Yep...I'm blogging about camel toe.

So, the Lady Gaga ft. Beyonce "Telephone" music video is just begging for a feminist critique. I found one interesting take on Fashionista. Here, I'm not going to go into a critique of the video, but one aspect of the video led me to uncover what I find to be some incredibly contradictory and intriguing material concerning female genitalia and the mass hysteria the visual allusion of female genitals can create (think camel toe). During the first several minutes of the video, before the actual song begins, we see Lady Gaga escorted to a prison cell by two very tall, muscular women prison guards. They strip Gaga down and throw her in the cell. As they walk away, one says to the other "I told you she didn't have a dick." The second guard replies, "Too bad." This exchange seemed to be referencing some gossip concerning Gaga's genitalia. Though I (surprisingly) hadn't heard anything about this, I googled "Lady Gaga penis" and apparently rumors are running rampant about her either being sexed male or being a "hermaphrodite." On Mahalo.com we see the photo that supposedly spurred the rumors. Mahalo.com also states, "Lady Gaga reportedly told Q magazine, 'What I would like to do is make beautiful photography out of the most humorous rumor of my life, thus far, that I have a penis.' She further stated, 'I want to wear a dick strapped to my vagina. We all know that one of the biggest talking points of the year was that I have a dick, so why not give them what they want?'" While it would be of little import if Lady Gaga actually had a penis, or was intersexed, what I find fascinating is that coverage of Lady Gaga's tendency to have camel toe is just as prevalent as the coverage of the penis/intersexed rumors. So...she apparently is thought to have both a penis...and camel toe. My interest, of course, was piqued. So I googled "celebrity camel toe" and I was wholly unprepared for what I found: "Top 25 Most Shocking Celebrity Camel Toe Moments Ever." What is fascinating is that, while some of the celebrities photos do depict "textbook camel toe" (ha!), many merely show a small mound of flesh--the female genitalia beneath the clothing. This reminded me of something my friend Martinique brought up in our "Fashion: The Politics of Style" class a few weeks ago when another friend, Amy, was leading discussion. Amy showed the PETA campaign image of the high-cut women's underwear with the caption "Fur trim. Unattractive." Then, Martinique brought up the insightful point that designing women's underwear to be skimpy and high cut is contradictory to the natural growing patterns of most women's pubic hair. Yet, there is the demand that women's pubic hair fit within the prescribed "triangle." So, to extend that logic to the camel toe hysteria, it seems that contemporary women's clothing is fitted, often skin-tight, and made in a way that makes concealing the shape, outline, or folds of women's labia impossible. However, women are supposed to appear Barbie-like--smooth-surfaced. In many cases, the appearance of "camel toe" is downright revolting...abject, one might say. Much like the Brazilian bikini wax trend and multitude of shaving and hair removal products that assist women in creating the illusion that their pubic hair fits within a small triangle area (or doesn't exist at all, as is the case with the Brazilian), the fashion industry has tapped into the market of women who wish to present a smooth nether region while wearing fitted clothing. I present you The Cuchini, a piece of plastic(?) that "attaches to your undies and smoothes the ridges of a woman’s mons pubis area, providing a smooth and camouflaged appearance." The description on "The Frisky" website even states, "Maybe Lady Gaga should invest," after the product description. Or, you might opt for Camel Ammo: "For 10 bucks, you can get a pink camo print U-shaped disc that slips right into the cotton flap in the crotch of your panties, which prevents your lady bits from going toe up. Plus, it’s machine washable! But maybe the real problem here isn’t the fabric lip stick, it’s giving women more excuses to continue to wear the fashions that show camel toe. So, just for the record, ladies: tights are not pants." The Frisky writers are anti-legging, anti-jegging, anti-tights-instead-of-pants, for one, because they show camel toe. Seems fashion designer Marc Jacobs is also anti-camel toe. Yet, his brand designs and sells leggings. And at $158 a pop, no less. Is it just me, or does the Marc Jacobs model appear to have a mild case of camel toe? If you're a girl who loves her leggings and is weirded out by wearing a disc in your underwear to conceal "your lady bits," there's another option. Low-crotch leggings! Sabrina Yeung of Stylehive.com writes, "Nobody wants to see a heinous camel toe, but must we go to the other end of the spectrum and admit defeat to gravity? It kind of looks like you're wearing Depends and you're trying to distract from the diaper by wrapping your legs in spandex. I'm not even sure the best of the hipsters can pull this look off, ala Juliette Lewis, with a cropped shirt and high tops? Ankle boots? Might as well go off the deep end and strap on some crocs and a fanny pack." Well, Sabrina, funny you should mention "fanny pack"...In closing, I offer you this dynamite music video. (Maybe a low-slung fanny pack is another camel toe concealment option?) Enjoy!

PS- Here's a nugget from my favorite conversation of the week:

Dad: How's your blog going?
Me: Good.
Dad: What did you blog about?
Me: Camel toe.
Dad: What?
Me: Camel toe, do you know what that is?
Dad: Hmm...sounds familiar...

I telephoned a residential land line today for the first time in years. And I hadn't thought about this fact until the person on the receiving end of the call said, "Hello?" and I...panicked. What do I say? In nanoseconds, my mind rifled through lessons in phone etiquette I learned as a child. Do I state my name? Purpose for calling? Do I just ask for the person to whom I wish to speak? These days I'm so used to calling mobile phones where, presumably, the person answering is the owner of the phone. No surprises. You get what you seek. My social ineptness in this moment signifies one of the ways I have become a predictable product of the Information Age in which instant gratification is the name of the game. Journalists, bloggers, and cultural theorists have discussed and theorized this topic ad nauseum and the points I could discuss here would be nothing new to most of you, I'm sure. What is less familiar to me, however, is the discussion of whether it's inherently wrong to expect or crave instant gratification at this point in time.

I think it's worthwhile to consider the ways in which the shifting norms and the discomfort we (or at least I) feel is probably not so different from the the discomfort felt by people when, say, the telephone was invented or industrialization changed the ways we produce and operate business and, subsequently, families and communities are organized. While we can cite many negative outcomes of industrialization (the environmental crisis; health problems--you know, like limbs being cut off by factory equipment; human rights violations; etc.), I think most people would say it changed things for the better. So, in today's "instant gratification" world, do, as the aphorism proposes, the ends justify the means? That is, is the disintegration of the norms of the social order we new as children and adolescents--and, for some of us, as young adults--enough to disavow the gains of the Information Age? (What are those gains, again?) After all, it's not like there was anything inherently great about having a set of rules for placing or receiving phone calls. It simply allowed us to know--to an extent--what to expect and how to be...not so different than the more recent developments of decorum that one sees on Facebook.

Sure, policing of norms on Facebook might be less stringent than my grandmother's home economics training would afford, but there's no denying that rules do exist. What I find hilarious, however, is how confused Facebook is about the social rules of "real life"--life lived away from the computer. Or maybe it's how confused Facebook makes me about this? Facebook, at once attempts to connect us with our friends, former classmates, family members, potential employers, or fellow hobbyists, and can't quite tap into what, exactly, would make one Facebooker appeal to another. Basically, Facebook doesn't have a BRAIN! The best example of this is in the automatic friend suggestions feature. In the same week, Facebook suggested that I become "friends" with: 1) My ex's ex-girlfriend. Not cool, Facebook!; 2) The boy with whom I had my first kiss (and stuff) when I was 16. Last time I talked to that boy was...WHEN I WAS 16. I have to ask, is it some larger goal of those programmers behind Facebook to destroy me? And these "friend" suggestions only open me up to extended periods of cyber-stalking (don't pretend you don't do it too!) Hmm...who is Mr. First Kiss of Lahaina, HI, formerly of Tucson, AZ, dating these days? Did he go the way of the meat head, as expected? Does his breath still smell like peppermint schnapps? I know, I know, you can't smell things on Facebook, but that's precisely my point: stalking leads to speculating, which sometimes leads to plotting. What would this guy think if I did "friend" him? What would he do? What would he say? What...the fuck?

So, it seems, in some ways our social interactions are stunted or dulled or denied from even occurring, and at other times we are face(book) to face(book) with people we haven't thought about in months or years...and probably for good reasons. Maybe given my, at times, debilitating shyness I would be like this anyway...but I think of all the times I see a subject of interest/attraction in "real life" and I am at an utter loss for how I should proceed. I have a very limited idea of how to signify my interest, or what to say to spur a conversation. If only this were Facebook. I could just poke him.

So, again: what are the ends in the Information Age? And do these ends justify my psychosis?

PS - In "Telephone" Lady Gaga sings, "Can call all you want but there's no one home and you're not gonna reach my telephone! 'Cause I'm out in the club and I'm sippin' that bub' and you're not gonna reach my telephone." But we all know she would have her cellphone on her in the club, like Beyonce: "Boy the way you blowin' up my phone won't make me leave no faster, put my coat on faster, leave my girls no faster. I shoulda left my phone at home 'cause this is a disaster!"

Meet Monkeyshine!

Monkeyshine is the nickname my Papa Emmett gave me in childhood. About a month ago, I realized I didn't know the meaning of the word. Today I looked it up (sometimes it takes awhile to put thought into action)...

definition:

mon·key·shine (mŭng'kē-shīn')
n. Slang
A mischievous or playful trick; a prank.

synonyms:

antic, caper, frolic, joke, lark, prank, trick. Informal: shenanigan.

Thanks, Papa? So...I've decided to adopt Monkeyshine as my web log pen name. Think of it as a kind of homage to childhood and the risk-taking and creative license that accompanies that time in our lives. As I navigate adulthood, I find that taking risks gets increasingly more difficult, and imagination and creativity often lose out to "falling in line."

I've thought about starting a web log in the past, but, as my soul sister Audrey recently blogged, "I guess writing something down gives it more weight, or at least packages it in a way that can be shared or held" (Check out http://colormeaudrey.blogspot.com for lots of beauty and witticisms). Audrey meant that in the good way, but I think it is precisely that idea of the permanence of one's ideas or ownership of one's words that has kept me from blogging in the past. If someone is going to "hold" my ideas close, I don't want them to stink, ya dig? However, this logic has not served me well--basically, it's paralyzing. So, in the name of Monkeyshine, I hope to shuck off the self-consciousness that has stunted my writing in the past, in favor of mischief and exploration. And if my writing sometimes sounds like a joke, that's because, in a sense, it is. Let the shenanigans begin!