Reykjavík Grapevine - 29.07.2011, Blaðsíða 34

Reykjavík Grapevine - 29.07.2011, Blaðsíða 34
The Reykjavík Grapevine Issue 11 — 2011 Taste the freshness of a farmer’s market Housed in one of the city’s oldest buildings, Fish Market uses ingredients sourced directly from the nation’s best farms, lakes, and sea to create unforgettable Icelandic dishes with a modern twist. AÐALSTRÆTI 12 | +354 578 8877 | FISHMARKET.IS 2008 GO LIST OPEN FOR LUNCH WEEKDAYS 11:30 - 14:00 OPEN EVERY EVENING 18:00 - 23:30 34 It was 1977, at the The- atre Royal Drury Lane. The voice, the vision, the inimitable Nina Simone erupts the audience with cheers and laughter as she chides them: “Come on girls, come on.” This moment was all I could think of as, walking home in the inextinguish- able twilight of a recent summer eve- ning, I was accosted by the shouts of a middle-aged man. Though in my hand a heel might serve as a clever weapon—a deft defence against unwarranted ad- vances—under my foot it champions the opposite cause; stripped of its mythol- ogy, the high-heel has a practical func- tion somewhat akin to a ball and chain. In any case I was alone, the man was drunk and presumptuous, and I felt ill prepared to face the consequences of talking back. Instead of asserting my- self as a dynamic, pulsating, thinking human being, I conceded to my vulner- able position, and walked away. And there was Nina—conjured from this, my most prized recording—sitting at her piano, quintessentially self-as- sured, smirking and shaking her head at me. It is indeed laughable how easily I (among others) am enticed to be com- plicit in forwarding an ideology that in- sists that I be beautiful, idle, mute. Part of the problem is no doubt an unwillingness to consistently think crit- ically about the philosophical implica- tions of fashion—and to act accordingly. I am not insensitive to the aesthetic charms of dress. No doubt we are vi- sual creatures, and the way we pres- ent ourselves externally to the world is likely a more essential way of com- municating with and understanding one another than most of us up on the intellectual high-horse would care to admit. But fashion need not be immune to critical study though it is susceptible to artistic whim. In a very concrete way, fashion is an expression of our personal and cultural values. We cannot ignore, for example, the social implications of the fact that men’s fashion—though no less capable of artistry and indeed frivolity—is gen- erally characterised by a certain utility that women’s fashion is not. We can- not ignore the ways in which fashion interprets and promulgates particular ideas about the feminine ideal, and feminine virtues. Let’s not pretend, for example, that clothes that liken women to cupcakes, or porcelain dolls, are not appealing to specific gender roles, do not evoke the image of the woman on a pedestal: delicate, idle, mute. Indeed, for the elaborately styled hipster queen, you can look, but you better not touch, because God knows she might tip over. But the point is that fashion is not the point. The point is that women are not merely interesting as deep as their clothes, or skin, and yet our culture seems determined to treat us as merely aesthetic creatures—or better said, ob- jects. I’m talking about a culture where it is quite normal for a stranger on the street to criticise my personal ap- pearance—loudly and unapologeti- cally—even while attempting to solicit my sexual attention. I’m talking about a culture where it is not uncommon for a woman to be accused of “inviting” sex- ual assault by the way she is dressed; when appearance is all, it is more im- portant that her clothes say “yes” than that she says “no.” This emphasis on women’s aes- thetic is flagrant in the Icelandic media, where “calibre” and “ideas” are gener- ally understood to be irrelevant to sto- ries about the ‘other’ sex. Fréttablaðið and Morgunblaðið, especially, read sort of like the curriculum at Álftanesskóli: Women are mentioned in the context of gossip and fashion; as content, they are used mainly as fluff. ‘Look at this cute actress talking about something!’ ‘Look at this one! She runs a clothing store all by her widdy biddy self!’ Can you hear me down here Nina? I’m drowning in the patriarchy. Back to London, 1977. “Well, love songs,” Nina says, “are never ending. Sometimes I listen to the radio and I say ‘They’re still at it!’ No matter what the language, they’re still at it. They want it, and when they get it they run from it. Then they say, well we want a natu- ral woman. Then they get one… scares them half to death! Then they say well, you know, we like them slim with no tits, lily white with long blonde hair. And then you talk to them and they’ve got the same problem as you. Come on girls, come on.” If the Icelandic media is any indica- tion of the state of affairs in this coun- try, The Man is indeed drunk and pre- sumptuous. He would have us believe that success is as good as a pat on the back for being pretty, that our empow- erment lies in our ability to excite men sexually, and that Ásdís Rán is our (ice) queen. But we need not concede defeat and walk away. The heel is in our hands, we just have to be ready to use it. Suffer For Fashion, Or Whatever Opinion | Fashion VALGERðUR ÞóRODDSDóTTIR ALÍSA KALYANOVA Comic | Hugleikur Dagsson
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