Wednesday, February 8, 2012

T*tties and Beer! Or: Why Size Matters

For some, "rock bottom" would likely be defined by a rainy morning spent half-clothed and sketching in a gutter of some sort, sick and retching from yet another night of drunken debauchery and copious methamphetamine use.

For me, the term has a somewhat different manifestation.

To experience my version of utter (gutter?) Hell, one need simply replace the rainy morning with a nice Friday night, the gutter with a brightly-lit bar featuring the sport-of-the moment simulcast on 15 tv screens, and the methamphetamines with hot wings. The half-clothed and retching from drunken debauchery aspects? Keep those.

Yesterday I applied to work at Hooters.

...

Yes, like the ever-funny Jenna Marbles before me, I have decided to boost myself by finding a job that's super degrading. I'm gonna pump myself up before every shift by crying over my Master's Degree. Seems that, as Miss Marbles so eloquently highlighted, a woman's worth is not now, nor has it ever been, in any way associated with the size of her brain...

Which is not to say that size doesn't matter.

Size, like brain power, is measured in numbers. But while a score of 180 may make you a genius, a score of 34C, whether real or silicone, makes you a Hooters girl.

And which is more lucrative?

Well, while we're on numbers...

After graduating with honors from the most prestigious journalism school in the south, I worked 40+ hours per week for years, writing and editing the news that the (assumedly) higher-educated among the populace read to remain informed of important community legal, political and healthcare related policies and events. I never made more than $40,000 a year.

A contrast: a "friend"--we shall call her Barbie--not the brightest tool in the shed, but with enough blonde and giggles to compensate--averaged more than $80K a year bringing fellas wings and beer in a skimpy outfit. And that was with some clothes on.

...

I'm not the first to notice this amazing *ahem* trend. A personal role model, Hedy Lamarr, was acutely aware. The first woman to ever appear nude in a major motion picture (1933), Lamarr was no prude. Nor was she an idiot. More than half a century ago, the Austrian actress said both of the following:

"American men, as a group, seem to be interested in only two things, money and breasts. It seems a very narrow outlook."

and

"Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid."

Money, breasts, glamour, stupidity. Sounds like a recipe for a successful franchise...

Oh yeah, and did I forget to mention that Lamarr--in addition to being touted as "the most beautiful woman in Hollywood"--was also the inventor of frequency hopping/spread spectrum technology which served as the precursor to COFDM and Wi-Fi, as well as the CDMA used in cordless and wireless telephones?

Yep. The woman was a genius. And you thought she was just a nice pair of tits with a pretty face...

...

Ain't none of this new, my friends. Women have long been aware of the power of beauty to bring a man to his knees. And empty his wallet. Which is likely why beautiful women are the envy of women everywhere and plastic surgery is a multi-billion dollar industry. The Marilyn Monroes of the world have been remarking “If you're gonna be two-faced at least make one of them pretty" and "I don't mind living in a man's world, as long as I can be a woman in it” since time began.

But then again let's look at how that philosophy turned out for her.

It's not that I find any harm in heralding physical beauty or female sexuality. I'd go so far as to say I am a proponent of both. It's just the negative repercussions which come about when those things are heralded above all else...

For those of you living under a culture rock, Madonna--highly "do-able" in the 80s and 90s--just performed at the Super Bowl halftime show. And while many media outlets focused on the flash of the middle finger, many others honed in on another *key* aspect: "Sure, Madge looks great for 53, but would you still bone her?"

Don't believe me? Do a Google search. I haven't the time to school you...

Bonable or no, the woman is an icon. She may be batshit crazy, I don't know, but she has a plethora of #1 hits, a few movies (good or no), a few children's books and a few marriages and high-profile affairs under her belt. And all we care about is whether or not 20 and 30-something year old men would still "hit it."

This calls for an eyebrow furrow.

...

Thing is, beauty ages and fades but intelligence (at least in theory) grows.
What happens to these gorgeous women--psychologically and otherwise--when that beauty fades?
...

Again, we all want to be one of the beautiful people. And, inherently, there's nothing wrong with that.
I want to be beautiful. I want to be sexy.

Thing is, that's not ALL I want to be.

I want to be smart. I want to be accomplished. I want to be recognized for the power and unique nature of my thoughts and ideas.

But most of all what I want is for those things to matter.

It should matter if a woman's cup size exceeds that of her brain.
And it should matter that a woman, not so gorgeous by societal standards, can hold her own intellectually against any man.

And maybe it does.

Maybe I am just hyper-sensitive to the smell of fake smiles, push up bras, and bright orange shortie shorts.

Maybe that's true.
Maybe we do live in a world that's more gender-equal and balanced.

So how many hotwings you want?

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