Monday, July 24, 2006

Miss Universe

A reader wrote to ask me some questions regarding voice-over work. Well, actually it wasn't so much questions he asked as it was a plea for help. He believes that his wife has a wonderful voice and she could find some work as a voice-over person. He wondered if I could point him in the right direction; steer him towards the right people.

I'll try. However, when I started writing about it I found that I couldn't say everything I wanted to say in as concise a fashion as I originally thought. I'd start writing on one part of it and find myself going off on two or three different tangents, and then those led me down their own twisting paths toward other things I wanted to say. Another mitigating circumstance - my production partner, Dan, is on vacation this week and I'll be far too tied up in actual work to devote the time needed to say what I want to say. So, I will be presenting something about the subject, but not for at least another week or so. It will probably end up being a three or four day affair at that time. Sorry!


In the meantime, I'm sitting here watching Miss Universe on Telemundo. It's bizarre enough in English, but in Spanish it's utterly surreal. Of course, the whole idea of the beauty pageant is surreal to begin with, so why am I in any way surprised?

Fifty or sixty women are trotted out onto a stage in weird costumes. They have been plucked, primped, plastered, painted, and generally put into the same mold, the end result being that they all pretty much look alike - only slight differences in hair color and skin tone remain. The Asian women look like the South American women look like the Scandinavian women. Everyone has a pointy nose and a mouthful of gigantic iridescent teeth. Breasts are all similarly sized from woman to woman and symmetrical.

Obviously, this is some people's idea of perfect beauty. It's not mine. I much prefer a more natural variety of females, not ones that look as though they came off of an assembly line. I like women who look... real.

I'd like to see a beauty contest where no one is allowed to wear make-up, no one is allowed to dye her hair, and they're all nude. It will never happen, of course, because women buy into this crap much more than men do.

Sure, guys like to see the women in skimpy bathing suits - we'd rather see them out of the skimpy bathing suits - but women make up much more of the audience of these things than men do. Why?

How many men do you think watch male bodybuilding contests? I mean, straight men. Straight American men. Straight American men who don't do bodybuilding themselves. Just about none. But straight American women who have never come within twenty yards of competition in one of these freak shows? They watch them in droves. I can only imagine that it is a form of self-torture.

That's facetious, but only partly so. I really do think that there is a certain female mindset that thrives on misery. How else do you explain the success of Lifetime? Every other show is about someone being cheated on or abused.

(There's a whole bunch of women reading this and saying, "Well, bozo, that's because you men are cheating on us or abusing us in those relative numbers." Shut up or I'll slap you. Anyway, there are plenty of other women willing to read me, bitch.)

(See what I did there? Yes, made a complete sexist ass of myself for the sake of a joke. And not even a very good one. My devotion to my craft knows no bounds, except for good taste.)

Anyway, the point I was getting at, many paragraphs ago, is that none of these women really turn me on. Of course, none of these women could give a damn if they turn me on or not, but that's beside the point. What is the point? None of these women turn me on. I just told you that two sentences ago! Duh! Pay attention!

MY WIFE was sitting here watching this with me and she actually said, "I wish I could be beautiful just for a day so I'd know what it feels like."

What in hell is the male equivalent to that? Is there one? Maybe it's some sort of "Gee, I wish I could be a pro athlete" pipedream, but while guys might say something like that, they aren't going to seriously dwell on it. Women, on the other hand, will truly physically make themselves sick because of how badly they feel about their bodies.

And they shouldn't. There are plenty of men who like real women with real curves and real personalities and real boobs, in all of their myriad shapes and sizes and colors. Not every man is in love with the bizarre standards of beauty presented on these pageants. Not every man desires a woman made up largely of plastic. Some of us actually like our women to look, feel, smell, taste and sound like human beings, rather than the shallow mannequins on display in most beauty contests.

So, this has become just a general rant of sorts, but let me finish with something worthwhile. I don't know how many times it will take, telling MY WIFE that she is beautiful before she believes it, but here's one more. I hope this time it sinks in.


Sassy said...

You're totally right. I scrutinize myself EVERY DAY, including taking it so far as to constantly check my reflection in the windows of the T. Sad, I know. But, I do believe it when I'm told I'm beautiful. I truly do. Because I'm afraid if I keep arguing that fact (yes, fact), then I'll either a) stop hearing it, or b) stop believing it.

Anonymous said...

guys check themselves out, too, probably almost as often. The thing is we don't generally judge ourselves as harshly. If we've added five or ten pounds, we say, "not too bad. I'll do a few extra push-ups tomorrow",butmany women will beat themselves up mentally - go all guilt trip. It's a shame.

Kathy said...

Suldog, I applaud you. But I also have to sympathize with your wife.. I think those same things every day as well. And like your wife, when my husband tells me I'm beautiful or hot or whatever, I have a very hard time believing him. Or anyone else for that matter.

But I do love guys that think like you, like my husband do and like so many other men do to. It just goes to show, beauty pageants are never made for the men, they are made for women to agonize over and idealize.

And it's horrible.