- Are those really bad pictures of Beyonce? Can there be a bad picture of Beyonce? I don’t think so. Suck it up.
- Chris Brown is cursed. And he looks anorexic.
- Lady Gaga: does anyone still give a fuck?
- Monopoly piece: this is news?
- North Korea: why don’t we just seize the motherfuckers already?
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Some thoughts after viewing my Gawker RSS feed
Friday, February 1, 2013
Man, I wish I was a celebrity (warning: breastfeeding discussion)
It's not what you think--I have no delusions. Sometimes I wish I were a celebrity so that I could tell people to fucking shut UP already.
Apparently some woman named Kristen Cavallari (who is famous despite the fact that I've never heard of her) was quoted in an article saying that she stopped breastfeeding because she felt like a slave to the pump, and some lactivists got their knickers in a twist over it, calling her a bad mother, saying that she's selfishly denied bonding to her kid, yadda yadda.
Hello people, she did breastfeed for 6 months, and that's good, right? Well apparently it's not good enough. I am so sick to death of breastfeeding fascists who do not shrink from pointing out how you've failed your child by not breastfeeding them as long as humanly possible. These people are just as bad, IMHO, as people who want to ban abortions and whatnot--both are consumed with telling women what to do based on their idea of what is "right" instead of respectfully letting nature take its course.
On the other side, I've heard the view expressed that breastfeeding is the socio-politico-industrial complex's (aka "The Man's") way of keeping women tied to the home instead of to their careers. No, I'm not making this up. This was someone I know's overarching justification for NOT breastfeeding.
What do we learn from this? That's right, there's paranoids on both sides! I don't want to use the 'F' word, but it seems to me that in order to get beyond so-called feminism, we need to stop telling women what to do. And in particular, women need to stop being so nasty to one another.
I did love breastfeeding, and am proud that I was able to do it for 7 months. But I will not lie--I was relieved when it was finally over. Breastfeeding is freakin' hard work. Have you seen a dog wean her puppies? She literally runs away from them, repeatedly, in an effort to get them to stop sucking on her already.
While it is awesome to bond with and nourish your baby, once you get past the warm and tingly aspects, it's boring and demands a ton of the mother's time. There, I said it. I remember a short period of not being able to sleep more than a few hours at a time because the baby had to eat...and I was the only one able to feed her. Sleeping with my baby wasn't in the cards for me because of my c-section (couldn't get upstairs to our bed so I slept on the couch next to bassinet), and I don't think I would have rested well anyway.
I would go so far as to say that breastfeeding was the single hardest thing I've ever done, because it required commitment, attention, energy, consistency, and time. Which means, there were sacrifices made by me for sure--but I made the choice to breastfeed and I stuck to it. In the beginning I pumped so much extra that my husband was able to give her bottles at night, which gave me a much-needed break. Towards the end, I pumped in the office for a while, but when it seemed baby wasn't getting enough, I started supplementing with formula, and it was over shortly after that. I would do it again in a heartbeat for the next baby, for sure, but would try to enjoy it more and not stress as much about prolonging it. And I would definitely invest in a better pump.
Like so many things, you just don't realize how much demand breastfeeding places on you until you're done with it. As mothers in the 21st century, are we still expected to give every ounce of ourselves over to our babies? I say, that's every mother's call to make for themselves. Whole generations of babies weren't breastfed and breastfeeding nearly died out because of it--and yet society survived. The reality is, we aren't hunter-gatherers anymore, able to strap our babies to our teats for hours on end, we have jobs and responsibilities, and no one needs to martyr themselves or pat themselves on the back for being 'superior' because they were able to do something that not everyone can.
Instead of these stupid arguments that pit mothers against one another, as women we should be encouraging an environment in which women feel free to do things as they see fit, without harsh, self-aggrandizing judgments by other women.
Apparently some woman named Kristen Cavallari (who is famous despite the fact that I've never heard of her) was quoted in an article saying that she stopped breastfeeding because she felt like a slave to the pump, and some lactivists got their knickers in a twist over it, calling her a bad mother, saying that she's selfishly denied bonding to her kid, yadda yadda.
Hello people, she did breastfeed for 6 months, and that's good, right? Well apparently it's not good enough. I am so sick to death of breastfeeding fascists who do not shrink from pointing out how you've failed your child by not breastfeeding them as long as humanly possible. These people are just as bad, IMHO, as people who want to ban abortions and whatnot--both are consumed with telling women what to do based on their idea of what is "right" instead of respectfully letting nature take its course.
On the other side, I've heard the view expressed that breastfeeding is the socio-politico-industrial complex's (aka "The Man's") way of keeping women tied to the home instead of to their careers. No, I'm not making this up. This was someone I know's overarching justification for NOT breastfeeding.
What do we learn from this? That's right, there's paranoids on both sides! I don't want to use the 'F' word, but it seems to me that in order to get beyond so-called feminism, we need to stop telling women what to do. And in particular, women need to stop being so nasty to one another.
I did love breastfeeding, and am proud that I was able to do it for 7 months. But I will not lie--I was relieved when it was finally over. Breastfeeding is freakin' hard work. Have you seen a dog wean her puppies? She literally runs away from them, repeatedly, in an effort to get them to stop sucking on her already.
While it is awesome to bond with and nourish your baby, once you get past the warm and tingly aspects, it's boring and demands a ton of the mother's time. There, I said it. I remember a short period of not being able to sleep more than a few hours at a time because the baby had to eat...and I was the only one able to feed her. Sleeping with my baby wasn't in the cards for me because of my c-section (couldn't get upstairs to our bed so I slept on the couch next to bassinet), and I don't think I would have rested well anyway.
I would go so far as to say that breastfeeding was the single hardest thing I've ever done, because it required commitment, attention, energy, consistency, and time. Which means, there were sacrifices made by me for sure--but I made the choice to breastfeed and I stuck to it. In the beginning I pumped so much extra that my husband was able to give her bottles at night, which gave me a much-needed break. Towards the end, I pumped in the office for a while, but when it seemed baby wasn't getting enough, I started supplementing with formula, and it was over shortly after that. I would do it again in a heartbeat for the next baby, for sure, but would try to enjoy it more and not stress as much about prolonging it. And I would definitely invest in a better pump.
Like so many things, you just don't realize how much demand breastfeeding places on you until you're done with it. As mothers in the 21st century, are we still expected to give every ounce of ourselves over to our babies? I say, that's every mother's call to make for themselves. Whole generations of babies weren't breastfed and breastfeeding nearly died out because of it--and yet society survived. The reality is, we aren't hunter-gatherers anymore, able to strap our babies to our teats for hours on end, we have jobs and responsibilities, and no one needs to martyr themselves or pat themselves on the back for being 'superior' because they were able to do something that not everyone can.
Instead of these stupid arguments that pit mothers against one another, as women we should be encouraging an environment in which women feel free to do things as they see fit, without harsh, self-aggrandizing judgments by other women.
Monday, January 28, 2013
CHINCHILLA!!!!!
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Finally: a reason to have a baby
Before we had a baby, we were on the fence about having children. Some years, we would inhabit the 'no' side of the fence, and we lived that. Then for a few minutes, we would sometimes inhabit the 'yes' side--a few minutes because we could never stand to live there for long. While we finally made up our minds to have a kid, it wasn't an easy journey getting there. I think we were always looking for a definitive reason to HAVE a kid, to go through all of that, to be responsible for another human being--and were always coming up short. Aside from reasons of ego and legacy, there isn't a solid reason to have a kid--the world sucks, there's no hope for the future--in short, having a kid in the 21st century seems like the ultimate act of selfishness. And the reasons other people gave me were not good enough for me--'oh, just do it, it will change your life' or 'having a kid will make you less self-centered' or my favorite, 'you have to have a kid or you won't have fulfilled your purpose as a woman and human being.'
Fast forward to now. The 'arguments' people gave me as to why one should have a kid, still ring hollow, but I get now why people spout cliches--there is some truth to cliches, a comforting quality that reassures us that our actions are larger than us, that we are somehow participating in some great human cycle, blah blah blah. Do I have the answer for you or anyone else besides myself? No, and I don't claim to. Truth is, there is no overarching reason to have or not to have a kid, at the end of the day--if you argue both sides you will soon realize that there is no rational argument for or against, there is only 'having a kid' or 'not having a kid.' That is all.
What's my personal reason for having a kid? It's going to sound cheesy, so brace yourselves. This is my reason: because life, friends, is boring (to quote John Berryman). Before Baby, we were looking down the barrel of the rest of our lives spent doing whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted--sleeping in on weekends, drinking, going out whenever, seeing movies whenever, buying things we wanted whenever, never taking anything really seriously, the ribbons of life were frizzing into boredom around the edges. In that pre-kid reality, it was the same shit day after day, with no onus placed on us for anything, other than to continue to live and to consume day after day, year after year, decade after decade. Now? I have a baby daughter, and she requires that I pay attention. Not just to her, but to the choices I make in life, even ones that don't seem to concern her directly. And time is no longer this open-ended thing that I can squander at will. I feel the flow of time much more acutely now than before, and I've learned to work with it and make better choices so that I don't squander it unnecessarily.
It is much more acceptable nowadays to choose not to have children, and that is a completely valid lifestyle choice now where it wasn't even 30 years ago. Life has progressed beyond the need for base procreation, as the impetus to reproduce is no longer as strong as it once was, since we have reached a unique point in human history where we have more luxury than we could have ever dreamed of, and basic survival isn't on our minds, and it doesn't take 2 hours to go a mile up the road. We aren't as afraid of dying as we were 100 years ago, so without the daily threat of imminent death, we lose the impetus to procreate and leave a bunch of people in our wake. In my opinion this new childless reality puts too much pressure on us as individuals and on the significant others we share our lives with to be extraordinarily clever and interesting ad infinitum--just thinking about it makes me tired.
Having a kid is like re-injecting your life with that imminent fear of death--suddenly everything matters again. Everything is new--your old dried-out soul starts to feel excitement again, anticipation for holidays, traditions, life. I know it sounds like living vicariously through someone else, except you're not living through them so much as actually prepping the stage of their experiences. You're the puppet master! And at the same time you're keenly aware that this kid ISN'T you; they aren't yet fucked-up, haven't yet been disappointed and rejected by life, and there is still hope--in YOU for THEM. (Remember they don't know what the fuck is going on yet, so all of this takes place inside your head.) This puts intense pressure on you to make their experiences good ones, and causes you to want to do all that fun shit that your parents did with you--and so the cycle continues, but with a difference, because each person is an individual with their own experiences and thought patterns.
I can verify that as a parent you irrationally want to protect your kid from the shittier parts of life, but of course you can't--the shitty parts are what make us who we are, in the end (show me a person who has never been vexed or crossed in life, and you will show me a very boring person indeed)--but still the desire to protect is there. So yes, I'm gonna say it--I think having a kid taps into the better part of human nature, the hopeful part that somehow believes there is still hope for the human race despite the shit we see everyday to the contrary. The part that is so often a bezoar in us by the time we're 30.
There, I'm done. Take it or leave it, I really don't care. It's my opinion, just like everything else here.
Fast forward to now. The 'arguments' people gave me as to why one should have a kid, still ring hollow, but I get now why people spout cliches--there is some truth to cliches, a comforting quality that reassures us that our actions are larger than us, that we are somehow participating in some great human cycle, blah blah blah. Do I have the answer for you or anyone else besides myself? No, and I don't claim to. Truth is, there is no overarching reason to have or not to have a kid, at the end of the day--if you argue both sides you will soon realize that there is no rational argument for or against, there is only 'having a kid' or 'not having a kid.' That is all.
What's my personal reason for having a kid? It's going to sound cheesy, so brace yourselves. This is my reason: because life, friends, is boring (to quote John Berryman). Before Baby, we were looking down the barrel of the rest of our lives spent doing whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted--sleeping in on weekends, drinking, going out whenever, seeing movies whenever, buying things we wanted whenever, never taking anything really seriously, the ribbons of life were frizzing into boredom around the edges. In that pre-kid reality, it was the same shit day after day, with no onus placed on us for anything, other than to continue to live and to consume day after day, year after year, decade after decade. Now? I have a baby daughter, and she requires that I pay attention. Not just to her, but to the choices I make in life, even ones that don't seem to concern her directly. And time is no longer this open-ended thing that I can squander at will. I feel the flow of time much more acutely now than before, and I've learned to work with it and make better choices so that I don't squander it unnecessarily.
It is much more acceptable nowadays to choose not to have children, and that is a completely valid lifestyle choice now where it wasn't even 30 years ago. Life has progressed beyond the need for base procreation, as the impetus to reproduce is no longer as strong as it once was, since we have reached a unique point in human history where we have more luxury than we could have ever dreamed of, and basic survival isn't on our minds, and it doesn't take 2 hours to go a mile up the road. We aren't as afraid of dying as we were 100 years ago, so without the daily threat of imminent death, we lose the impetus to procreate and leave a bunch of people in our wake. In my opinion this new childless reality puts too much pressure on us as individuals and on the significant others we share our lives with to be extraordinarily clever and interesting ad infinitum--just thinking about it makes me tired.
Having a kid is like re-injecting your life with that imminent fear of death--suddenly everything matters again. Everything is new--your old dried-out soul starts to feel excitement again, anticipation for holidays, traditions, life. I know it sounds like living vicariously through someone else, except you're not living through them so much as actually prepping the stage of their experiences. You're the puppet master! And at the same time you're keenly aware that this kid ISN'T you; they aren't yet fucked-up, haven't yet been disappointed and rejected by life, and there is still hope--in YOU for THEM. (Remember they don't know what the fuck is going on yet, so all of this takes place inside your head.) This puts intense pressure on you to make their experiences good ones, and causes you to want to do all that fun shit that your parents did with you--and so the cycle continues, but with a difference, because each person is an individual with their own experiences and thought patterns.
I can verify that as a parent you irrationally want to protect your kid from the shittier parts of life, but of course you can't--the shitty parts are what make us who we are, in the end (show me a person who has never been vexed or crossed in life, and you will show me a very boring person indeed)--but still the desire to protect is there. So yes, I'm gonna say it--I think having a kid taps into the better part of human nature, the hopeful part that somehow believes there is still hope for the human race despite the shit we see everyday to the contrary. The part that is so often a bezoar in us by the time we're 30.
There, I'm done. Take it or leave it, I really don't care. It's my opinion, just like everything else here.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Getting old sucks (buzzed blogging at the airport).
Yes it does. I realize this is not news, but it is news to anyone who is experiencing it for the first time, like me. You take youth for granted for so long that this getting old trick kind of sneaks up on you. One day things aren't wrinkled and don't sag, the next, you find fine lines on your hands and saggy parts that weren't there before (I swear). I had a baby last year and I feel like I've been catapulted into the old-age category overnight, never to return.
When aging dawns on you, two paths diverge. One, keep fighting it with diet and exercise; two, give in and use age as your excuse to let yourself go to hell. I was at a sales meeting this week, and as is typical at these things, I saw a good many people in the latter category. Women with quivering bags of flesh for arms, who nonetheless wear sleeveless, tight shirts that fit them like sausage casings, men with moobs unabashedly stuffing their faces with meat and candy like they're still 17, sad, saggy women and men wandering around in complete denial of the reality of their shape. I desperately don't want to be like these people, so I continue to fight the good fight, exercising regularly and watching what I eat from time to time. But if their bodies betrayed them so completely, who is to say that mine won't, too, despite efforts to the contrary?
Thanks to pregnancy and a c-section I now have this weird fold on my lower abdomen where the scar is, not to mention stretch marks, and though I'm losing weight, this thing just doesn't want to leave. Ever. It makes my clothes not fit quite right, and overall makes me feel hideously deformed, at least in my mind. It is a daily reminder that I am no longer young, and that no matter what I do, my body will not go back to its former tautness. And I never had a six-pack but I wish now I could go back and revise my pre-pregnancy self-loathing, bc I was certainly closer to perfect then than I am now.
This is horrible of course, but it's also life. You can't give birth and have it not affect your body. There is a part of me that thinks my stomach is hideous and gross, but there is another, stubborn part that thinks it is beautiful and nothing to be ashamed of. I know that sounds very Lilith-fair of me, but a part of me refuses to see this as anything other than proof that I did something amazing, society be damned. I wish more women felt this way. Instead, it's just another reason to hate our bodies more than before, because we have completely internalized the male gaze and keep failing to live up to the flawless figure we think it demands of us. I see why people give up after kids--beauty is for the young, but wasted on the young, and attempts to hold onto youth can seem pathetic and sad.
I was carded just now buying liquor at an airport kiosk. I haven't been carded in quite sometime, so I chose to be flattered by it. I understand midlife crises now in a way I couldn't before. Let me have just one more go at youth before it leaves me completely, that must be the driving force. I get it. Thank goodness we all get old, sooner or later, or there would be riots.
When aging dawns on you, two paths diverge. One, keep fighting it with diet and exercise; two, give in and use age as your excuse to let yourself go to hell. I was at a sales meeting this week, and as is typical at these things, I saw a good many people in the latter category. Women with quivering bags of flesh for arms, who nonetheless wear sleeveless, tight shirts that fit them like sausage casings, men with moobs unabashedly stuffing their faces with meat and candy like they're still 17, sad, saggy women and men wandering around in complete denial of the reality of their shape. I desperately don't want to be like these people, so I continue to fight the good fight, exercising regularly and watching what I eat from time to time. But if their bodies betrayed them so completely, who is to say that mine won't, too, despite efforts to the contrary?
Thanks to pregnancy and a c-section I now have this weird fold on my lower abdomen where the scar is, not to mention stretch marks, and though I'm losing weight, this thing just doesn't want to leave. Ever. It makes my clothes not fit quite right, and overall makes me feel hideously deformed, at least in my mind. It is a daily reminder that I am no longer young, and that no matter what I do, my body will not go back to its former tautness. And I never had a six-pack but I wish now I could go back and revise my pre-pregnancy self-loathing, bc I was certainly closer to perfect then than I am now.
This is horrible of course, but it's also life. You can't give birth and have it not affect your body. There is a part of me that thinks my stomach is hideous and gross, but there is another, stubborn part that thinks it is beautiful and nothing to be ashamed of. I know that sounds very Lilith-fair of me, but a part of me refuses to see this as anything other than proof that I did something amazing, society be damned. I wish more women felt this way. Instead, it's just another reason to hate our bodies more than before, because we have completely internalized the male gaze and keep failing to live up to the flawless figure we think it demands of us. I see why people give up after kids--beauty is for the young, but wasted on the young, and attempts to hold onto youth can seem pathetic and sad.
I was carded just now buying liquor at an airport kiosk. I haven't been carded in quite sometime, so I chose to be flattered by it. I understand midlife crises now in a way I couldn't before. Let me have just one more go at youth before it leaves me completely, that must be the driving force. I get it. Thank goodness we all get old, sooner or later, or there would be riots.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Skin care, makeup, purses, jewelry, and dildos
I just got another invite to a girly party--this one for skincare products. And another friend sent an email about 'her' jewelry sale. I'm all for my friends and colleagues being pseudo-entrepreneurial and all, but I resent my friendship or acquaintanceship being called on to make them money. As a rule I don't attend or host these parties, period. I once attended a handbag party, and felt coerced into spending $50 for a fucking clutch purse--and it was at that time that I said never again to this shit. They say there's no pressure to buy, but when all of your friends and colleagues are shelling out for the product, you feel like maybe you're missing out, maybe they know something you don't. And you don't want to look like an asshole.
None of this stuff is cheap. I've also been to a jewelry party, a kitchen gadgets party, and a sex toy party. The whole point of having these parties is to get the invitees (aka your friends) to spend money, so if you go and sit there and eat stuff and refuse to buy, you're the outcast in the situation. You're better off not attending at all! Which is what I do now--and yet I still get these invites a few times a year. The kitchen gadgets party was cool because they demonstrated their wares, and you got to taste the results. And the sex toy party was a good time out because it was at a bar and there was drinking and bingo. The purse, jewelry, and makeup "parties" (a misnomer because they are nothing like) are usually at someone's house, and are soul-killing affairs. You sit around chit-chatting with women you barely know, and curdle as they start to ooh and ahh over the lamest crap you've ever seen, and if you're like me, you end up scouring the catalogs in desperation, trying to find something to order that isn't expensive and that you might actually use/wear, and then later mocks you for succumbing to social pressure. I have my share of stale jewelry in my jewelry box; the clutch I never use but I keep it because it cost me $50.
The only product party that I haven't gotten a repeat invite to over the past 8 years is the kitchen gadgets one--and that is one that I might actually attend! I still have/use the items I bought at the last one, and they are quality items. I even got a good recipe out of it, something I've made a handful of times since, to rave reviews. Invite me to THAT shit! But this other crap? I don't have time or money to waste on purses, costume jewelry, fancy makeup, or vegan skincare. I've already got a purse, I use makeup, do my own pedicures, and I wash my face and use lotion with SPF everyday. As far as I'm concerned, I've got that shit covered. But then I'm not a high-maintenance female who is obsessed with looking young. Maybe in 5-10 years, I will be. But for now, I still prefer cheap and uncomplicated in that department.
And whatever happened to Tupperware parties? I remember my mom dragged me to one when I was small, and they made that crap seem really cool. Tupperware I could use. But these parties aren't about selling you something cool that might make your life easier--they are about selling you a fantasy version of yourself that plays on feminine insecurities. Behind each of these parties is a question that gets at the core of the insecurity that is being manipulated for dollars. Makeup/skincare: Don't you want to look young and fabulous? Purses: What self-respecting female wouldn't want to make a statement with her own individualized purse? And jewelry: Every woman likes to feel feminine and powerful! Finally, sex toys. Instead of a question, for this one it's more like a statement: I'll forego the makeup/purses/jewelry and go straight for the giant remote-controlled, glow-in-the-dark dildo-slash-vibrator, thanks. Depending on how you interpret it, that can be an empowering statement or a really sad one.
None of this stuff is cheap. I've also been to a jewelry party, a kitchen gadgets party, and a sex toy party. The whole point of having these parties is to get the invitees (aka your friends) to spend money, so if you go and sit there and eat stuff and refuse to buy, you're the outcast in the situation. You're better off not attending at all! Which is what I do now--and yet I still get these invites a few times a year. The kitchen gadgets party was cool because they demonstrated their wares, and you got to taste the results. And the sex toy party was a good time out because it was at a bar and there was drinking and bingo. The purse, jewelry, and makeup "parties" (a misnomer because they are nothing like) are usually at someone's house, and are soul-killing affairs. You sit around chit-chatting with women you barely know, and curdle as they start to ooh and ahh over the lamest crap you've ever seen, and if you're like me, you end up scouring the catalogs in desperation, trying to find something to order that isn't expensive and that you might actually use/wear, and then later mocks you for succumbing to social pressure. I have my share of stale jewelry in my jewelry box; the clutch I never use but I keep it because it cost me $50.
The only product party that I haven't gotten a repeat invite to over the past 8 years is the kitchen gadgets one--and that is one that I might actually attend! I still have/use the items I bought at the last one, and they are quality items. I even got a good recipe out of it, something I've made a handful of times since, to rave reviews. Invite me to THAT shit! But this other crap? I don't have time or money to waste on purses, costume jewelry, fancy makeup, or vegan skincare. I've already got a purse, I use makeup, do my own pedicures, and I wash my face and use lotion with SPF everyday. As far as I'm concerned, I've got that shit covered. But then I'm not a high-maintenance female who is obsessed with looking young. Maybe in 5-10 years, I will be. But for now, I still prefer cheap and uncomplicated in that department.
And whatever happened to Tupperware parties? I remember my mom dragged me to one when I was small, and they made that crap seem really cool. Tupperware I could use. But these parties aren't about selling you something cool that might make your life easier--they are about selling you a fantasy version of yourself that plays on feminine insecurities. Behind each of these parties is a question that gets at the core of the insecurity that is being manipulated for dollars. Makeup/skincare: Don't you want to look young and fabulous? Purses: What self-respecting female wouldn't want to make a statement with her own individualized purse? And jewelry: Every woman likes to feel feminine and powerful! Finally, sex toys. Instead of a question, for this one it's more like a statement: I'll forego the makeup/purses/jewelry and go straight for the giant remote-controlled, glow-in-the-dark dildo-slash-vibrator, thanks. Depending on how you interpret it, that can be an empowering statement or a really sad one.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Why I strongly dislike Zooey Deschanel.
You've seen her most recently on those annoying Apple Siri commercials (Is THAT rain? she whines). She's on a new sitcom called The New Girl, in which she appears to play mostly herself. You may also remember her from the Cotton commercials last year, or from a little movie called 500 Days of Summer. She is lesser known for her vocal talents with the group She&Him. She's named after the character in a J.D. Salinger novel, Franney & Zooey. She co-founded a website called--wait for it--HelloGiggles. If Zooey Deschanel has always been synonymous with doe-eyed hipster cuteness, now she defines it, it's her brand. And now I think I dislike her almost as much as I dislike Gwyneth Paltrow.
Until very recently, I tolerated her quite well. I have a couple of She&Him records, I liked her in Elf, and I don't find her voice too obnoxious. What changed, you ask? I blame that stupid Siri commercial, which makes her seem dimwitted at the same time that we are supposed to think she's quirky, cool, and pretty. And then I watched 500 Days of Summer last week, and now I see her as crystallized hipster fecal matter.
I really don't know why I put that movie in my queue--as a rule I detest RomComs, and will only watch them if I'm watching afternoon tv on a Saturday and am too bored to change the channel and/or fall asleep. But it arrived and I opened it and watched it quickly so I could send it back right away and get Disc 1 of True Blood Season 4. I could have just sent it back unwatched but that's just not me.
So in this movie she's a chick who doesn't want a relationship but gets with a guy (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) who thinks she is 'the one,' tells him love doesn't exist, and he suffers badly when they break up, especially when he accidentally discovers that she's engaged to some other dude. Oh and they meet working at a greeting card company, writing inspirational messages, and work in an office that features decor from the most colorless greeting cards I've ever seen (think 'Some E-Cards' without the snarky one-liners). And they both dress like they're the perfect Boy and Girl paper dolls from the 1950s. But not the real 1950s, mind you, the 1950s as re-imagined by earnest millennium-age hipsters.
No one works at a greeting card company in the 'sympathy' or 'love' departments--that's just ridiculous. If I work in publishing and no one in-house edits stuff, then I'm fairly certain greeting card companies don't have different departments for emotions. When they first meet on the elevator, he is listening to the fucking Smiths on his headphones. When I was a teenager and obsessed with the Smiths, I had a particular fantasy that I would meet a perfectly-dressed Smiths-loving fanboy in some coffeeshop, and we would both bond over our mutual love of the Smiths. To my teenage mind, if a boy liked the Smiths it was shorthand that meant he liked to read serious books, think deeply about stuff, didn't follow "the crowd," and looked real cute in a cardigan. So are we to read these people and their encounter in similarly facile fashion? I'm sorry, did I accidentally pick from the 'movies for the lobotomized' section of Netflix? Oh wait, I forgot, this is a romantic comedy, they're all like this.
There is voice-over narration (a la Pushing Daisies, except devoid of charm) that sets the story for us, because otherwise it would be hard to keep up with the film's complicated premise. Since the title is 500 days of Summer, we see everything in a nonlinear fashion for no apparent reason--we jump ahead to day 346, back to day 1, forward to day 448, back to 67, and so on. Through it all, there she is, the perfect girl, in a perfectly color-coordinated world that perfectly offsets her penchant for retro clothing and odd tastes in music (Ringo Starr? Really?). When Gordon-Levitt visits her apartment, the decor is like what would happen if Martha Stewart and Grizzly Bear had a baby--the wallpaper is a china blue pattern, there are empty frames with artful things in them, a branch with crane origami--everything is cute, neat, deliberate, cool, original, different, eye-roll inducing. Gordon-Levitt's character says he feels like he's breaking down her walls, getting to know the 'real' Summer--but it turns out he was mistaken. Can a real Summer even exist underneath the thick patina of hipster artifice? Unfortunately, the film doesn't ask that question. Instead she comes off as a cold, selfish bitch who used this really cute, cool guy and then dumped him in favor of some mystery guy we never see, because he wasn't the "one" for her. Oh, and now she believes in love. As if we care.
Barf. It's not really Zooey that I hate, so much as this character she seems to play across different mediums. She's a paper doll girl who is just the right mix of everything. She's pretty but but not ostentatious, accessible yet remote, liberated yet modest, and has time to do things like shop vintage clothing stores, make cool origami shit, listen to the Smiths while maintaining a positive attitude about life, talks to her iPhone about playing hooky and dancing while it rains, and occasionally makes albums with the hippest hipster who ever lived, M. Ward. Oh, and she was married to Ben Gibbard, the emo king and lead singer of Death Cab for Cutie. Fuck you, Zooey Deschanel. You're not real, and you're ruining it for the rest of us.
Until very recently, I tolerated her quite well. I have a couple of She&Him records, I liked her in Elf, and I don't find her voice too obnoxious. What changed, you ask? I blame that stupid Siri commercial, which makes her seem dimwitted at the same time that we are supposed to think she's quirky, cool, and pretty. And then I watched 500 Days of Summer last week, and now I see her as crystallized hipster fecal matter.
I really don't know why I put that movie in my queue--as a rule I detest RomComs, and will only watch them if I'm watching afternoon tv on a Saturday and am too bored to change the channel and/or fall asleep. But it arrived and I opened it and watched it quickly so I could send it back right away and get Disc 1 of True Blood Season 4. I could have just sent it back unwatched but that's just not me.
So in this movie she's a chick who doesn't want a relationship but gets with a guy (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) who thinks she is 'the one,' tells him love doesn't exist, and he suffers badly when they break up, especially when he accidentally discovers that she's engaged to some other dude. Oh and they meet working at a greeting card company, writing inspirational messages, and work in an office that features decor from the most colorless greeting cards I've ever seen (think 'Some E-Cards' without the snarky one-liners). And they both dress like they're the perfect Boy and Girl paper dolls from the 1950s. But not the real 1950s, mind you, the 1950s as re-imagined by earnest millennium-age hipsters.
No one works at a greeting card company in the 'sympathy' or 'love' departments--that's just ridiculous. If I work in publishing and no one in-house edits stuff, then I'm fairly certain greeting card companies don't have different departments for emotions. When they first meet on the elevator, he is listening to the fucking Smiths on his headphones. When I was a teenager and obsessed with the Smiths, I had a particular fantasy that I would meet a perfectly-dressed Smiths-loving fanboy in some coffeeshop, and we would both bond over our mutual love of the Smiths. To my teenage mind, if a boy liked the Smiths it was shorthand that meant he liked to read serious books, think deeply about stuff, didn't follow "the crowd," and looked real cute in a cardigan. So are we to read these people and their encounter in similarly facile fashion? I'm sorry, did I accidentally pick from the 'movies for the lobotomized' section of Netflix? Oh wait, I forgot, this is a romantic comedy, they're all like this.
There is voice-over narration (a la Pushing Daisies, except devoid of charm) that sets the story for us, because otherwise it would be hard to keep up with the film's complicated premise. Since the title is 500 days of Summer, we see everything in a nonlinear fashion for no apparent reason--we jump ahead to day 346, back to day 1, forward to day 448, back to 67, and so on. Through it all, there she is, the perfect girl, in a perfectly color-coordinated world that perfectly offsets her penchant for retro clothing and odd tastes in music (Ringo Starr? Really?). When Gordon-Levitt visits her apartment, the decor is like what would happen if Martha Stewart and Grizzly Bear had a baby--the wallpaper is a china blue pattern, there are empty frames with artful things in them, a branch with crane origami--everything is cute, neat, deliberate, cool, original, different, eye-roll inducing. Gordon-Levitt's character says he feels like he's breaking down her walls, getting to know the 'real' Summer--but it turns out he was mistaken. Can a real Summer even exist underneath the thick patina of hipster artifice? Unfortunately, the film doesn't ask that question. Instead she comes off as a cold, selfish bitch who used this really cute, cool guy and then dumped him in favor of some mystery guy we never see, because he wasn't the "one" for her. Oh, and now she believes in love. As if we care.
Barf. It's not really Zooey that I hate, so much as this character she seems to play across different mediums. She's a paper doll girl who is just the right mix of everything. She's pretty but but not ostentatious, accessible yet remote, liberated yet modest, and has time to do things like shop vintage clothing stores, make cool origami shit, listen to the Smiths while maintaining a positive attitude about life, talks to her iPhone about playing hooky and dancing while it rains, and occasionally makes albums with the hippest hipster who ever lived, M. Ward. Oh, and she was married to Ben Gibbard, the emo king and lead singer of Death Cab for Cutie. Fuck you, Zooey Deschanel. You're not real, and you're ruining it for the rest of us.
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