This is Going to Get Hairy

Everyone in the entire world, at any given moment, is trying to sell you something. Whether it be a new toaster, a new car, or a new lifestyle entirely, we are constantly consuming.

Actually, advertising is such a part of us that we probably don’t even know what is truth and what gimmick has been shoved down our throat enough times that it is now disguised as truth. Usually, we can’t tell the difference. But every now and then, the veil slips, and we get a glimpse.

I caught the briefest of peeks of the world beyond the billboards today.

It was a shaving cream commercial. Or maybe it was a razor commercial. At any rate, it was directed at women and their absolute primal need to have smooth legs, and it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever seen. The women in the advertisement were set up on a staircase and actually singing about how repulsive it was to have hairy legs. They illustrated this point by looking disgusted when there was a close-up shot of a couple of cacti that were supposed to represent the prickly feeling of not shaving.

Which I immediately took offense to. Cacti are one of the most resilient plants in the world, and they provide nutrients to inhabitants in one of the most severe climes: the desert. So, what if they’re spiky? Haven’t you ever heard of self-defense? Why should their appearance have anything to do with their worth? A better question: why should yours?

But of course, more importantly, the fact that a woman’s legs must resemble a baby’s bottom rather than a cacti is the primary concern that I have with this ad. The problem is that society is dictating what personal hygiene and beauty means for women. And we all know the real reason that shaving companies don’t want us to have hairy legs: we need to buy their product. They’re not really concerned with the image we have of ourselves. Just as long as it is hair-free.

Yet, if these companies really wanted to sell more of their product, why don’t they just tell us how much easier shaving with their razor and cream is? I don’t think women mind who touches their legs and feels prickliness. They certainly don’t mind going the entire winter season without taking a razor to their fur coat. (Go ahead. Poll the female audience. They will tell you that this is true. The ones who say it isn’t are lying.) What we all don’t like is how much a pain (literally and figuratively) it is to shave or wax your legs. And when it comes to the hierarchy of beauty rituals, shaving just isn’t at the top. No matter how loudly you are going to sing about it.

In the end, it does not matter what you do to make yourself feel beautiful. It also does not matter what someone else wants you to do with your body, even if they show you some ridiculously crafted metaphor (like a cactus) for how undesirable you will be if you do not follow their rules.

Actually, let’s not split hairs here. Their message is simple: you are not perfect as you are. My message to you? They’re wrong.

Why I Don’t Hate Humanity

Believe me, it would be easy to do so.

In the past 24 hours, I have heard on the news that a man killed his ex-wife and all of her family. I heard that a man held a number of people hostage in an Australian cafe. And finally, worst of all, I heard that 130 children were killed in Pakistan due to a terrorist attack.

Of course, I heard about all of this because our media holds closely to the adage: “If it bleeds, it leads.” I know all of these details because the bad dominates the good in the nightly news. And, if you were listening to the nightly news well, nightly, you may hold to the impression that humans, on the whole, are going to hell in a hand basket of their own making.

And if you believed that, well, I couldn’t very well tell you that you were wrong. Because that is what it looks like right now, doesn’t it? If I was an alien, swooping in from outer space, I would probably hightail it out of the Earth’s atmosphere. In fact, I would let the humans duke it out instead of using my own alien firepower to dominate the race. As an alien, I would grab a snack and watch the show.

But of course, this is all because we’ve been stretched as tight as drums and instead of admitting that we have a problem or that we need help, we’d rather grab a gun. It is fascinating that in a time of extreme connectivity, in a time where all of your friends and family are a text away, that so many of us should feel so alone, so ostracized. But we all do.

So, why don’t I hate humanity for all this? Why don’t I hate them for not recognizing all of this before it is too late? Is it because I am human too? Is it because I recognize that everyone has a good side and a bad side? Is it because I know that everyone is fighting a hard battle inside? No. Although I wish I could be a better person myself, believing all of that.

I don’t hate humanity because we are incredibly predictable. For every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction for us. If there is love in the world, then there is hate. If there is violence, then there is peace. If there is pain, then there is joy. No matter what, there is an equal amount of everything.

It’s a beautiful system. Because whenever there is ignorance and darkness, there is someone trying to provide knowledge and light. Now, there is such a thing as a false sense of justice. Sometimes the tidal wave of humanity is too great to squelch a single evil thing in the world. We crush it and smother it, and that means that a great thing cannot rise in its place because it has been doused too quickly. We can’t learn from it. So, we must be careful of leveraging too great of a remedy for too small of a poison and vice versa.

And mind you, I said I don’t hate humanity. That’s a far cry from loving them. But I’m working on it. One day at a time. Because as I’ve said, when there is room for hate, there is also room for love.

Are We an Obsessed Society?

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As I bought my tickets to Comic Con this weekend, I began to think about obsessions.

This is my first Comic Con because I learned long ago to keep a significant distance between myself and my heroes. I am only going to see Matt Smith and Karen Gillan because I am obsessed (there’s that word, again) with Doctor Who and simply being in the same room as the pair, maybe even getting to see Matt flip his floppy hair out of his eyes or hear Karen with her deep brogue and even deeper red hair (maybe I should just call them the hair pair???) will be enough to keep me in a reverie for years to come. However, I didn’t opt for the photo op with my time-travelling role models. After a decidedly awkward run-in with one of my favorite comedians previously, I vowed to never meet any famous people face-to-face again (let’s just say, I freaked out a man whose act is completely built around his deranged childhood.)

Since then, I like to keep celebrities swathed in a mist of mystery that only television and film can truly shroud them in. And while I believe that Matt Smith and Karen Gillan will be perfect angels, I don’t trust myself to NOT say something awkward, strange, or horror of horrors, something that could be misinterpreted as rude. As a writer, you would think I would have attained some command of the English language, but in reality, I have no idea what is going to come out of my mouth next. And what’s more, when something unsavory comes out of said mouth, I am condemned to replay the awful memory in my head for months, even years, at a time.

And so, I wonder: what is it about our brains that makes us relive both wonderful and awful memories? Are we gluttons for punishment or lovers of the same? Actually, I think we are a bit of both. Repetition carves out our neural pathways, like a river rushes past a cliff only to chisel it down piece by piece, little by little. This constant flow of repetition allows us to understand things better, even encourages us to see patterns. But we can associate repetition with negative acts or processes as well. Whatever the stimuli, we will have a fairly strong reaction if we encounter it time and time again.

I know what you’re thinking. Duh, Bailey. We’ve all heard of Pavlov. Get on with it. It’s Monday, I don’t have time for your shenanigans.

And to that I say: okay, okay. Now that we understand repetition and pattern-making in our lives, how do we define obsession? Is an obsession a pattern but to the nth degree? Times a million, times a million, squared? Do animals simply have another name for it, “instinct,” and is it a gift from evolution? How many times do we have to revisit something to make it an obsession?

Here’s where my Communications degree gets put to good use: In today’s society, our paths to our obsessions have been sped up.

Let’s follow in the Doctor’s footsteps and time travel for a second. Let’s go back, oh say, about 100 years ago. The average life expectancy was in the late 40’s, and 2 out of 10 American adults could not read or write. But ah, the ones who could. Think of what stories meant to them! Books became an adventure, a moral, a comforting reality, all rolled into one. These 8 out of 10 adults might read until the pages of their books were softened with sweat and dog-eared to a comical level. How the words, after a time, would simply come to their minds. Perhaps they would not even have to read the page but could stare off into the distance and never miss a scene or portion of the plot, never miss a word. How well their brains served them, creating images out of words.

Surely, the lucky inhabitants of today’s age still experience an ancestor of that joy when reading.Yet, we live in what is easily called an “immersive society.” We read the book and we watch the movie, allowing both to create different images of the characters for us. This is something that I’ve written about before. But I was missing a few more steps in my previous musings about this topic: we also watch the sequel, we also watch the television show, we also watch the spin-off, we also listen to the soundtrack. We become completely immersed in what we are interested in.

Take my obsession with How to Train Your Dragon. I not only own a few Toothless figurines and the original movie, but I have the Christmas special, a few episodes of the television show, both soundtracks, and the ability to log onto a blogging site to connect with people who love and adore the film as much as I do. Not to mention what we can do with today’s animation, where the colors are so vivid and the characters are so minutely drawn that we are plunged down to the deepest depths of the film and never let back up until the lights come up in the theater. We have learned the three-dimensional art of story telling through several different mediums, transmedia narratives. We can start a story in a comic book, which is transformed into a movie, which is transformed into a spin-off, which is transformed into a television show. Until we’re not really sure where it started, and there are few of us who have read or looked at the “source text.” And that carries through in all society; we have our heads down, oblivious to our surroundings, fully immersed. And what a fascinating time to be alive! We are only going to get better at manipulating our stories and our ideas, until we have obsessions piggy backing obsessions. We’ll have interests borne out of the most abstract tide pools.

So, am I excited for Comic Con? To come breathe the same air as with actors in a show that I wrote my senior thesis about? Sure. But really, I’m looking forward to seeing all the people who have taken the word “obsession” and painted it with day-glo. That’s right; the cosplayers. The people who stitch and slave over their own gorgeous costumes, the people who dress up and end up looking more like the actors than the actors themselves. Because these are the people who have turned their passion into an art. As a writer, or even as a human, we all must honor that level of dedication. Because the word “obsessed” doesn’t seem to cover it.