Looks are important and no t.v. program presents the extreme end of the “Looks spectrum” so well as does the Discovery Health Channel. This is where, from the comfort of your couch, you can voyeuristically watch the obese, disfigured and diseased wrestle with their heartbreaking challenges.
I am addicted to these programs. My husband refers to them as the modern-day freak shows. Instead of going to the Springfield State Fair to see the fattest man alive, we can now cuddle up in our snuggies while eating corn-dogs, and witness the fattest man alive struggle as he attempts to get out of bed. Sure beats paying 50 cents to walk inside his tent and have a one-on-one with him, right?
Maybe the attraction is similar to that of Gaper’s block. In a ghoulish sort of way, I need, not just want, to see the tragedy while, at the same time, I’m silently praying “There but for the grace of God. . .“ Yet, maybe it’s more than just that. Seeing the “worse off” reinforces perspective. And, seeing the extremely worse off should indelibly fortify it. We can turn off the t.v. and sigh, “Well, I may be overweight, but at least I’m not 800 lbs.” It’s why t.v. shows like the Biggest Loser, and What Not to Wear are so wildly popular. We can feel good about ourselves just by comparison. The icing on the cake is when we see those ugly ducklings turn into beautiful swans. It means there’s hope for us, too!
Like many, I’m in constant need of perspective reinforcement. Wallowing in self-pity is a game I play quite well when the mood strikes. A member of the family sick? Woe is me. Lose my job? Woe is me. Getting old? More woe. Not enough money? Oh God, let’s bring on that bucket of woe. Seems there’s always an abundant supply of it.
Until I watch one of those programs. I see a child who was born without a face. I see a mother struggling with her daughter’s severe deformity. I see a man so ravaged by fibrous tumors that his face is no longer recognizable. I see his desperate family trying to help him. How much more perspective does it take? How much more tragedy do we have to second-handedly experience before we grasp the truer, deeper meaning of despair?
Oddly enough, it always takes more. You can never get enough perspective. While I’m watching the programs and feeling heartsick for the children and parents, I know that tomorrow I’ll be helping myself to another heeping bowl of woe-is-me soup.
Funny thing about perspective – it’s so temporary. Unless you’re glued to the t.v., watching one of these programs 24/7, you lose it. You return to focusing on your own perceived injustices just as easily as you turned off the remote control. Maybe you would like a better job; maybe you would like a prettier face; maybe you would like more friends and more financial security. Or, maybe the “mores” are better expressed in terms of “less” anxiety, stress, guilt, weight and wrinkles.
With the exception of a desire for good health & well-being of friends and family, I realize, whenever I’m watching one of these programs, that there isn’t a single desire I have that could possibly compare to a mother’s desire for her disfigured child to fit in, or at least not be ridiculed, or at best to be cured.
That’s perspective and I need to be reminded of it often. Thank you, Discovery Health Channel.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Not too long ago, my mother and I had a conversation during which we asked each other “Given the choice of being judged by the world as beautiful or being judged by yourself alone as beautiful, what would you choose?” It was an “either/or” question; you couldn’t have both. And, it was not a question about so-called inner beauty. It was directed solely towards that superficial, only-skin-deep, Vogue Magazine kind of beauty.
For my mother and me, it was a no-brainer. We chose being seen as beautiful in the eyes of the world. We decided we would love to wake up one day and suddenly be declared stunning. Strong jaw-line. Chiseled nose. Almond-shaped eyes. Flawless complexion. Shiny, healthy hair. And, a body to beat the band. All in all, a cross between Sophia Loren, Elizabeth Taylor, and Christie Brinkley.
So, what does that say about us?
Foremost, it suggests that each of us really needs to get a life and move on from these inane conversations, but beyond that, it also offers a couple of mildly interesting, if not futile questions and observations:
Are our own self-images so fragile and dismissive that it matters not what we think, only what the world thinks? Could be. Majority rules, right? After all, we frequently defer to public opinion, especially in matters where we have minimal hands-on knowledge. When we were told that Iraq had WMD, who were we to argue? When we were told that the climate is changing, we nodded in agreement. Likewise, if the world were to pronounce us beautiful, I think we’d eventually acquiesce, despite our own misgivings.
Therein, however, lies the dilemma. This little exercise in futility doesn’t allow for acceptance of our own beauty at the same time that the world proclaims it. Remember - It’s either/or. Having made our choice, the world now sees us as gorgeous and we are no longer afforded the indulgence of conceit. Sort of a Catch 22, right? You get your wish, the world thinks you’re beautiful, but you’re left with the same old ugly self-image. In other words, nothing has changed.
Conversely, you think you’re beautiful, but no one else does, and you’re left with this bogus self-image, which while personally satisfying, counts you among the American Idol-wannabe’s who can’t sing but think they can and are ultimately destroyed when the truth is revealed.
Yet, in some respects, everything changes if we get our wish. Despite our own reservations, everywhere we go, people react to us as beautiful women. Life is a little easier. People automatically like us and people are automatically attracted to us. Because we continue to view ourselves as two hideous lepers, we also project this wonderfully innocent humility that endears us to everyone even more. We are popular; we are desirable; we are loved.
Ugly people, and even the average, on the other hand, have to work harder at being loved. We have to first guide the public to look beyond the flaws. We have to have talent, skill, or some other nuisance thing of redeeming value. Second, we have to attempt to disguise the flaws. Lots of money and makeup would be required. And, third, we have to present winning personalities that outweigh the flaws. That takes some doing. Let’s face it, by the time we’re done, we’re too tired to achieve success.
Of course, the alternative, where you’re the only one in the world who thinks you’re beautiful, also holds promise. Filled with conceit, albeit undeserved, you don’t have to work as hard as the ugly and the average. The mirror says you’re the fairest of them all. You can relax; people will naturally flock to you. There’s no work in hiding invisible flaws; there’s no work in overcoming them. It doesn’t matter that people may not be flocking to you because you can always point to a host of reasons for the flock failure, none of which have anything to do with your looks. Self-denial in this respect is its own reward. And, any doubt is instantly removed with that magic mirror.
So, there it is in a nutshell. We made our choice because, unwittingly, we chose an easier way to be considered desirable and gain love. That’s what it said about us.
Next time my mother and I have a philosophical conversation, we should begin with “First, let’s get a life; then we’ll talk.”
For my mother and me, it was a no-brainer. We chose being seen as beautiful in the eyes of the world. We decided we would love to wake up one day and suddenly be declared stunning. Strong jaw-line. Chiseled nose. Almond-shaped eyes. Flawless complexion. Shiny, healthy hair. And, a body to beat the band. All in all, a cross between Sophia Loren, Elizabeth Taylor, and Christie Brinkley.
So, what does that say about us?
Foremost, it suggests that each of us really needs to get a life and move on from these inane conversations, but beyond that, it also offers a couple of mildly interesting, if not futile questions and observations:
Are our own self-images so fragile and dismissive that it matters not what we think, only what the world thinks? Could be. Majority rules, right? After all, we frequently defer to public opinion, especially in matters where we have minimal hands-on knowledge. When we were told that Iraq had WMD, who were we to argue? When we were told that the climate is changing, we nodded in agreement. Likewise, if the world were to pronounce us beautiful, I think we’d eventually acquiesce, despite our own misgivings.
Therein, however, lies the dilemma. This little exercise in futility doesn’t allow for acceptance of our own beauty at the same time that the world proclaims it. Remember - It’s either/or. Having made our choice, the world now sees us as gorgeous and we are no longer afforded the indulgence of conceit. Sort of a Catch 22, right? You get your wish, the world thinks you’re beautiful, but you’re left with the same old ugly self-image. In other words, nothing has changed.
Conversely, you think you’re beautiful, but no one else does, and you’re left with this bogus self-image, which while personally satisfying, counts you among the American Idol-wannabe’s who can’t sing but think they can and are ultimately destroyed when the truth is revealed.
Yet, in some respects, everything changes if we get our wish. Despite our own reservations, everywhere we go, people react to us as beautiful women. Life is a little easier. People automatically like us and people are automatically attracted to us. Because we continue to view ourselves as two hideous lepers, we also project this wonderfully innocent humility that endears us to everyone even more. We are popular; we are desirable; we are loved.
Ugly people, and even the average, on the other hand, have to work harder at being loved. We have to first guide the public to look beyond the flaws. We have to have talent, skill, or some other nuisance thing of redeeming value. Second, we have to attempt to disguise the flaws. Lots of money and makeup would be required. And, third, we have to present winning personalities that outweigh the flaws. That takes some doing. Let’s face it, by the time we’re done, we’re too tired to achieve success.
Of course, the alternative, where you’re the only one in the world who thinks you’re beautiful, also holds promise. Filled with conceit, albeit undeserved, you don’t have to work as hard as the ugly and the average. The mirror says you’re the fairest of them all. You can relax; people will naturally flock to you. There’s no work in hiding invisible flaws; there’s no work in overcoming them. It doesn’t matter that people may not be flocking to you because you can always point to a host of reasons for the flock failure, none of which have anything to do with your looks. Self-denial in this respect is its own reward. And, any doubt is instantly removed with that magic mirror.
So, there it is in a nutshell. We made our choice because, unwittingly, we chose an easier way to be considered desirable and gain love. That’s what it said about us.
Next time my mother and I have a philosophical conversation, we should begin with “First, let’s get a life; then we’ll talk.”
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