Beyond the Lights shows the whole picture of the violence of commodification

I recently had the opportunity to finally watch Beyond the Lights (Thanks Netflix!).  I was excited to watch another film starring Gugu Mbatha-Raw (from Belle) and also Minnie Driver (who rocks), and by a female writer-director (Gina Prince-Bythewood), but I sadly missed it in theatres.

In brief:  Beyond the Lights follows the struggles of a young pop star, Noni, on the verge of superstardom.  The film opens as she is heading towards her chance at making it big, but as just one young woman against the "intimate psychic violence of racism and sexism" (as A.O. Scott describes it so well) that the music industry inflicts upon her, Noni finds herself standing on a balcony considering suicide.  It is only through the intervention of a young police officer that Noni decides to try to live.


The film at its simplest is a love story between Noni and Kaz (the police officer)--- and this story is frequently rather contrived and fantastical.  A.O. Scott describes it as silly in an affectionate way, but also argues that the fantasy of Noni and Kaz's relationship is part of the central project and purpose of the film.  (Read his review for more.)   However, it is important to note that while Kaz sparks Noni's move towards freedom and wholeness, as Minnie Driver explains in an interview: "Kaz saves her physically, but Noni saves herself."

Putting the romantic storyline aside what I found most moving, terrifying, powerful about the film was it's perspective on the music industry (the film arguably focuses more on the hip-hop/R&B industry in which Noni seems to operate, but I'm sure the criticism can apply to other genres as well).  First, the film forces us to witness the overpowering, in-your-face objectification that female artists are subjected to through the music videos Noni has recently released and the photoshoots she endures.  By contrasting this with the first impression we get of Noni (a talented little girl, sensitive, vulnerable and a beautiful soul with a moving voice, who loves singing and wants to make her mother proud) we get to really understand just how reductive, humiliating, sad, and violent these conditions are.  These forces are so powerful in their obliteration of the artist's self and disrespectful of their talents, it is abundantly clear how Noni is so easily chewed up and destroyed by the industry that at the same time it promises to give her everything, strips her of any dignity, safety, or support.

**SPOILERS AHEAD** 

Recovery and our Inner Warrior Goddess

The death card is one of my favorite Tarot cards. Bordered by circles of blue lifelines, the card beautifully demonstrates the concept of letting one thing go to make way for the new.  This concept is also reflected in eastern ways of thought like Feng Shui; you clear the old clutter in your home to make way for new energy and items to fill your life.  Life's cyclical nature, as represented here, always inspires hope  that new things are on their way.

But sometimes death is a b*&ch

While I am certainly glad that parts of myself and my life have died, sometimes the process of change seems eternal and excruciating.  In this past year, the death card pretty much wiped my personality down to nothing (ex. anxiety and depression) and let me sit there for while.  This gave me a chance for some introspection and to identify some of the ways we think when we get stuck in the mud:

• I am worthless (and all ten thousand permutations of this that wind around our brains).
• I just need a man, more money, the perfect job (etc) to be happy and fulfilled.  (Mostly since I am worthless and can't do it myself.)
• So and so ruined my life and since I am worthless or not in control, there is nothing I can do about it.
• I am too tired change or too used to my maladaptive ways to move onto something new.
• I lack support, knowledge or resources to make a change and often I am too tired or overwhelmed to find out who can help. 

Depending on the situation and the individual, we can be stuck here from days to months to years. Even if you haven't firsthand experienced this, I am sure you knew friend or a family member who was struggling.  It is often frustrating for everyone.  Personally, I want to shake and yell at everything.  JUST GET BETTER ALREADY.

Society too, as a whole, sends a message to those attempting renewal and often it is a message of hypermasculinity.  Yoga guru Sadie Nardini wrote an article on this topic, noting that women often "attempt to source their ability and drive from an overly masculine prototype, instead of reviving their inner feminine to do the job."  [Even I tried this tactic out!]

I don't need ___ or ____.  I don't need anyone. I got this, I can do this on my own.

The difficulty with this overtly masculine approach to rebuilding is that it is inherently isolating and cold.  While initially productive and intimidating, this energy serves to create more boundaries and separation from the community that is often so vital to recovery and a successful life.  It is a closed-ended approach with little room for discussion, expression and connection.  While our movie heroes like Wolverine certainly get the job done (with lots of exciting action scenes), they are usually devoid of personality and true friendships.  Is that what we are looking for in our new selves? In my personal experience, this masculine driving energy would get me moving and out the door... but then to where?  What was I going to do all on my own?

Thus, Sadie Nardini elaborates on the power of femininity and our inner warrior goddess.  She writes:

The end result of an integrated feminine side is completeness: full nourishment of one's life-force, passions, creativity, and relationship to Self.  This provides one with the confidence and freedom to stand up and say "I don't need anyone or anything, it's true-- but I choose to want them."  I choose love.  I choose family,  I choose these projects and I choose to keep myself close to my inner mother even as I dedicate to truth and moving toward right action, led by my inner father.

Her thoughts are equally beautiful as the death card.  The synthesis of the vulnerable, caring, more feminine sides of our being with the driven, meticulous "masculine" side creates a strong, raw, and authentic energy.  Reaching out, connecting, expressing, nurturing... these are not weakness, but are instead powerful tools we can use to live.  Often, devoting ourselves to others can pull us away from our own despair and difficulties.

Sadie concludes:

In this place, we are whole, and we are free.  We refuse to play small yet we walk with humility and openness to the world's curiosities and dead ends.  We allow our hearts to break because we dared to love with abandon, we gather our children and friends and lovers close and recognize that God can be found between our palms and the skin of our beloveds--and in our joy or grief alike, we thank the Universe for letting us love at all, even while we mourn the inevitable loss of all those we touch.
We are women, not men, and it's high time we learn what it means to rock who we are, and when in doubt, to simply become as incandescent as summer's first firefly in response. 

With this, we can move on and live.

Why I don't wear Chanel

Ok, this post is a bit of a delayed reaction.

And ok, there are probably other reasons why I don't wear Chanel. ($$$)

But as someone who is sort of a hobbyist for fashion, I got fed up with Chanel last year.

Chanel is easily one of the most recognized, respected, and classiest, highest-pinnacle brands in fashion.  It is the creme de la creme.  Chanel has demonstrated over and over again that it is able to be creative, fashionable, beautiful, classic, and contemporary yet timeless.

However, for the Spring/Summer 2015 show held in October 2014, the show concluded with a tasteless, sophomoric faux feminist protest.  Models paraded out one more time, carrying placards with meaningless phrases like "Make Fashion Not War" and "Féministe mais Feminine.”  I was shocked to see this spectacle of highly privileged bodies playacting at the struggles of oppressed and underprivileged groups for highly select audience, elitist by design and definition.  The willful ignorance, lack of sensitivity or conscience, and cold selfcenteredness (and downright display of unabashed elitism) demonstrated filled me with disgust and outrage.

Why You Should Follow the National Women's History Museum

Somehow or other I came to follow the National Women's History Museum on Facebook.  I think it is one of the best social media decisions I have ever made.

The National Women's History Museum, which currently only exists online--- they are raising funds and support in order to build a physical space--- posts regularly about numerous and diverse women throughout (mostly) American history.  I love stumbling upon these fascinating people as I scroll through my news feed.  Sometimes the women they feature come from the recent past (1970s and onward), or even from current news and events, and other times they post about women from the early years of this country.  The women come from all walks of life, races, classes, and ages.  They recently featured an 11 year-old (Samantha Reed Smith)!

Through the NWHM I have learned about women like:

• Amanda Theodosia James - who lived in the 1800s, patented several canning techniques, and owned and ran her own canning and preserving business--- that only hired women!
• Dr. Kazue Togasaki - a Japanese American doctor and one of the few physicians allowed to practice medicine during the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII
• Nannie Helen Burroughs - an African-American activist who in 1909 founded the National Training School for Women and Girls in Washington, D.C. to provide schooling for black students in the segregated south

Can it be true? Pop music celebrating healthy relationships?

I've wanted to write a post about popular music for a while, but the content eluded me.  At one point I wanted to write about alternative conceptions of female beauty in music, but could only think of Queen's Fat Bottomed Girls and Jim Croce's Roller Derby Queen.  Both songs are awesome, but not really enough to write a whole post about.

Then there was Jason Derulo's irresistible but horrid-when-you-actually-think-about-it Talk Dirty.  Oh, and let's not forget Robin Thicke's Blurred Lines.

Most recently, as I despaired over the battered woman vibe in Ariana Grande's One Last Time,  two new songs on the pop hits station (or whatever you call what Ryan Seacrest is on) blew my mind.

OMI - Cheerleader

Andy Grammer - Honey I'm Good

Given how tuned into popular culture I am, I'm probably the last person around to have found these songs.  Nevertheless, I think they are deceptively revolutionary.  With catchy, fun music, both songs deliver messages we don't often hear on the radio.

How often have we heard the equivalent of "Baby baby [insert phrase to indicate interest in sex]" or "baby baby I'm so in love with you", but actually this song is about me?  Instead of these overused but still too common themes, both songs say "Thanks but no thanks, I already have an amazing person in my life."  The singers (both male) are saying, it's not about me, its about my amazing partner.  Sitting in my car, I couldn't believe it as these songs came across the radio.

And the music videos!  Couples of all shapes, sizes, ages, locations, relationship types, and relationship lengths are demonstrating their pride and joy at being together!  Maybe there is such a thing as progress.

A Feminist Abroad: On Gaining Perspective

In my last post, I discussed my overall feelings regarding my solo trip to New Zealand this past December. While I’ve been meaning to write the follow-up post for weeks, I’m just now finding the time to do so. It’s also a great time for me to write about one of my favorite parts of my trip: gaining alternative perspectives. I’ll apologize for the length of it now.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been frustrated with my brain. It’s something I can never escape. I can never turn it off. I can only see and experience life the way my brain allows me to do it. Going to New Zealand was not only a great opportunity for me to grow as a person, but to also talk with people, and get an idea of what life looks like through the eyes of someone else. What their daily lives involve. How we ended up in the same place at the same time. There were numerous moments/conversations that I had while on my trip that I wish I could relive over and over in my head. They’re moments that I pull up in my mind when I need to be reminded why I work hard at my job and save up my vacation time to use in large chunks. I do it so I can escape not just from my cube and all the stress and monotony of my daily work, but to escape everything that is comfortable to me, to talk to people, to ask questions, to sit and just listen to someone else’s life experiences, to understand how they experience their lives.

One of my biggest concerns before my trip had nothing to do with the fact that I was traveling alone, or that I was going somewhere unfamiliar. After twice choosing to attend out of state colleges in locations where I didn’t know a single soul to get both of my degrees, going somewhere new and alone wasn’t out of the ordinary. My biggest concern was regarding my nationality. I had always heard (and to be honest, assumed) that Americans have a pretty terrible international reputation. The stereotypes of ignorant American tourists have to come from somewhere, and I didn’t want to fall into that trap. However, I’m not one to rely on stereotypes as a main source of information about some topic or another, so I took the opportunity to ask people what they thought of Americans/the US when the opportunity arose.

The first chance I had to ask someone about this was on my flight from San Francisco to Auckland. I sat next to this incredibly friendly girl who was returning home to New Zealand after being gone for 11 months, traveling and volunteering her way across the globe. My guess is that she was around my age, and had seen and experienced so much in her time abroad. We began to talk as we filled out our papers to go through customs, and I’m very glad we did. I had asked her what had brought her to the States in the first place, and I got much more than I expected in her response. She told me all about her travels, how she started out going to Cambodia to volunteer for 3 months, met and befriended a Canadian girl, who she then travelled with to Thailand and Nepal, then started making her way to the US to attend a wedding in South Carolina. It was her first trip to the US, and I apologized for South Carolina being the first thing she experienced. I asked her what she thought of the people, and I learned a lot from her response. She said that more than one person told her they didn’t know that New Zealand was even a country. She was asked if New Zealand was one of the “states” of Australia. She was asked if there was a bridge connecting Australia and New Zealand (a bridge, she noted, that would span over 400 miles of the most treacherous ocean waters on the planet). Worst of all, she said that she hadn’t realized how many Americans lived inside of their own bubble, and she was surprised so many people were so ignorant of what was happening in the world beyond the US borders.  I can’t argue with her. For example, comedian John Oliver regularly enjoys playing a geography game on his show, Last Week Tonight, when he discusses South American countries. He’ll mention a country, such as Paraguay, and highlight it on a map. Except he intentionally has the incorrect country highlighted, and jumps around before landing on the correct country. Most people I talk to that watch this show usually don’t know that these countries even exist before John Oliver discusses them. How are we supposed to know what’s going on in the world, if most people don’t even know that Togo is an actual country in Africa? For the first time on my trip, and certainly not the last, I felt embarrassed for all of those ignorant people this poor girl had the misfortune of running into. I was only able to talk to this girl for about fifteen minutes or so before we both got off the plane and went our separate ways, but it was a very eye-opening conversation.

Once I made it down to Queenstown to meet up with my tour group (I was late, thanks to some flight delays in Chicago), I was picked up by a tour guide named Vanessa, and driven 3 hours up the New Zealand countryside to be dropped off at a hotel.  Later on, during the last night of my trip, we were each asked to discuss our favorite part of the trip. Looking back now, I’m pretty sure that my ride with Vanessa was my favorite part. For about an hour, we made polite small talk. She asked about my story, why I was late, and I told her. I told her where I was from and how long I was staying in New Zealand. Then we stopped to eat lunch, and that’s when everything changed. I was relatively jet-lagged, since I had just spent the previous 14 hours or so on planes, so I had no filter. As I sat eating a lunch that Vanessa was kind enough to buy me, I straight up asked her what her perception and opinions of Americans as a whole were. It turns out that her stepmother was from Seattle, and Vanessa’s opinion of Americans was largely based on her experiences with her. For the rest of the ride up to my hotel, we discussed Americans, American politics, New Zealand politics, and general global issues. I remarked on how clean New Zealand was, and how friendly people seemed to be. She told me, without hesitation, her stances on various issues and her honest opinion of the US and its citizens and her plans to come and travel across the country and see it for herself. By the time she dropped me off, I was exhausted and delirious and desperately in need of a shower, but I also felt like I had just met and made a new best friend. Apparently Vanessa enjoyed my company as well, since she gave me both her cell phone number and her family’s phone number, since they lived on the north island and would be able to help me should I run into trouble after striking out on my own. To this day, I’m still a little sad that Vanessa wasn’t one of my actual tour guides for the rest of the week, even though the two I had were fantastic.

I could go on and on about the people I was able to talk with during my trip. There was Ken, the native Minnesotan living and working in Singapore, always good for stories about what it’s like to be living somewhere so different than the place you grew up. There was Dave from California, another young person traveling alone like me with very interesting world views. There was the newlywed couple from Washington State, always willing to refill my water bottle or share bug spray or tell story after story after story. There was Paul, the successful businessman from England, who always had a fun joke or story to tell, but who would also talk politics with you until there was nothing left to say. There were the tour guides themselves, full of stories about life in New Zealand and working in Australia or on cattle farms, or attending university. There was the gentleman I spoke with while waiting in San Francisco for our flight to Auckland to board, who was full of helpful advice and information. There was the grandmother who was next to me in the gate as I waited to return to the States, excited to visit friends and family in Florida. I feel incredibly lucky and grateful to have had the opportunity to meet each and every individual mentioned here, and more that I didn’t. I learned so much about them, and myself, and received many reminders to stop and try to view things through someone else’s eyes. I was reminded to not worrying about telling my own stories, but to listen to other people’s stories. It’s something that I am still working to do.

Tampon Discourse!

Yes, I am writing about tampons, again.  In my defense, there were THREE tampon-related articles in The Atlantic this past week and I couldn't let that pass without a blog post.  The articles covered a lot of ground and are worth a read, but themes surrounding menstruation's negative associations stood out.  Here are a few highlights:

The Tampon: A History-- The cultural, political, and technological roots of a fraught piece of cotton by Ashley Fetters (June 1, 2015)

Millions of people use tampons (and other feminine hygiene products) on a daily basis, but we rarely talk about them.  Shrouded in mystery, tampons are

"common enough to be sold in drugstores and public restrooms all over America, integral enough to the female experience to merit its own memorable jeremiad in The Vagina Monologues . . . and yet still taboo enough to be the central prop in one of the only Fifty Shades of Grey sex scenes deemed too risque for the movie adaptation."  

Tampon-like items going back a few hundred years, but the tampon as we know it today originated  around World War II.  There were misgivings from the start.

"'For many people, there was a lot of discomfort with the idea of women touching themselves in any way in their vaginal or labia area, especially young girls,' says Sharra Vostral, the author of Under Wraps: A History of Menstrual Hygiene Technology. 'A lot of people argued that [tampon use] was not only inappropriate because it might break the hymen, but it might be also pleasurable and might be a way for girls to experience orgasmic pleasure.'  Tampax's telescoping applicator made it possible to insert a tampon without the dreaded self-touching-- though it didn't do much to assuage fears of accidental virginity loss, which, despite evidence that the hymen doesn't necessarily break as a result of sex or tampon use, still persist in some parts of the world today." 

In addition, tampon-like approaches were associated with "women with active lifestyles (like dancers) and . . . women in 'dubious professions' of the era like acting, modeling, prostitution-- and sports."

Despite these misgivings, tampons grew increasingly popular, but the product marketing always emphasized how "the products are feminine and diminutive, of medical origins, or allow women a 'little white lie' that conceals menstruation."  There were also cultural differences in adoption, with Europeans embracing tampons without applicators, while US customers found that approach too unhygienic.

By the 1970s, "a small feminist movement had begun to publicly question why women should feel pressured to hide or staunch their menstruation in the first place.  What was so shocking or gross or shameful, after all, about something that happened to half the world's adult population every month?"  Their perspective didn't take off however . . .

Don't Let Them See Your Tampons: What's behind the urge to keep feminine products hidden? by Julie Beck (June 1, 2015)

Even today, tampon discretion is essential and women have hundreds of ways smuggle their feminine hygiene products to the restroom.  Disgust and division persist:

"Many religions have historically dubbed menstruating women 'unclean' and secular shame abounds as well. . . Menstrual etiquette requires that women hide the fact of their periods . . . In one study, people had worse impressions of a woman who dropped a tampon [unopened] out of her bag than if she dropped something innocuous like a hair clip, and even avoided sitting near her."

There is some hope for acceptance, but not any time soon:

"Efforts to destigmatize menstruation are becoming mainstream . . . But taboos don't change that quickly.  If there's a chance open-carrying a tampon in public will only get some disrespect, maybe she'll think it's better to keep it up her sleeve-- literally."

After both articles were published, there were enough comments that the editor compiled the discussion into a follow-up piece The Tampon Taboo: Your Thoughts.  While many of the comments covered predictable territory, the discussion is heartening.  I now have the Under Wraps: A History of Menstrual Hygiene Technology book on my Kindle wish list.  Maybe more people do too!

On Display. Existing While Female

I suppose this is sort of a follow up to my last post on Zumba.  I stumbled across a series of videos by Petra Collins (for BB Dakota) called Making Space.  They are basically the kind of short film I tried to make in college, except much better.

I'm not sure that I love Collins' work completely, or if I am just saying that because I'm super jealous of her for being so successful and so young, but I found the series of videos fascinating.  They invite me to reflect on the female body and how to find freedom in it.

The series focuses on high school girls in the south who, in their own ways, are all involved with dance.  As we watch the girls dance and smile and move in front of the camera, we listen to their thoughts on their art, their bodies, their relationships with other girls, and their thoughts on the future. 

I was especially drawn to the first part of the series.  The girls are beautiful, and they remind us that wisdom comes from all ages.  "How can somebody who likes me, make me feel so bad?" one girl questions.  Yes, why do we teach our girls to accept any male attention as something they should accept and appreciate?  Why do we teach them to love abuse?



The images are simultaneously real and yet also dreamy as we often watch the girls dance and move in slow motion, while listening to their open, honest voices.  It invites us to watch their bodies, but in a way that invites appreciation (rather than appraisal) and also teases out the girls' strength and their lack of shame or apology for their bodies being visible.  We get to witness the infinite possibilities of movement from an infinite number of body shapes and sizes.  This feels liberating and new to me.

Guilt, Fear, and Resolve

Last month, I wrote about my transformation to the liberation perspective after viewing several panel discussions presented at the All About Women Festival 2015.  Since then, I've been stewing on another major theme from the event: how the patriarchal system does not allow women an equal voice in our society.  For a long time, when I thought about the public discourse, I joined a lot of people in thinking, how bad could it be? Or, sticks-and-stones . . . just ignore it. Or, they have chosen to be in the public eye, they must be okay with it.

But then I watched "What I Couldn't Say," where female panelists shared very personal accounts of how their voices were silenced when they spoke up about injustice.  I also watched Stop the trolls: Women fight online harassment, and again saw the personal toll suffered by women who dare to exist.

After seeing these accounts, I have not been able to shake a profound sense of guilt that I didn't understand their experience; that I assumed they were okay with it; that they persevere in silence without the support they need; that I might benefit from their struggle without supporting them in return; that my inaction perpetuates their suffering.

I have also grown more fearful about contributing to the public discourse.  What would we do if the trolls find this blog?  If the online mob attacks us with single minded focus?  If they threaten and our families unceasingly?

Nevertheless, since the harassment demonstrates the profound injustices resulting from a patriarchal system, these accounts have also given me a stronger sense of resolve.  If I am privileged enough to have a voice to be attacked, only imagine the lives of those who do not.  I am only more committed to bringing about the liberation.  I will support groups that fight for change and I will engage those think otherwise.

Liberating Myself through Zumba

In the fall, I did something I had never done before.  I started taking Zumba classes at the gym.  Being in situations where I don't know the proper code of conduct and etiquette REALLY stressed me out.  And I'm also an introvert.  And I'm also extremely self-conscious of not being good at things.

But I started going to Zumba anyway because it was something that looked fun, and I am trying to do more things that challenge me and overcome all those petty fears and self-doubt.  I discovered that I really LOVE Zumba!

I don't love Zumba because I really good at it.  I'm not.  There any many people that are better at it than I am.  But being in Zumba classes with different women, the same women, and the random male who occasionally shows up has helped me form a new frame of mind towards my body and the bodies of other women.  Here are some things Zumba has shown me and helped me experience: