So I've been going through my old files and occasionally unearthing some forgotten gems. This picture transpired because someone told me that they had drawn the world's saddest lollipop and I bet them that I could draw an even sadder lollipop. I won.
So these Ralph Lauren ads depicting "emaciated" models have been causing outrage on the internets and I wanted to throw my 2 cents into the mix...
So my first reaction was "What? That's so photoshopped it's ludicrous!" my next reaction, however, was anger. No, not anger at how Ralph Lauren was presenting unrealistic body images and turning the youth of America into a pack of eating-disordered self-loathers. No, I was pissed because somebody got paid to do that photoshop...AND IT'S SHIT!
Look, pictures are photoshopped. I know this. I accept this. It's not like I've never photoshopped a picture. Sometimes I've nipped in a waist or a thigh or erased some zits without even telling people. Hell, I've even photoshopped skinny women's asses bigger so their curves would look good. People like to look good in pictures. And "posed" pictures are supposed to be a fantasy. Might as well make everyone look their best, right?
But here's the deal: These pictures almost make me crack up because they look SO RIDICULOUS. These women don't look more beautiful, they look like they've been badly photoshopped by someone with a mortal fear of hips. Look, maybe hips killed their parents or touched them in the bathing suit area. I don't know. All I know is that when you're supposed to photoshop a girl to look good, you are not supposed to make them look like Gumby in drag. If your photoshop is that obvious, guess what? IT'S SHITTY PHOTOSHOP.
That second photo hurts my soul. Dude...(or chick, I shouldn't be sexist)...if you're going to photoshop someone to be that skinny, SIZE ADJUST THEIR HEAD TO MATCH. I mean, come on. How did this ever get approval? The art director should be fired.
Okay, okay... I know I'm supposed to be all "But think of the children!" but I think it's time the children faced facts:
Fact 1: Models are a very specific body type. You can starve yourself until the cows come home and it won't magically make you 5'11" if you're 5'3"
Fact 2: Pictures are photoshopped. Maybe instead of eating nothing but a raisin all day, you should just learn photoshop.
Fact 3: If looking good isn't your job, don't sweat it. Okay, if you're a model or an actress or a stripper or a trophy wife and your livelihood depends on looking a certain way, well, sorry, but you're gonna have to take those lumps. If you're not, well consider yourself lucky! You are officially not required to give a damn! Sure, we all want to look nice, but there's no need to torture yourself over it. Just call a spade a spade and play the hand you're dealt. Also, feel free to gloat over the fact that you'll still have a job after you're 30.
And so, I would urge the youth of America to look at these pictures and laugh, because they are silly...or...if you are like me, get pissed off that such crappy workmanship made it into a national ad campaign.
I believe I got the idea around the time that I was called in for a legal deposition by the defense lawyers in my ongoing copyright infringement case. The lawyer for the defense seemed to be building his entire case around the hope, or perhaps the assumption, that I am an idiot. His arrogant attempts at semantic intimidation were, at the very least, misguided, but, personally, I found them to be horribly insulting. The reason being: I hate people assuming that I'm dumb. This, then, prompted the thought: "I need to prove that I'm smart!"
So I saw this box of toothpicks laying on the table and noticed something: These toothpicks were calling themselves "chewing sticks." I guess being called a toothpick isn't good enough for these pretentious assholes, they have to be "chewing sticks." Oh, hello chewing stick. Would you like some champagne and caviar? May I take your top hat? How about I roll out a fucking red carpet for you?
Look, give it up. You're a toothpick. Why do you have to play games? Do you think that just because you have tea tree oil, you're better than everyone else? Oh, excuse me... you're "impregnated" with tea tree oil. La-dee-fucking-da. Don't expect me to give you my seat on the bus. You're not impressing me with your fancy vocabulary, toothpick, you're just making yourself look like a douche.
Oh, and where did you get the idea that you could impress people by saying you're australian? This just shows that you are totally fucking clueless. What? Did you think we would think you were "exotic." Did you think you would conjure up images of the Sydney Opera House and crystal goblets of robust Shiraz? News Flash: here in America, when we hear "australian" we just think of Crocodile Dundee throwing shrimps on the barbie while he gets drunk on Fosters. Maybe you should grab your digeridoo and your Kylie Minogue CDs and fuck off before a dingo eats your baby.
Okay, so you're a stick and maybe people chew on you, but you know what other sticks people chew on? That's right: TOOTHPICKS. Some of them are even minty, and you don't see them putting on airs. Seriously, get over yourself.
I first heard about it around two years ago. It was my boyfriend, formerly from Atlanta, who had discovered it and he was spreading the word to his other southern-transplant friends: "There's a secret Chick-Fil-A in Manhattan!"
People in New York know it, people not in New York are surprised, but there is no Chick-Fil-A in either restaurant or mall food court form in the entire city of New York. There is, however, a Chick-Fil-A express hidden away in the dining hall of an NYU dorm near Washington Square Park. For the layperson, if you didn't know where to look, you'd never find it. Even if you look it up on Yelp, the map directions are fairly inaccurate. Hence our calling it "The secret Chick-Fil-A."
So part of where my thought process in the previous post came from the fact that, everything I've done for the past few years, even if i got paid for it, hasn't felt particularly "real." Every year since 2005, I've described my activities as "dicking around."
What happened in 2005 was that I was on a rollercoaster going up, up, up and was, soon enough, on a rollercoaster going down, down, down, and I realized that I really had no control over the situation. That my good fortune wasn't because I was awesome and productive and my bad fortune wasn't because I was suddenly horrible and lazy. Things just changed and it was external to me. I worked for my success, but I would not have had it (or my subsequent failure) if not for random market forces that I had no sway over.
I think the major thing that happened at the cresting of that rollercoaster was that I stopped thinking of the things I did as being real and concrete. Most of the things I did started seeming pointless. I just do things. I'm waiting until something "catches" again. Until I'm making mad dough again, I keep considering everything I do to be "dicking around." Still, I keep doing things because that's all one can do.