Archive for the 'Body' Category

Fat Suits at the Saturday Celebration

I ought to have blogged this earlier in the week, but got distracted.

On October 28, I was one of the leaders at the All Saints "Saturday Celebration", which offers a folky, relaxed, distinctly casual alternative to the more formal Sunday liturgies.  It’s the sort of service in which children are invited to run around and shake tambourines; this past Saturday, many of the little ones came in costumes.  We had princesses and witches and football players — and one boy of about eight dressed in the most extraordinary fat suit.

The suit, made of some synthetic material, covered him from throat to wrist to ankle.  It had a little remote control motor; when the boy pressed a button, the motor would cause the suit to inflate, simulating mounds and mounds of fat.  The exterior of the costume was painted to resemble the physique of an obese man, complete with a "butt crack" on the backside.   Of all the costumes worn by the kids, his got the most attention, particularly during that key part of the Anglican Liturgy known as the "parading of the costumes."  (This is, for the record, just after the prayers of the people and before the offertory.)  When it came time to receive the Eucharist, the boy inflated his fat suit to maximum size, and carefully guided by his parents, went up to receive the bread and the wine made holy.  Lots of indulgent smiles and chuckles all around.

I’ll admit it: one of the indulgent chuckles was mine.  I just wasn’t in the mood on Saturday afternoon to pull the parents of the boy aside for a quick chat.  In my head, I had the whole lecture ready: the cruelty of the stereotypes about fat people, the importance of sending a message of tolerance and inclusion rather than one of ridicule.  At All Saints, we preach the radical message that we are all children of God, equally precious, equally deserving of protection from derision.  Would a white child in black face have been okay?  If the little boy had dressed up as, say, a "dyke on a bike", would that have been okay?  I suspect not. But as a morbidly obese person, this rail-thin eight-year old delighted his parents and his peers.  And it made me very uncomfortable.

As the boy paraded around, I noticed one of the younger mothers staring the other way, out the window.  She’s a fairly regular parishioner, and she is very, very heavy.   I think her very little son was dressed as a badger or a wolf — something far less offensive.  I wondered if I ought to try and "check in" with this woman as well, and discover if she had been offended or hurt by the tyke in the fat suit.  But I second-guessed myself, got distracted with supervising the offertory, and before  I knew it, the service was over and the heavy-set mother had taken her son and left.

Bottom line: fat suits aren’t funny.  They aren’t appropriate Halloween costumes.  I may be on the slender side, but I am acutely weight-conscious; perhaps that’s why I found this outfit to be so hurtful and in such poor taste.   Is putting a skinny kid in a fat suit the moral equivalent of putting a white child in blackface?  Perhaps not, but it’s not far off.  And I missed a big opportunity on Saturday, and so I offer a tardy mea culpa this morning

Another note on RMP

Scott Jaschik, the editor of the splendid Inside Higher Ed, called me up yesterday to chat about the latest Ratemyprofessors wrinkle: photos.  His article appears this morning, and begins:

There’s a new reason to worry about students with cell phones in your classes. RateMyProfessors.com, the Web site whose popularity with students is matched by the grief it gives professors, has launched a new feature, encouraging students to shoot photographs of their faculty members and to post them along with the anonymous ratings of professors.

Think RateMyProfessors is going to ask your permission to post a photograph that you may not even know was taken (camera phones are being recommended to students)? Of course not, although RateMyProfessor asserts that it has other quality control mechanisms in place.

In the 48 hours since RateMyProfessors posted information about this new service on its site, it has received more than 1,200 photographs of professors and it is in the process of reviewing and uploading them.

Well, my students know that using their cell phone in class to take pictures, text-message, or talk to friends will result in their names being stricken from the Lamb’s Book of Life. I have connections, you know!  Still, I am sure someone could snap my pic surreptitiously.  I do note that someone has already uploaded a picture for me on RMP — they simply took the photo from this blog, which I don’t mind.  But some of my pictures need to be seen in a certain context

Jaschik kindly quotes me at length:

Hugo Schwyzer might seem like just the kind of professor who would like RateMyProfessors. A historian at Pasadena City College, he’s on the hottest list, has great ratings on RateMyProfessors, and has no hesitation about sharing life details or photographs — along with his philosophy and ruminations — online, at his blog.

Indeed Schwyzer said that he had high hopes for RateMyProfessors and thought it might provide a good source of anonymous feedback for him so he could improve his teaching. But he said that by asking students to send in photographs of professors, without a system to check first on whether the photos were taken with permission, it was clear that “the primary function is to humiliate.”

Schwyzer said he’s seen “the speciousness of the whole system” in recent weeks. He offended some men’s rights activists on his blog, and they responded by posting numerous critical comments on RateMyProfessors to bring down his scores. While some of those comments have been removed, Schwyzer said he witnessed “a remarkably detailed discussion of my appearance.”

To the extent RateMyProfessors could have served a valuable purpose, he said, it would have been about teaching and classroom performance. The non-scientific approach to those subjects and the increasing emphasis on physical appearance take away that potential, he added. By going with the photo feature, Schwyzer said, RateMyProfessors “loses whatever shreds of legitimacy it had.”

“Cowboy up for Christ”: the Godmen, muscular Christianity, porn, and saddle imagery

A long Reformation Day post.

Kristie, who also comments on this same topic, sends me a link to this Newsweek story: Godmen: Promisekeepers with an Edge. 

Godmen is, according to the organizers,  a series of testosterone-fueled Christian men’s gatherings across the country. Their purpose: to reassert masculinity within a church structure that they (the organizers) say has been weakened by feminization.

Uh huh.  Or, in other words, Godmen is about giving men who feel overwhelmed and challenged by a Gospel message of egalitarian justice a chance to worship God without having to let go of the very things that Jesus asks them to surrender.

According to the article, a "Godmen band" sings a song called "Grow a Pair":

  “We’ve been beaten down/ Feminized by the culture crowd/ No more nice guy, timid and ashamed/ We’ve had enough, cowboy up/ In the power of Jesus name/ Welcome to the battle/ A million men have got your back/ Jump up in the saddle/ Grab a sword, don’t be scared/ Be a man, grow a pair!”

I consider myself a charitable fellow, but it’s impossible for me as a man, as a feminist, and as a Christian to read that without a very loud derisive snort. How do you reconcile "No more nice guy, timid and ashamed" with Matthew 5?  It is the fallen culture that celebrates aggression; it is Jesus who celebrates meeknessThe Godmen have managed to get it all exactly backwards.  Simply invoking the "power of Jesus’ name" doesn’t magically transform an essentially secular message into a Christian one.

The Godmen have much in common with at least some of the secular Men’s Rights Advocates I encounter in the blogosphere.   For one thing, both Godmen and MRAs engage in the nifty trick of framing themselves as "oppressed victims".  Since at least the 1970s, both MRAs and white conservative Christians — traditionally the greatest agents of injustice — have tried to steal the mantle of "victimhood" from the genuinely oppressed.  In this perverse reframing, gays and lesbians who want marriage equality become the powerful forces of evil, imposing their will on a simple, God-fearing, and ultimately powerless majority. 

If there’s one thing I loathe above all else it’s the appropriation of the language of the oppressed by the oppressors themselves; all the Godmen are adding to this tired mix is the apparent imprimatur of our Savior Himself.   According to the Godmen, Jesus didn’t come to build a "peaceable Kingdom".  He came, it seems, to restore traditional gender roles and act as a Savior to that most noxious of cultural archetypes, the "hen-pecked husband" in danger of drowning in feminist rhetoric.

Scripture calls us to war.  But it is not a war to be fought by men only, and it is a war to be fought with prayers, not swords.  And war is, in the end, only a metaphor for the intense struggle we all fight on behalf of peace.  Paul, in Ephesians 6:

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.  Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

Paul’s audience would have known better than any modern one what a shield and a helmet looked and felt like.  And the shields and helmets and swords Paul speaks of are entirely spiritual, to be used in congruence with a gospel of peace.   Paul and Jesus take classic symbols of masculine aggression and artfully turn them into tools for building a peaceful, just world.    For Paul and Christ, means and ends are radically, divinely congruent: peace is built peacefully with the shield of faith and a sword of the Spirit.  To mistake the physical sword for the spiritual one is an old and tragic mistake, one that Christians have been making since, oh, the early fourth century.

For the Godmen, pornography and masturbation are apparently the "worst" sins in which a man can engage.  (In the Newsweek article, they are mentioned several times as a particular focus.)  This is in keeping with much right-wing Christian rhetoric about the necessity of "purity."  At first glance, but only at first, the Godmen’s hostility to porn seems to match that of certain wings of the feminist movement.  But the similarity is, I have come to realize, only superficial.

I’ve never been to a "Godmen" service.  But I’ve been to a few Promisekeepers events, and I’ve also got a strong grounding in secular feminism.  Frankly, I don’t know many other men who have spent a considerable amount of time in both evangelical and feminist circles, and who feel genuinely at home in both.  (What was it old Walt Whitman said about contradictions?)  I’ve heard lots of talk about pornography in both camps.  And while the hostility to porn is often nearly identical in intensity, what undergirds that dislike of commercial sex is fundamentally different.

While the feminist anti-porn movement is concerned with the impact porn has on both women and men, groups like the Godmen only pay lip service to concepts like "exploitation" and "dehumanization."  What conservative Christian men’s groups find so troubling is that an addiction to porn and masturbation leaves men feeling weak, powerless, and vulnerable.  In particular, for the vast majority who are heterosexual, it is the intensity of desire for women that leaves many men feeling dependent upon their girlfriends and wives (as well as the images on their screen.)  Thus a man who can resist pornography and sexual "sin" is a man who can stand up to women and resist their challenge to transform himself.  Feminists don’t like porn because porn sends a fundamentally destructive message about who women are.  Godmen don’t like porn because it is a visceral, shameful reminder of male weakness, one that stands at odds with their self-flattering vision of strong, bold, Christian warriors.  One group’s opposition to porn is grounded in justice and a desire to see our common humanity acknowledged; the other’s in the rhetoric of masculine autonomy and independence.

I am a Christian, washed clean in Christ.  I believe myself to be a new creation, one who still struggles mightily to follow my Master.  I am a feminist, committed to the notion that we are called to see men and women as radical equals.  I am a man who understands that his strength comes not from his testicles or his Y chromosome or his bravado, but from the Spirit that is given equally to all of us, male and female. 

The Godmen band use the image of the saddle and "cowboying up."  But the New Testament image of the saddle is of Saul of Tarsus, proud and cruel, thrown from his saddle and left sprawling in the dust of the Damascus road.   Saul became Paul — and became a true Christian — not when he climbed on his horse but when he fell from it. And men become followers of the Savior when they too are willing to be left sprawling in the dust, blinded and overwhelmed, surrendering all they have to Him.

A note on professional boxers and shin splints

Yesterday at the boxing gym, I met this young professional fighter.  Vicente’s a great guy,  and we had a nice chat — and to my considerable pleasure,  I was able to give him some knowledgeable advice about overcoming shin splints.  From the knees up, I have no doubt this fellow could destroy me in any athletic competition he could name.  But for an old man, I have some pretty damn strong lower legs from years of hill running, and I haven’t had shin problems in years and years.  My trainer, Pepe, asked me to give VIcente some tips, and I was immensely flattered by the rapt attention I received from this 2004 Olympian.  (I know, I’m shamelessly name-dropping and bragging.)

Key to overcoming shin splints: hills, hills, hills.  Shins hurt when the calves aren’t as well-developed as they should be.  Just as building strong abs is the best way to deal with lower back pain, building strong calves helps cure shin splints.  And running uphill builds calves like nothing else.

In any event, my boxing training is really coming along.  Only problem: with the new nearly vegan diet, I’m losing muscle as well as fat despite all the protein supplements.  More legumes, more tofu, more push-ups.

Vicente fights next November 10.  I may have to finally start watching boxing.  But what of my pacifism?  Can it coexist with a love of pugilism?

Another long one about waxing, bodies, class, privilege and OKOP

During the great big "fun feminists" internecine conflict of last week, there was much discussing of "feminist credentials" and whether such behaviors as waxing, wearing heels, and delighting in make-up vitiated one’s commitment to the ideals of the broader cause.  It got to be quite an intense discussion that took in at least a dozen blogs, if not more.

I thought I wasn’t going to post more on this subject, and then I read this long, fascinating piece at Mind the Gap Cardiff: How do I look?  Thoughts on femininity and white middle-class feminism.  I read it hesitantly, worrying it would turn into another Jill-bashing frenzy.  But instead, I found it challenging, and it’s got me thinking about a point that I know BitchLab (not work safe for all) has been making as well:  many of us tend to see everything through the lens of gender, and tend to ignore the class implications of what it is that we’re writing about.

From Mind the Gap:

When we have fights about waxing for example, are we assuming that all women can afford waxing, that waxing is expected of all women in the same way, and that waxing has the same significance for all women? The way in which women experience, or take part in feminine beauty practices, is enormously tied up with class, race, and also sexuality.

The construction of white middle-class femininity and its practices define my experience of oppression, not least because my own family has, over the last two generations, been in the process of achieving middle-class status. My father comes from a working-class family. His mother was a milliner and later a caterer, his father was a merchant seaman, and he was the first in the family to go to university. My mother’s parents were also both from working-class backgrounds and were obsessed with becoming middle-class. My maternal great grandmother drove herself crazy trying to convince everyone that she was white and middle-class (she was neither, but that’s a story for another day), and so the feminine beauty practices encouraged in my maternal grandmother and mother had a lot to do with the pursuit of a middle-class white identity and with erasing marks of race and working-classness.

For example, waxing has clear ethnic implications.  One of my favorite former students, "Armine" (not her real name) reads this blog, and she came to see me yesterday.   We talked about waxing, and about my post two days ago on men’s hairy chests.  Like many of my students, Armine is of Armenian ancestry.  As she herself remarked (her words not mine), "My people are known for being particularly hairy!"   Armine talked about the tremendous cultural anxiety she had been raised with about hair.  From the time she hit puberty, she’d been removing hair from her forearms, her lip, and elsewhere on her body — and she had been encouraged to do this by her mother and older female relatives. She’d also seriously considered rhinoplasty to reduce the size of what she called her "stereotypical Armenian nose".   Her older sister has already had that surgical procedure done.

Armine is quite clear that there is a specific goal to all of this: "We want to look white, not ethnic."  Armine feels that the ideals of feminine beauty she grew up with were primarily white women with "cute little noses" and little or no hair on their bodies.   Here in Pasadena in 2006, she’s engaged in the same practices that the Welsh great-grandmother was in the Mind the Gap post above: pursuing a middle-class white identity and erasing marks of race and ethnicity.  Armine points out that within her culture, it’s possible to balance an intense pride in Armenian heritage with an equally intense contempt for how women from her backgound naturally look.  To paraphrase something she said, "At the same time we were being told to make our noses smaller and our bodies hairless, we were told we could only date Armenian men and we had to never forget the genocide."

While I think that Jill — and other pro-waxing, pro-heels feminists — were rudely and unnecessarily savaged last week, I get the point that Armine, Mind the Gap, and BitchLab are making in different ways.   Brazilian bikini waxes aren’t just something that women do — they are something that women who can afford them do.  And while we generally have no idea how much hair a woman might have in her pubic region, forearm and lip hair (a big concern of Armine’s) is visible.  Its removal is at least moderately expensive and moderately painful, and certain ethnic groups (whose DNA carries the genetic material decreeing that body hair shall be abundant) thus have to work harder, pay more, and endure more discomfort in order to meet an ideal that is still set largely by the white middle class.

This still doesn’t mean that I think anyone, white or not, affluent or not, ought to be racked with guilt over the decision to remove hair from the pubis, climb into stilettos, or apply really good make-up. But not all shoes look the same, and not all make-up looks the same.   A $400 pair of heels often look like a $400 pair of heels; the make-up at an upscale department store is generally better than the Maybelline one buys at the corner drug store.  And a really first-rate waxing job isn’t cheap.  This doesn’t mean that only rich women buy nice make-up or get waxed or wear great shoes.  It does mean that for women on a budget, the decision to spend on these things means less money for something else.  And it also sends a signal to other women about what is appropriate, acceptable, and expected.

Ultimately, all of this raises the difficult question of communal obligation.  To what extent are feminists responsible for the signals they send to others?  To what extent are those signals even under our control?  Jill Filipovic attracts intra-feminist hostility more than most, frankly, because she is a young, pretty, law student living in New York.  She takes trips to Europe.  She goes to parties and has great hair.   Some of these things are within her control, some aren’t, but she gets singled out time and again because she’s both an immensely articulate young feminist and an easy target for envy.  (Flame away, but let’s be candid here.)  Jill has done the vital work of acknowledging her privilege, even while she has pointed out that she is — like so many of her generation — under a mountain of debt.

Folks seemed to take special issue with Jill because it’s clear that she comes closer than virtually any other feminist blogger to a particular middle-class, white ideal for feminine attractiveness.   Unlike her co-bloggers, she does post pictures of herself (in a Flickr account).  She leads a more "visually public life" than many other feminists, blogging under her full name and with many details of her private life laid open.  So when a pretty, young, white female law student talks about getting a bikini wax, it’s going to produce a strong reaction from some quarters.  It’s hard for some people to separate what Jill does from who Jill is.

Though Jill and I are very different, I recognize that perceptions of class and attractiveness function in my own life and work as well.  When I’ve posted about my own body anxiety, for example, I usually get some annoyed comments talking about how "I have nothing to complain about."  When I talk at length about the fact that I work out anywhere from 15-24 hours per week (including private Pilates and boxing lessons) that sends a stark, even grating message about privilege.  My increasingly lean and toned flesh is a testament to my physical work ethic, sure — but it’s also a testament to discretionary time and discretionary income, both of which are associated with tremendous amounts of privilege.   That doesn’t mean I am going to stop running, lifting, Pilate-ing, boxing, or cycling any time soon.  But it does mean that I am going be cognizant of that privilege just as I know Jill is cognizant of hers.

******

On a tangential note, talking about class reminds me of another aspect of growing up WASP in OKOP culture.  One key rule that OKOP follow: talking about class is prima facie evidence you don’t have it.   I remember when I was in junior high school, and I repeated something at the dinner table I had heard earlier in the day. I  can’t remember what I was describing, but I said something was "classy."  An older female relative whom I love very much said to me gentle, "Hugo, please don’t say ‘classy’.  It’s vulgar."  (For OKOP WASPS, few things are worse than being "vulgar.")  The point became clear to me quickly: the people who talked about things being "classy" or about "having a lot of class" were the "anxiously aspiring" who were all-too-eager to try and signify that they belonged in a certain social stratum.  Those who had already "arrived", as it were, practiced a careful, elegant pretense of ignoring the whole idea of class.  Thus the use of the term "classy" was, as far as OKOP were concerned, proof of its absence!

Running report, and a note on hairy chests

Mark, Caz, Magnus and I had a glorious, tough fifteen miler today, running in the cool and the mists of the Angeles National Forest.  (If there are any of my readers who know the San Gabriel Mountains, we ran from Chantry Flats to Newcomb’s Saddle via First Water and the Sturtevant Trail.  After years of running, those very names reek of sweat and excitement to me.)  Four tired and happy men we were at the end.  I ran shirtless, the other lads wore tights and long sleeves.  There were a few chilly gusts, but nothing I couldn’t handle.   Of course, I just got over a nasty cold, so this probably wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had.

We ended up at Noah’s bagels.  For a decade now, I’ve ordered the same thing over and over: cinnamon raisin bagel toasted with sun-dried tomato shmear.  I have no idea what anything else tastes like there.  (And yes, New Yorkers, I know, your bagels are better.  I concede.)

We’ve got quite a good (and mostly civil) discussion going in the comments section below Friday’s post about feminism and loneliness.  I’m grateful that Amanda Marcotte discussed it at length yesterday, and offered some interesting insights (and sent lots of welcome hits this way.)  If you don’t already read Pandagon, read my post and hers as well as both comments sections.

And as anyone who has been doing any reading this week in the feminist blogosphere knows, we’ve all been obsessed with hair.  Mostly, we’ve been interested in how women groom — or don’t — the hair below eye level.  I posted here, Happy posted here, Jill posted here (and was ripped here), Zuzu posted here,  Lauren here, and if you poke around elsewhere, I am sure a dozen other feminist bloggers have weighed in on issues of waxing and plucking and related strategies.  It may seem silly, but it isn’t, not really, not when we’re all convinced that we have an obligation to live lives of integrity and we disagree passionately about whether or not our most intimate grooming habits are or aren’t consistent with our core values. 

It’s been pointed out in many corners that women are not the only ones who remove body hair.   While in an earlier era, only athletes in certain sports (body building and swimming, for example) regularly removed chest and leg hair, within the past ten years the number of men "going bare" has increased enormously.   Pick up any men’s magazine (Men’s Health, etc.), and the chances are good the bare-chested model on the cover will be completely or nearly hairless.  Many folks assume that the focus on hairlessness has to do with the tremendous increase in body anxiety among men that we’ve witnessed in recent years.  It’s widely argued that men are more and more likely to be judged on their appearance these days, and as a consequence we’re seeing an upsurge in male body hair removal.  Men are, perhaps, beginning to suffer from the same concerns from which women have suffered for considerably longer.

One key difference, however, goes unremarked most of the time.  Classically, the reason why men remove chest hair is that hair obscures muscle.  A rug, or even some wisps, may make it more difficult to display one’s pecs.  Taking off the hair immediately makes the chest look bigger and makes the upper body appear more defined.  Trust me, I know this first hand.  When I was lifting a lot of weights about a decade ago, I "Naired" my chest a couple of times.  (I had one brief experience with waxing at the hands of a helpful but not very skilled female friend.  Yikes.)  The "Nair" burned, particularly around my nipples (which were pierced at the time), but it got rid of all the hair from my throat to below my belt line. 

The visual results were instant — my chest looked manlier, which struck me as oddly paradoxical.  The hair (which I’ve had on my chest since I was 16) "should" have been the primary signifier of masculinity.   After all, we’re all familiar with the the exhortation "Come on, do it, it’ll put hair on your chest" — which is usually said about something dangerous or "manly".  But in our world, pectoral muscles are an even more powerful signifier of manliness, particularly because their appearance is more likely to be the result of effort rather than genetics.   In order to enhance my masculine appeal, I "had" to remove what was quintessentially masculine.  As I washed the stinging Nair off in the shower, the contradiction did not escape me!

Male porn stars generally have very closely cropped pubic hair, if they have any at all.  (Their female co-stars increasingly have little or none.)  Many women who wax claim it enhances their comfort, or their sense of pleasure, or — and this seems to be the most frequent — their sense of cleanliness.  (Even when they know intellectually that body hair is not inherently dirty.) But the reason for a man to remove his pubic hair is radically different — as with the chest, hair "down there" obscures.  An erect penis automatically looks bigger when there’s little or no hair about.  In porn, where "size matters" tremendously, there’s little doubt that a male actor can enhance his attributes by removing his pubic hair.  Of course, while both men and women have pubic hair naturally (and most women, and some men, don’t have chest hair) men and women are removing the "hair down there" for radically different reasons.   For many women, anxiety about cleanliness is at least one factor — while for men (even outside of the porn industry), the old anxiety about being "too small" is the primary motivation.

I haven’t removed any body hair from the vast expanses below my neck since early in the second Clinton Administration.  I enjoyed the visual effect of hairlessness, but hated the stubble as it came back in.  And though I found that some women liked a bare chest, I found — and here I step into dangerous territory — that the women I was most likely to actually want to be with were those who liked men with hair. Somehow, there was something suspicious to me about women who liked their men too smooth.  Perhaps it was — and here I psychoanalyze without a license — a sense I got that women who were turned off by chest hair were in some sense intimidated by or frightened of certain aspects of male sexuality.  (Bring on the flaming, but so help me, that was my experience.  I agree that my anecdotes, no matter how numerous, do not in any way constitute data!)  I will note that when my teenage girls in youth group talk about what they like and don’t like in guys, most are enthusiastic about hairless, smooth chests.  Given that those are what the chests of most of their peers look like, it makes sense.  But the connection between eroticising hairlessness and a kind of adolescent view of sexuality does seem to be logical, if nothing else.

I don’t trust Esquire Magazine with much.  (They named the no-doubt talented and lovely, but very young Scarlett Johannson the "sexiest woman alive" earlier this year, a decision which mystified me.  In my mind, she falls into the category of "much younger women I would set up with my college-age nephew, not my best friend.")  But they do report this month that "chest hair is back", which, if true, I find quite encouraging.  Of course, the linked article implies that it’s all a backlash against metro-sexuality:

The area rugs popularized by Hugh (Jackman) et al. are more than just decorative statements; they’re welcome beacons of masculinity in a too-calm sea of feyness. They’re a rebuttal to the androgynous Jude Law pretty-boy aesthetic and the skinny-pantsed Strokesification of our time. In short: Your chest hair is hot. Own it.

Uh, my chest hair is not a rebuttal to anything. It is what it is — a tribute to my DNA, which decreed (thank you, ancestors) that I would naturally have hair on my head for life, hair on my chest in moderate abundance, and very little hair on my back.  (That constellation of gifts almost makes up for the hopeless nearsightedness.)   Praise be to God that my wife loves every last little sprout and tuft!  (Especially, bless her heart, the increasing number of white ones.)

Note: After further reflection, the photo that was here of said chest hair has been removed.

Circumcised at 37: a personal story and a rebuke to the MRAs

In January 2005, at the age of thirty-seven, I was circumcised.   I’ll get to the reasons why later in this post, but I figured I’d start by getting your attention.

Below this post, a men’s rights advocate (MRA) calling himself "ballgame" (!), offers a long comment that concludes with a reference to male circumcision as Male Genital Mutilation (MGM, a play on the term Female Genital Mutilation, which refers to a genuinely dreadful practice performed primarily in North Africa.)

One particular strand of the men’s rights movement that I find especially distasteful is the group that insists that the removal of the foreskin of the penis is equivalent to the removal of the clitoris.   The best known anti-circumcision lobbying group is NOCIRC.  The explicit equivalency between male circumcision and female genital mutilation is made by the folks at (get ready) the International Coalition for Genital Integrity. 

No one denies that there are "botched" male circumcisions.  But the NOCIRC and ICGI folks, and their men’s rights advocate supporters, fail to recognize that male circumcision is performed for radically different reasons than is female genital mutilation.  While the latter operation is designed to safeguard women’s purity (and make pleasure nearly impossible), circumcision is done for a variety of reasons, including increasingly legitimate health ones.

Though it is problematic to quote President Clinton in regards to this part of the male anatomy, the Guardian reported in August that

Bill Clinton called for the world to prepare to tackle the cultural taboos surrounding circumcision yesterday if, as many expect, trials show that it protects men and the women they sleep with from Aids.

Though a fuller study will not report until next year, a preliminary South African study released in 2005 made the compelling claim that male circumcision is a vital weapon in the fight against HIV.  Francois Venter, the head of the Southern African HIV Clinicians Society, described male circumcision as "what may be our most important HIV-prevention strategy ever."

No such medical benefits to the infinitely more barbaric practice of female genital mutilation have ever been reported.

Though the findings remain controversial, many doctors do believe that circumcision also reduces the risk of cervical cancer in women.   Warning: if you google about for information on this topic, you’ll note that non-medical anti-circumcision groups have had remarkable success in getting their results to the top of the queue of answers.  Much more will be known when we get the results of the first truly large scale study on circumcision and health from Africa next year.

My brother and I were not circumcised.  I was born in 1967, my brother in 1970; we were born in the United States at a time when virtually every baby boy was circumcised.  My parents had to be quite emphatic with the physicians at Cottage Hospital, Santa Barbara, to prevent what was a routine operation from being performed.  For my late father, the reason to avoid circumcision was linked to religion, ethnicity, and the Holocaust.  My father’s father was raised Jewish, but married my Catholic grandmother and converted.  When my father was born in Vienna in 1935, he was the first male Schwyzer in the family line not to have the foreskin removed.  My grandfather saw not being circumcised as a sign of assimilation, something he wanted very much for his family.  In Austria in the 1930s, only Jews were circumcised.  With the gathering clouds of anti-Semitism already clearly on the horizon, it was thought best that my father "not look Jewish" down there.

My father was of course no anti-Semite.  But like many Europeans, he retained the association between Judaism and circumcision.  He didn’t understand the post-war American custom of circumcising all boys routinely, regardless of their faith.  And quite understandably, he wanted his sons to look like him "down there."  Many fathers, I am sure, feel the same way.

It wasn’t easy being the only uncircumcised boy growing up.  Junior high locker rooms (where we had open, communal showers) were brutal.  I was teased relentlessly.  One memorable comment that has stuck with me since about 1979: "It looks like a pistol, instead of an apple like it’s supposed to."  My mother explained why I wasn’t circumcised with a simple "Your father is European, and it’s not done over there."  That explanation was all I got until I was in college, and it did little to ease the sense of being different.

In my sexual life, I found that some women were fascinated with the foreskin, others repulsed by it, others absolutely didn’t care.   But I did find — and here I’m walking dangerously close to what is known as TMI — that my foreskin did not always retract as easily as I would like for intercourse.  I had one very memorable, very painful visit to an emergency room when I was in college.   I’ve had stitches in my knees, on my scalp, on my arms — but stitching up a little tear "down there" was no picnic.   As I grew more experienced, I learned little tricks to make sure that I never had a foreskin tearing incident again, but it certainly made me worry for years and years afterwards.

The first person to recommend circumcision to me was the doctor at Cowell Hospital (in Berkeley) who took care of my "sex-related injury."  He said that it would make sex much easier, but I was emphatically not interested.  I didn’t consider circumcision again until just a few years ago.  There were many reasons for my choosing circumcision in my late thirties.  Some of those reasons are too private to get into in a public blog.  One reason, of course, was indeed to make intercourse more comfortable.  But there was another, profoundly personal reason as well that I will share (with my wife’s permission.)

I’ve alluded many times to a past of promiscuity.  While I am not ashamed of who I was or of what I did, when I met the woman who is now my wife and fell in love with her, I began to wish that I could offer her something radically new about me.  And it occurred to me one day that getting circumcised would be something tangible I could do to provide an outer manifestation of my sexual rebirth.   My wife would thus be the only woman with whom I had made love with that particular penis, as it were.   It was not her idea, it was entirely mine.  And that desire to create something wonderfully new, combined with the desire to avoid future trips to the ER, led me to call a urologist in early 2005.

The procedure was done outpatient.  It lasted just over an hour.  The application of the anesthetic stung a bit, but the actual circumcision (done by laser) was absolutely painless.  Dissolving sutures were applied, and I was on my way home.   I was running within two days, and my wife and I were intimate again within four weeks.  There was no loss of sensation or any other complication as a result of this minor, safe, medical procedure.  The physical benefits I had sought were exactly as I hoped, and the spiritual benefits were tremendous as well.  Every time I’m naked, my very flesh reminds me that I am not the man I once was.  I rejoice in that, and haven’t regretted my decision for a single second.

So that’s my story.  Hostile comments about that aspect of this post will be deleted, though you are free to take issue with my other contentions about circumcision. I write as a man who has intimate experience with the "before" and the "after", and whose "after" is physically and spiritually better than his "before."  I write as a pro-feminist angered by the "victim consciousness" of anti-circumcision advocates, who equate a quick, safe, beneficial procedure that rarely produces lasting trauma to an operation performed on girls that produces lasting pain and robs them of the opportunity for sexual delight. To suggest that male circumcision is equivalent to Female Genital Mutilation is like comparing the pain of a vaccinating needle to that of being stabbed by a knife.  It’s deeply offensive and indefensible to do so.

Reprint: A Lunchtime Response to Artemis on Girls and Lust

I’m on hiatus — at least from substantive blogging — until August 28.  Until then, I’m reprinting favorite posts from 2004 and 2005.

Let it not be said I don’t "take requests."  Artemis at the splendid Feminist Mormon Housewives had a very kind post about my piece yesterday.  She also wrote:

The only thing I think is missing (but would be better addressed in a separate post) is more of the girls’ point of view and a validation of girls’ sexuality–letting girls know it’s okay for them to have (and enjoy and not feel guilty for) those feelings, as well as how they too are responsible for them. Which, I suppose, could lead to a discussion of whether men and their dress are responsible for women’s sexual desires, or–since there are double dress and sexual standards for women and men in our society–the repression or secondary-ness of women’s sexual desires.

For what it’s worth, here are two earlier posts some of you might have missed on women, dress, and responsibility: Propriety, Marie’s boobs, and the myth of male weakness and Sisterhood is Easier in Winter.  I’ve also dealt with the issue of men and dress, and specifically how I dress for the classroom, here: The Male Teacher’s Body and Propriety.  Here’s what I wrote at the end of the last of these posts: What I really care about is not using my body to make others uncomfortable.  I don’t want my clothes and my flesh to arouse others, I don’t want them to scare others, I don’t want them to inspire economic envy, and I don’t want them to distract others.

So that deals a bit with the second part of the Artemis query.  But what of the first part?  What about the healthy, pro-feminist validation of young women’s sexuality?  Let me take a lunchtime stab at the subject…

When dealing with young women and sexuality, I find it is always dangerous to confuse two issues: the joy of being an object of desire, and the joy of being a subject of desire.   The former and the latter are two fundamentally different experiences.  The former is the traditionally validated expression  of female sexuality, and it’s the one with which young women are much more comfortable.  From a very early age, most girls in this country are taught to dress themselves with a keen attention to their role as objects of scrutiny.  Parents and grandparents praise cuteness long before boys and older men leer.  Much more so than boys, girls are programmed to be alert to the various signals their dress and their bodies send.  And indeed, for many girls — not all — the attention and the validation they get as young girls for being "cute and pretty" feels good.

And then comes adolescence.  Is there anything as contradictory as the various messages that bombard young girls about their bodies?  Parents and teachers and op-ed writers urge them to "Cover up!"   Pop culture figures urge them to "flaunt it" (whether they have "it" or not).  And as always, young girls notice that their peers who do dress in certain ways get more attention and validation than others. 

Because of this, those of us who do youth work have to be aware that it’s never enough to ask teenage girls "What do you want?"  We first have to ask them another question, one I regularly ask my girls:  "How does it feel to be wanted?"  In both youth group and in college groups, I’ve had my female students share their feelings about being objects of desire.  The answers, of course, vary.   As always, it depends on what form the "wanting" (or at least the "noticing") takes.  If it’s what I call the "appreciative glance", especially if it comes from an attractive boy, then most of my girls say it makes them feel really, really good.  Even more common than "good" is the word "powerful".  Over and over again, girls report saying it feels exciting and empowering to be noticed and desired.

But if the "wanting" takes the form of a penetrating stare, particularly from an older man, then that doesn’t feel good at all.   "I feel creeped out", "Gross", "Icky", "Like I want to wear a raincoat or disappear" — these are some of the typical responses to questions about reactions that are either  flagrantly sexual or that come from considerably older men.  (And of course, as I’ve written in "Sisterhood", there’s the whole other question of how other girls and women respond!)

So we’ve got to be honest here about the fact that many young women enjoy "being seen"!  They enjoy being wanted, and they are keenly aware that what they wear can impact how they are viewed.   As youth workers or parents, we shouldn’t shame this perfectly normal desire to be wanted.  We can validate the fact that it feels good sometimes to be the object of another’s desire, even as we ask our girls to begin to take responsibility for how their clothing decisions make everyone else around them feel.  Dress that makes other people feel inadequate, or poor, or envious, is not appropriate.  And while we cannot always predict how our clothing choices will affect others, we can ask our girls to consider the well-being of the wider community, and balance that well-being against their own perfectly valid longing to be wanted.

But adolescent girls are not just objects.  They are also subjects of desire.  And here, of course, we tread on less familiar ground.  While traditional cultures are accustomed to teaching young women to gain at least some validation from being wanted, they aren’t nearly as comfortable with telling our girls that it’s okay to wantToo much of what is written about teenage girls still insists that adolescent females don’t really have strong libidos; any apparent sexual agency that these girls display is really just a longing for attention.   According to this tired discourse, a sexually aggressive teen girl never really wants sex for its own sake, she merely wants attention and validation from a man (perhaps due to her neglectful father) and is "using" sex as a tool.  While there is some considerable truth to that stereotype, it’s also true that whether we like it or not, our daughters do have libidos of their own.

We live in a culture where even now, young women are very reluctant to talk about themselves as subjects of desire.  A girl who confesses to looking and lusting still risks being labeled as a slut by her peers.  From what I’ve seen, a conservatively dressed young woman who admits to lusting is far more likely to be ostracized than a scantily-clad gal who publicly denies her own sexual desires.  If what I hear anecdotally in many college and high school groups is true, girls are infinitely more frank about what they do to please boys sexually (like blowjobs) than what they do to please themselves (like masturbate).   Pleasing boys and men, no matter what it involves, still is part and parcel of a very traditional understanding of female sexuality.

I don’t write this to titillate or scandalize, but to make a larger point about our cultural messages about sexual desire.  We all acknowledge the reality of the adolescent male libido, and indeed, we are likely to over-emphasize its power.   Too many folks either shame boys for their sex drives, or see those same drives as so irrepressible that they are beyond the capacity of boys to control.  This narrative of the unconquerable male libido is used to make girls and women responsible for male behavior, a point that I have rejected many times (explicitly in yesterday’s post). 

But we need to face the truth that our little sisters and our daughters are sexual creatures.  However powerful their socially sanctioned desire to be seen, they also have a very real desire to seeAgain, as with boys, we must do everything we can not to shame our girls for these desires.    Even more so than with boys, we’ve got to do a good job of communicating to them that it is okay to want and to look and to fantasize.  Girls will, in general, be more reluctant to admit to their own libidinousness.  While I’ve never heard of a boy put down another boy for being horny, I have heard girls say incredibly cruel things about a peer who admitted to having strong sexual desires of her own.  This difference in peer acceptability is a key aspect of the discussion about boys, girls, and desire — and parents and youth workers and teachers need to be cognizant of that.

And of course, we live in a world where young women are sent the blunt message that their sexuality can get them hurt.  According to the dominant narrative of the culture, sexually aggressive women not only risk assault and rape, they deserve whatever they get if they are victimized.  Those are powerful warnings, and they serve to silence public discussion of the reality of teen girls and their own sexuality.  As adults and pro-feminists, we have to redouble our efforts to transform the culture and help create a world where young women don’t see their sexuality as a weapon that will be used against them!

In the end, those of us who have teens or work with teens have to be willing to acknowledge the full and complete humanness of both our boys and girls.   We have to admit that both our sons and daughters are sexual creatures.  And as with boys, we must be clear that our daughters have every right to be both objects and subjects of desire, but they also have responsibility for their actions — particularly as subjects. 

Originally published November 22, 2005

Reprint: Tampax, Virginity, and Teaching the Body

I’m on hiatus — at least from substantive blogging — until August 28.  Until then, I’m reprinting favorite posts from 2004 and 2005.

I spent an hour and fifteen minutes in Tuesday’s Women’s Studies class lecturing  on masturbation, menstruation, and tampons.  (If that don’t got your attention, don’t know what will!)

As I’ve written before, much of my Women’s History course focuses on shifting attitudes towards American women’s bodies.  Tuesday, we spent a fair amount of time reviewing the 19th century panic about women’s sexuality (spurred by the medical "discovery" of the clitoris by the medical profession). I blogged a year ago about some of the unhappy consequences of this panic over young women’s masturbation.

We then connected to this to the history of, of all things, the tampon.  The modern tampon was patented in 1931 by a Dr. Earle Haas, who later sold the patent to what would become the Tampax company.  The first commercially marketed tampons appeared on the market five years later.

What does this have to do with women’s sexuality?  One thing is at least anecdotally evident:  cultural background and openness about sexuality seems to play a critical role in whether or not young women begin to use tampons soon after menarche.  My Asian and Latina students (who comprise two-thirds of my female students) are extremely unlikely to have been encouraged to use tampons when they began to menstruate.  Most tell stories of mothers who insisted on pads, often claiming that the tampon was only to be used by women who had lost their virginity.  One gal shared that she began to use tampons when she was on the her high school dance team where the uniforms made them essential; she told of the horrified and amazed reactions of her friends, who were entirely Hispanic.  At the same time, "white girls" seemed much more likely to use tampons in early to mid-adolescence.  Many of these students are stunned when they hear the myths that their classmates from more culturally conservative backgrounds were raised with. 

This jives with the info in this 2000 Wall Street Journal article.  According to company figures:

While about 70% of women in the U.S., Canada and much of Western Europe use tampons, usage falls to the single digits in a handful of countries such as Japan and Spain, and it’s not even measurable in much of the world. Just 2% of women in Mexico, as throughout most of Latin America, use tampons.

Those figures seem to match the ethnic disparity I see in my classroom. 

Religious and cultural taboos are a hurdle: There is a persistent myth in many countries, for example, that if a girl uses a tampon, she might lose her virginity. "Everywhere we go, women say `this is not for senoritas,’ " says Silvia Davila, P&G’s marketing director for Tampax Latin America. They’re using the Spanish word for unmarried women as a modest expression for young virgins.

This concern crops up in countries that are predominantly Catholic, executives say. In Italy, for instance, just 4% of women use tampons. The Roman Catholic Church says it has no official position on tampons. Nonetheless, some priests have spoken out against the product, associating it with birth control and sexual activities that are forbidden by the Church. Indeed, Tampax faced objections from priests in the U.S. when it introduced tampons in 1936.

In many countries, women aren’t accustomed to spending on themselves, particularly for something they’ll throw out — and that costs a bit more than pads. Women must also understand their bodies to use a tampon. P&G is finding that in countries where school health education is limited, that understanding is hard won. P&G marketers say they often find open boxes of tampons in stores — a sign, P&G says, that women were curious about the product but unsure as to how it worked. (Bold emphasis is mine).

What I argue in my course is that tampon acceptance is linked to broader issues of acceptance of women’s bodies.  The real threat of the tampon is not that it will take a girl’s virginity!  Rather, it’s that a woman who learns how to use it must of necessity gain some knowledge of how she works "down there."    Denying young girls access to tampons is a small but tangible way of keeping them ignorant of their own bodies. In that sense, I argue, cultural hostility to tampons can be linked to cultural hostility to female masturbation.   When a woman uses a tampon, she rejects the idea that her body is something of whose processes she ought to be unaware; when she masturbates, she discovers not only pleasure, she discovers that her body truly belongs to her.

I’m always careful to check in on the comfort level my students have when we talk about these things.  Discussion of masturbation and menstruation, clitorises and tampons can be overwhelming in any setting, even more so with a male college professor leading the class.  But by God, it’s necessary!  One young woman wrote in her journal this week:  "It was a very interesting discussion.  I didn’t know we had a clitoris, or knew it was a word.   I think it’s a good thing to talk about."  (Emphasis mine.)  She’s not the first to write something like that.  Remember, these are college students, but they come from many different backgrounds and many parts of the world.

I try and choose my words carefully.  I don’t make assumptions or give direction to my students as to what they ought to do.  What kind of sanitary products to use, and whether to masturbate or not, are, of course highly personal decisions that should be made without professorial suggestion. Choosing a tampon over a pad is not an inherently feminist act.  One could also be a feminist and choose not to masturbate for spiritual reasons, a point I acknowledge. But ignorance and shame are never, ever congruent with the spirit of feminism.  They are the twin evils that we are struggling against.

But whatever our spiritual orientations, it’s vital in gender studies that we teach the history of the body.   It’s equally vital that we challenge our students’ cultural and sexual assumptions, even if, on occasion, we need to acknowledge some embarrassment when we do so.  (I always say it’s okay to laugh and it’s okay to blush.)  Above all, I want my students to continue the conversations that we begin in class with their friends and with their family members.  On topics so sensitive (pun intended), the best discussions will happen in more intimate settings than the classroom.  It’s my fervent hope that what we do in the class will stimulate many good cross-generational, cross-ethnic talks among women — and men.

Originally posted March 24, 2005

Reprint: Tattoos, Adornment, Spirituality — UPDATED

I’m on hiatus — at least from substantive blogging — until August 28.  Until then, I’m reprinting favorite posts from 2004 and 2005.

In response to this post, Ginger asked:

How do you square your tattoos with your religious beliefs? Did you get them before you were very religious? I ask because I got a tattoo a few years ago during a not so spirtual time in my life, and now I really regret having scarred my body. Your thoughts? (I sense that I have inspired a post topic for you.)

Jenell gives a helpful answer:

Ginger, my family believes that tatooing (and cremation, too) is forbidden by scripture because it is a form of witchcraft. I think this comes from an obscure passage in Leviticus or Numbers about the practice of witchcraft. Its relevance is limited to that cultural context, and it is nowhere repeated by Jesus or established for the New Testament church. Tattooing, like cremation, isn’t necessarily tied to witchcraft - but it apparently was in that culture.

I think the sacred taboo against tattooing is sort of a Christian ‘urban legend’ propagated by people who just don’t like tattoos.

I agree absolutely with Jenell. And Ginger, you have indeed inspired a post!

I have five tattoos in total; two of which are visible when I wear a t-shirt. I acquired all five between April 1997 and September 2000, a period of intense spiritual growth in my life. (I also acquired three piercings during this period; they have been removed.) For me, tattoos are deeply spiritual. They represent two things to me: the valuing of the body and permanence. When I was younger, I abused my body in a wide variety of ways. (I went to Berkeley, and took into my system many, many unhealthy things.) I also scarred my body physically, usually after having imbibed far more than was advisable. Thus by the time I was 30, my body carried on it physical signs of my earlier lifestyle; the manifestations of late adolescent angst were visible on my flesh.

My five tattoos were all chosen because I thought they were aesthetically pleasing and spiritually symbolic. I had grown up hating my body and mistreating it. By placing beautiful images upon my flesh, I was saying to myself "Hugo, your body is good. It is worthy of love and care and decoration." Where once I had scarred my flesh, now I adorned my flesh — and trust me, psychologically and spiritually, there is a world of difference! I can’t say I always like my body. I will be the first to admit that even at 37, like many women and quite a few men, I have "body image" problems. I don’t often like the way I look naked. But some of the things I like most about my body are these five tattoos — they stand for growth, they stand for love, they stand (dare I say it) that in my mind, my body is beautiful no matter what it weighs and no matter how pale my skin may be. For seven years, since I first got "inked", tattoos have been a source of great comfort for me.

I am also aware that tattoos are major commitments. They are permanent (or almost so; they can be removed at great cost and with considerable discomfort). I grew up a child of divorce in a culture of divorce and separation. If there’s one thing my secular friends and I all believed with a grim passion, it was that "nothing lasts forever." As odd as it may seem, getting a tattoo was a way of saying to myself "Now I’ve done something I can’t back out of. Now, I’ve committed to something for life." Believe it or not, getting tattooed made me more aware of my ability to make and keep promises. These images drilled into my flesh? They are mine. I chose them. They will be with me (I presume) forever. They stand not merely for a great and wonderful period of growth in my life, they stand for my commitment to honor and nurture my body rather than mistreat and scar it. (Parenthetically, let me note that the year I got tattooed for the first time, 1997, was the year I started distance running — another way of caring for my flesh.)

Look, tattoos are not for everyone. I am not suggesting that they are some sort of spiritual discipline that everyone ought to adopt. There are as many motives for getting tattoos as there are people who get them. I am glad I was 29 before I got inked for the first time — glad that I made what I still consider to be healthy and aesthetic choices that represented an adult Hugo taking responsibility for his life. I am open to the possibility that in the future I will feel differently, but for now, everytime I undress, I see these external symbols that mark my own journey — and I am grateful.

Originally posted July 8, 2004

UPDATE:  Just this morning, we’ve got this whopper of a post from Dawn Eden.  It ends thus:

Something tells me that there’s a connection between the increase in abortions after Roe vs. Wade and the increase in tattoos. In any case, I believe the devil is always happy when people deface their bodies, because they are defacing the image of God.

I’ve made some unsupportable assertions in my day, but that’s flabbergasting.  I doubt Dawn will read my post, but she needs to. (H/T to "Fat Doug Lover" at Punkass Blog).

Reprint: A beginning attempt at a Christian male pro-feminist theology of appetite — or further proof that I have lost it completely

I’m on hiatus — at least from substantive blogging — until August 28.  Until then, I’m reprinting favorite posts from 2004 and 2005.

Not only was that a long title, this is going to be a long and meandering post.  I’m posting it now and I may amend it.

To whom does my body belong?  What limits must I place on its desires and my actions?

I was asking myself that question on this afternoon’s run. You see,  I’ve been working out a lot these past few weeks, doing several "two-a-days" (cycle in the morning, run in the afternoon) and upping my weekly mileage.  I’ve been hitting the weights four to five days a week as well.  I haven’t been teaching the college’s winter intersession, and thus have been off since mid-December.  It has been a welcome respite from my normal schedule of 19 classes a year.  It has also given me the opportunity to give my mind a rest, and think more than usual about my body.

When I say "think about my body", I don’t mean narcissistic self-regard.  I mean reflecting seriously on the relationship between matter and spirit.  In particular, I’ve been thinking about how critical the link is between justice and self-discipline.  Let me explain.

Born into a healthy white male body, I’ve had precious little experience in my 37 years of having external constraints put on my body.   My maleness insulated me against menstruation, the fear of unwanted pregnancy, and our culture’s intense sexualization of young women’s bodies.  (When I was younger, my worries about what was appropriate to wear to a formal occasion concerned matching my tie to my shirt; my female friends worried about being too sexy, or not sexy enough.  My burden, to put it mildly, was lighter).   Today, I can teach classes in a button-down shirt, tie, and khakis — or in my old Lucky jeans with a Kenneth Cole t-shirt.  (I have an unbecoming fondness for labels, and for synthetic fabrics, but I do try to buy "sweatshop-free")  I can do all this with the confidence that my body will not become an issue in the classroom — my masculinity assures me a credibility that cannot be compromised by my fashion choices.  My gravitas as a teacher is unaffected by whether I am trim or chubby, toned or flabby.   My sisters who teach cannot say the same; I’ve heard countless stories from my female colleagues of having their bodies or their clothing critiqued in classroom evaluations.  (This is at an urban community college - I suspect it might be different elsewhere, though I cannot know that for certain.)

Darn it, I’m already wandering off my topic.

When my fiancee and I marry and have children (God willing), it is her body that will bear the burden of nurturing that life.  I intend to be supportive in every imaginable way — but my flesh will not be directly affected by our decision to procreate.  Hers will.  I’ll be able to run an exuberant 10K the day after my child is born, if I so choose (I suspect I’ll prefer to be with my family).  Even if she were so inclined, it would be some time before my wife would be able to do the same!  And, as the years pass, I fear no biological clock — I will be able to father children (heavens forfend) into my eighth decade of life.  No woman — as of yet — can say that.

Ultimately, I believe a man’s body is fully his and his alone in a way that a woman’s generally isn’t. I don’t bemoan that fact, nor do I celebrate it.  Rather, I’m increasingly focused on the notion that as  a result of this unmerited privilege,  men have a special obligation to do justice with their bodies.  What on earth does that mean?  First and foremost, it means "do no harm."   Unrestrained male appetite for food, sex, and alcohol, wreaks tremendous devastation on both a small and a global level.    Am I saying that women don’t abuse all three of these things?  Of course not.  But I think it can be safely argued that when speaking of sex and alcohol,  male uncontrolled desire has done far more harm. 

When we overeat, we don’t merely harm our own bodies — we rob our children and we rob our planet.  In the industrialized world, men die earlier than women, frequently due to factors related to diet.  Overeating shortens our life span, robbing our children and our grandchildren of time that might be spent with us.  (The link between calorie restriction and longevity is increasingly well-documented.)  When we restrain our appetite for food, we also conserve precious resources.  This is particularly true if we work to eliminate packaged food (which tends to end up in landfills) and meat (most of which is raised on factory farms that are not only inhumane, but a woeful misuse of land.)   Thus, what I put in my mouth is an ethical issue.   For my family, the wider human  community and for animal life itself,  I have an obligation to be a good steward of my flesh in order to be of maximum service with minimal harm.  Obviously, I’m not trying to prescribe one particular diet - just to make the case that our food choices need to be seen as moral decisions. If I have to blot out another’s suffering in order to enjoy my meal, I’ve made a poor choice.

The same is true of our sexuality.  I’ve offered the beginnings of a case for a pro-life, pro-feminist approach to sexual ethics.  Though it wouldn’t end all abortion, getting each man to be willing to raise the children that his ejaculate helps to conceive would be a great step towards eliminating the  practice.  (If he isn’t ready to be a father under any circumstances, then abstinence is an excellent alternative.)  Male sexual self-restraint is critical to resolving another justice issue: the growing global sex trade.   Though both young men and young women are exploited in prostitution and pornography, the overwhelming majority of the "exploiters" are men.    I know it’s important to distinguish between the exploitation of minors and the legal activities of adult sex workers, but I am convinced that the entire industry — from strip clubs to child prostitution — harms the fabric of our culture.   Though I am not averse to addressing the "supply" side of the issue, I believe all truly effective moral reform focuses on the "demand" side — and the demand for the services of the global sex industry is almost exclusively male.

When I buy porn or go to a strip club (things I don’t do, by the way), I reward an exploitative and destructive industry.  I send a message that male sexual desire is uncontrollable, or at least, impossible to confine to a monogamous relationship.  Pleasuring my body comes not merely at my own financial expense, but at the expense of others’ respect for me and others’ respect for themselves.

I love my body, and not merely because it is "in shape" these days.  I love it because I have arms to hug with and a tongue to taste with and legs to power up a mountain with and hands to reach out with.  But I also recognize that my body is, to borrow a phrase from Stephen Carter, a "bundle of desires", some good, some not so good.  When I indulge myself in the latter, be it with a steak or a visit to a strip club,  my choices are harming other living things.  My right to pleasure stops when it extends to another’s exploitation, another’s degradation, another’s life, or even my own health.

Good food does not have to come at the expense of an animal’s life or the shortening of our own. Sexual pleasure can be found in the context of a safe, loving, committed, monogamous relationship. Self-restraint is not the same as asceticism.  Rather, it is the recognition that the most basic kind of justice we can aspire to is to do justice with our own bodies.  And for almost all of us, especially those of us who live in male flesh, doing justice will mean a deep and profound commitment to self-restraint.

Whew.  I’ve just edited this for the third time and I’m popping it out there.  Anyone make it through the whole thing?

I think this post is a sign I need to get back in the classroom.

Originally published February 9 2005.

More on clothing, class, and the community college

Yesterday’s post about college attire and t-shirts briefly diverted onto a subject of dress and class.  I wrote:

To generalize enormously, the less privileged the background, the more intense the sense of competition among young women.  Far too many young ones grow up with a sense that their sexual desirability is a more marketable commodity than their intellectual accomplishments; this is all the more likely to be true in families where there isn’t a history of women going to college.  (If you don’t believe me, visit any American community college on a hot day — and then visit an elite university in the same weather.  You’ll see more mini-skirts and heels in five minutes at Pasadena City College than you will in five hours at Berkeley or Stanford.  That’s anecdotal, sure, but don’t take my word for it — try it yourself.)  The bottom line: class and sexual competitiveness among women are, to say the least, not unrelated!

Glendenb’s comment was so good I wanted to repost part of it:

I think the difference was between people who saw education as a right and those who saw it a privilege. Among the students at the cc, they dressed in their best (which for some was heels and mini skirt) to show that they deserved the privilege but also to combat a social dis-ease; they were aware that they were moving across a social dividing line and were attempting to prove they belonged. Students who were first in their family to attend college were straddling a social dividing line - breaking from a set of values that weren’t comfortable with the extreme casualness around sexuality, but not yet fully embracing a set of values in which sexuality was (far too often) separated from emotion.

Students at my undergraduate college perceived education as their right – the hedonism, brazen sexuality, deliberate crossing of behavioral barriers that were not crossed in their upper-middle class families were seen as part and parcel of the college experience – the icing on the cake. They didn’t have to prove they belonged at college to anyone, least of all themselves. At the community college, many students were trying to prove to themselves that they deserved to be there. What to my eye was sexualized behavior, was really a more carefully studied mimicking of what was perceived as appropriate collegiate behavior. Clothing choices were made that would help students feel brash, or strong, or confident in ways that students from the upper middle class didn’t feel they needed.

The bold emphasis is mine.  To use the Anglicism to which my passport entitles me, that’s "spot on".

I note this phenomenon is not merely confined to women.  Many first-generation male students, particularly but not exclusively East Asian (PCC is over 33% Asian), are ostentatiously fond of labels, particularly those that they associate with the "establishment."  Every year, even on hot summer days, my classes will be filled with remarkably neat young men in pressed khakis wearing Ralph Lauren, Lacoste, A&F, or even — oh, flashbacks to ’80s preppydom! — Brooks Brothers polo shirts.  The labels are always conspicuous.  Reading Glendenb’s comments, it occurs to me that these young upwardly mobile fellows are indeed mimicking what they imagine to be the appropriate attire of the privileged.  (Only later will some of them transfer to Cal, Stanford, and Georgetown and discover that the real privileged tend to be far more unkempt.) 

The names of many young men — particularly young Chinese from Hong Kong — are often rather touchingly quaint.  This summer, I have — these are first names, mind you — a "Fitzgerald"; a "Woodrow"; three "Benedicts" (my middle name); two "Henrys"; one "Maxwell"; and, my favorite, one "Colfax."   It sounds like a parody of the membership roster of my grandfather’s fraternity, circa 1926!  And at the risk of sounding horribly classist, it strikes me as a rather naive attempt to deliberately appropriate WASP cache.   Imagine all of these parents, newly immigrated, working long hours to clothe young "Winston Wilberforce Chan" in what television has led them to believe is the outfit of success: polo shirts and chinos with shiny penny loafers.   From the perspective of someone who grew up in WASP country-club culture, this sincere attempt at imitation strikes me as, at the least, oddly misplaced!

But as Glendenb points out, those of us who have "made it" and have an easy sense of entitlement ought not to be too quick to judge those who are eager to ascend the social ladder our ancestors climbed for us.  This morning, I’m wearing a pair of slightly distressed women’s jeans and one very bright multi-colored paisley cowboy shirt.  I’ve got a Paul Frank watch on (with Julius the Monkey in Mariachi garb.)  The affect is no doubt garish, and probably — outside of major urban centers — decidedly effeminate.  But I’ve got tenure, and I’ve got the security to know that my authority in no way hinges on whatever get-up I get myself in to.  I can afford to dress for comfort and to honor my own admittedly odd fashion sense.  Even when I was younger, as an undergrad or a grad student, I slouched around Berkeley and Westwood in old concert t-shirts and ripped 501s.    Like most of my compatriots, my certainty that I "belonged" gave me the freedom to be slovenly.  It wasn’t "affected working-class chic"; it was laziness, and a laziness reinforced by the certainty that such sloppiness would not be an obstacle to acceptance in a milieu that was, after all, mine by birthright.

In thirteen years of community college teaching, I’ve learned to be a hell of a lot less judgmental of my students.   I’m not offended, aroused, angered, or distracted by anything my students do or don’t wear — though from time to time, I’ll confess I’m still amused (a reaction I keep to myself as much as possible).  Glendenb’s point is well-taken: what students wear tends to reflect not only their personal style, but also their perception of what college is, and their own ease with being here.  I do well — we all do well — to remember that as we comment on the remarkable diversity of choices our students make each morning as they dress themselves.

A good bishop gets it dead wrong: more on women’s clothing, male desire, and God’s gift of self-control

Continuing our theme of modesty, male weakness, and women’s clothing, Jill at Feministe links to this unfortunate letter by Bishop John Yanta of the Catholic Diocese of Amarillo, Texas: Modesty Starts with Purification of the Heart.  Here goes:

This time of the year, I (and am sure many of you also) hear complaints about a lack of respect and reverence for the house of God, the sacredness of the Lord’s presence in the liturgy, and lack of respect for others and the lack of consciousness of the battle for purity in which the opposite sex finds itself even while attending Sunday Mass.

Immodesty in dress is governed by two citations from God’s Law:

1) The Ninth Commandment: “You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife” (Exodus 20:17);

2) Jesus said: “Everyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart” (Matthew 5:28).

To live our daily Faith as children of God (baptism), disciples of Jesus, and temples of the Holy Spirit, we are faced with moral choices constantly, many times a day. Conscience can either make a right judgment in accordance with reason and the divine law, or on the contrary, an erroneous judgment that departs from them (CCC: Catechism of the Catholic Church #1799).

Dressing or putting on one’s clothes is a moral act and wearing them is a moral act. There are different appropriate modes of dress for different occasions, e.g. in the privacy of our home, with our spouse only or with our children in our home, at work or school, in mixed company, at the lake or swimming pool, grocery shopping, at church, etc.

I don’t know where the good bishop got his theology degree.  But his choices from Scripture do not support his thesis! Both the Commandment and the passage from Matthew 5 address coveting and lust; both place the onus for avoiding lust solely on the one who is lusting, not on the object of the desire! 

Where, oh where in Scripture does Jesus say: "Women, attend to your dress that you may keep your bodies concealed and not distract your brothers"?  Did I miss that verse?  Is it perhaps in one of the Gnostic Gospels?

Jill, writing from a secular perspective, does a decent job of fisking Bishop Yanta’s letter.  But it’s vital that Christian men reject the bishop’s shoddy exegesis.  (I’m still enough of a Catholic to feel awkward about criticizing someone who carries the crosier).  What I find so compelling about the issue of lust in both the Old and the New Testaments is that women are not held accountable for male distraction and desire.  While secular culture does expect the male flesh to be weak, Christ Himself calls us to personal holiness — and that holiness is in no way, shape, or form contingent upon the behavior of even the most scantily clad of our fellow congregants.   The bishop quotes a homily given by Father Dominic Mary; that priest opined:

“To knowingly and intentionally dress like this (scantily) is sinful, and can be even seriously sinful, because one can become a temptation to sin for other people. We are all weak and can easily fall into many sins of impurity by someone else’s immodesty."

Let’s hear the Scripture to go with that assertion, Father Dominic!  I know, it’s dreadfully Protestant to demand Bible verses, but for heaven’s sake, the good father’s inverting the whole Gospel!  Bishop Yanta reaches with a reference to Galatians 5:26, which refers to "provoking another" (the only two words from the passage Yanta quotes).  But read in context, it’s particularly inappropriate to pull from Paul.   Let’s add in the four previous verses:

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit. Let us not become conceited, provoking and envying each other.

The warning against "provoking" refers to being "conceited", while the previous verses (the bold is obviously my own) better capture the Christian case that to live in the Spirit is to have conquered one’s passions and to have the capacity for self-control.   Paul ought not be misused to hold women accountable for a male refusal to embrace this vital gift of the Spirit.

Sometimes, I hear my fellow Christians quoting Christ’s warning against "causing another to stumble."  I’ve often heard that verse used to justify insisting upon public modesty; many a woman in conservative churches has been explicitly warned that her breasts or legs, if not adequately covered, might lead a man to stumble.  But we’re o