaissance for positive female representation in film. Reese Witherspoon, portraying the real life Cheryl Strayed, takes us on an arduous journey through the landscape of her soul as she hikes the Pacific Crest Trail. This film doesn’t use her weaknesses to prove she is in need of rescue; rather, her weaknesses are highlighted as the ultimate catalysts for her growth as she learns how to heal her damaged spirit. No man saves Strayed; Strayed saves herself.

 

Amy Adams portrays another nonfictional female, artist Margaret Keane. While Keane is initially persuaded to resign herself to the shadows by allowing her husband to take credit for her work, she begins to gain a quiet strength within herself, which ultimately manifests in her courageous decision to reveal the truth about the authorship of her art. It’s a fascinating period piece, as Keane decides to come forward with the truth during the revolutionary era of second-wave feminism in the 1970’s, making her a true trailblazer in the trend of women learning to stand up for themselves.

 

Finally, Jennifer Aniston plays a fascinatingly complex and brutally honest fictional character. As Claire Simmons, Aniston haunts us with her portrayal of a woman marred, both physically and mentally, by tragedy. While many films feature women confined to ridiculously sexualized costumes and inappropriately applied makeup, Aniston’s Claire Simmons is about as authentic as a tragic female figure can get. She looks the way a real woman would look after a physical tragedy, and the result is real, raw, and exactly the type of woman audiences should be empathizing with. It’s nice to see a fictional character that, for once, isn’t confined to the trope of still needing to look pretty in spite of severe personal tragedy.

 

While 2014 had its fair share of pop culture disappointments (Ray Rice beating his wife, Robin Thicke’s pathetically sad album ‘Paula’, meant to woo his wised-up wife back into his arms), the year seems to be ending on a great note for women. However, it is imperative that we as audience members do not get complacent in the face of these achievements. Yes, it’s great that women are having a fantastic, if not long overdue, revival within the film industry. Unfortunately, the three characters achieving the most praise from critics and audiences are all Caucasian and mostly conventionally attractive.

 

If 2014 ends up being remembered as the year of the female film renaissance, let 2015 be the year we demand to see the stories of women of color, and women who stand outside conventionally ideas of beauty. It was done with 2009’s critically lauded film Precious. It can be done again, if we want it.

 

Remember, Hollywood is ultimately a business, and is therefore rendered powerless without your financial support. Withhold your hard-earned cash from movies that degrade women, and choose to fiscally reward the films that advance the portrayals of realistic women. Better yet, write your own female-centric script!

 

Let’s all make a bold and empowering New Year’s Resolution: In 2015, if Hollywood won’t listen to our voices, let’s make them listen to our silence. If they remain deaf to our repeated calls for better female roles, make them see where the dollars are headed – not to the Bella Swans of the cinema, but to the Ellen Ripleys, the Katniss Everdeens, and the Sarah Conners. It’ll be a quiet revolution, but it’ll work.

 

Who knows – maybe someone will make a movie out of it.

For All The Rizzos

(this article originally appeared on City of Tenants, a site which unfortunately is now defunct).

 

There was once a time when Grease was my all-time favorite movie/musical/general slice of entertainment. At age 11, I joined the drama club at my tiny, 13-students-per-class school, and one of the first musicals I was cast in was Grease – and I was a Pink Lady. No, I wasn’t Rizzo; I was the most adorable Marty Maraschino you could dream up. I had the singing voice of a cat fighting an owl in a washing machine set to the heavy duty cycle, but that didn’t stop me from chasing those Broadway dreams which still fuel my fire to this day. In after-school rehearsals, sitting on top of our desks (drama kids were the bad kids, after all), we learned how to talk like Greasers and roll our eyes like the teeny boppers we longed to be, on and off stage.

 

I was happy to play Marty, pouting my lips and pulling down my cat-eye sunglasses dramatically, but I secretly longed for the chance to knock out as much sass as my friend Zosha (her real name was Genevieve – and you thought Stepy was weird) was able to do while embodying the role of Rizzo. Rizzo was one cool cat, and I wanted to play with her darkness. Marty had a nice little ditty about her overseas man who sent her pedal pushers; Rizzo had a punchy powerhouse of a ballad that was just so…real.

 

Show night came and went. We danced, laughed, sang, and moved on. I’ve lost touch with those friends, I haven’t heard from that teacher in a decade (hi, Ms. Vivian!), and Grease definitely isn’t my favorite movie/musical anymore.  However, one thing that has stuck with me about the sensation that is Grease is Rizzo. She’s technically just a character, but she’s so much more than a part in a play.

 

Sandy is as saccharine as soda, Danny is a bit of a doofus, and most of the other characters are heightened versions of possibly unfair fifties stereotypes. Rizzo, on the other hand, is timeless. She’s every broken-hearted girl, every scared girl, every strong girl, every weak girl. She is every girl, with enough masculine traits to make her a fair role model for men as well, I would say. As I’ve grown up, Rizzo's snide remarks and sly smiles have always stuck with me.

 

I didn’t even know Fox was planning on airing a live version of Grease until a day or two before it aired on January 31st. I hadn’t planned on watching it, but I was intrigued by the casting of Vanessa Hudgens in my dream role. My curiosity was amped to another level when I learned that Hudgen’s father passed away from cancer the morning of the show. Critics and laymen alike wondered if she’d be able to pull it off, but claimed they were willing to forgive any stumbles or faults that seemed they would inevitably occur.

 

In case you were off the internet lately, let me be the first to assure you – Hudgens killed it.

 

Which makes me, and many others I’m sure, think about the power of performance. Is it just something fun for us silly Peter Pan-types to turn to for a creative outlet? What purpose does theater serve us really – let alone film, television, or any other performing art? Is it crucial to sustaining a thriving, productive society?

While I’ve never had the honor/pressure/privilege of performing on such a big network, in front of an audience of millions, in such a beloved role, I have had my fair share of performances in all kinds of projects. So, while I won’t pretend I can fully comprehend what Hudgens must have been feeling during the telecast, I do know what it’s like to have to go on stage just days after signing the paperwork to cremate my father’s body.

 

Yep, this got dark fast. Bear with me.

 

I’ll keep the details light, because the relationship between my father and I needs a book to be told. Suffice to say, it was unhealthy, and we were not on speaking terms when he died. I had just woken up in my L.A. apartment, preparing for an afternoon of auditions all across town, when I got the call from my mom. They had been divorced for years, but I knew there was still a very strange love between them. She last talked to him a few months after he received his Stage 4 diagnosis.

 

“He passed away.” She sobbed into the phone. I flew to my closet and shoved some clothes in an old gym bag. I worried about my mother. I didn’t think about how I was feeling. After hanging up with her, I called the director of the play I was in, which was opening in 3 days. “Hey Benny, so my dad died. It’s alright, we weren’t close, but I think I’m gonna have to miss tonight’s rehearsal. I’m sorry. I’ll be back for dress on Friday.”

 

I immediately got in my car and drove six hours straight to San Francisco, numbing my mind to any thought that wasn’t, “How can I comfort my mom?” I’ll gloss over the following two days, partly because they’re still a blur to me over 6 months later. I was at his house, then I was at a funeral home, then I was calling the hospital to give permission to release his body, then I was talking to his neighbors as they gave their condolences while also pointing out that they just couldn’t stand him.

 

Two nights later, I stepped out on stage.

 

Once again, I’m not pretending like I had a Vanessa Hudgens/Rizzo moment. I was in a modern version of Medea on a hot summer night in a small theater in Hollywood, playing to an audience of about 20 to 30 people. The show was mediocre at best, and there were certainly no show-stopping ballads to be sung. Still, I was so grateful to have that time. To be clear, I was initially pretty upset about the fact that I had to go on stage and perform for an audience so soon after my dad passed away. How the hell was I going to do that?

 

Why should I even bother doing this show? Why should I bother doing any show? We all just die anyway eventually. The thoughts only got bleaker as I made my way back to sunny SoCal, seriously contemplating dropping out of the cast. You won’t be able to do it. You’re too emotional. Give up.

 

Give up. Give up.

 

Theater has always had a magical pull on me, and it inexplicably dragged me into its presence that June evening. I caked on the foundation backstage and dressed into my costume, and the horrific events of the past week melted away from my mind as the preshow music kicked on and I began hearing the chatter of audience members. I got into place for the opening sequence and waited for the cue. When the lights went down, I turned on. By the time the lights turned back on, I wasn’t sad little Stepy, viciously berating herself for not speaking to her father on his deathbed. I wasn’t hopeless pathetic Stepy, contemplating that final stop we’re all headed towards.

 

I was in ancient Greece, a member of the Greek chorus, narrating Medea’s dramatic tale to an engrossed, intimate audience. And in those 70 minutes, I was more human and powerful than I had been in a long time.

 

That’s what performance does. It heals, it transforms, it inspires. It does a hell of a lot more than that, but I can’t think of the words to describe how the theater has continued to save me, over and over again. I haven’t thought about this particular performance of mine in a while, but Hudgen’s story reminded me of it. I am so proud of her, my fellow artist, for using her art to transform one of the worst parts of life – losing a loved one - into one of its best parts – connecting with others in an incredibly and unmistakably human way. 

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