Image and Shape

I'm continually surprised by women. I'm mostly surprised by one woman, but that's because she's so surprising I don't really have the power to pay attention to any more. For example, I used to think that the male-female roles came down to us from ancient times by necessity. The cave people, I reasoned, must have apportioned the tasks of hunting, building, and making war to the men because men are physically larger, stronger, and tougher; it would follow quite naturally that women would tend to home and hearth, being of a generally smaller and more fragile stature.

Then I watched my wife give birth. I am no longer under any illusions about men being tougher than women. I don't know why the men were sent off to war and the women kept the infants in the ancient tribes, but it certainly wasn't because the women were too delicate.

The modern woman is also a strong and marvelous creature, but she thinks, I am now realizing, far more about her weight than I ever suspected. Women say they are thinking about their weight, but that actually means very little. A person's weight for them is really a shorthand way of talking about their shape, and they are deeply and almost frighteningly concerned about that. I notice my shape about twice a day, once in the morning when I put my clothes on and then again in the evening when I change into pajamas. Most of the women I know think about their shape nearly constantly. It's something like the "ticker" at the bottom of the screen on ESPN or CNN, and it's attached inseparably to the habits of dress, eating, and sex.

Now, when some idea is joined so strongly to dress, food, and sex, I think it's safe to call it a religious idea, and the present concern for shape can appropriately be described as a cult. Of course women (and men) have always been concerned about their shape, just as they've always been concerned for their health and hairline and smell. There's nothing unnatural in that. The concern becomes a cult when every meal eaten is publicly prefaced with either an "I know this is bad for my waistline, but such-and-such reason for eating it" or "This is surprisingly healthy and I commend myself for eating food that helps my shape." A mild vanity becomes an identifying ritual when all my female co-workers gather for a Bible Study on Tuesday nights and a Weight Watchers meeting on Wednesday nights. When clothing is judged by how well it flatters, conceals, and accentuates without a thought of whether it warms or cools, and when measurements have nothing to do with fitting comfortably and become abstract benchmarks of how successful a shape you are, you may have joined the Cult of the Shape.

Two things must be said here: First, that this is by no means some odd feminine practice which men have nothing to do with. We are just as involved with what the words "attractive" or "beautiful" mean as they are. These words have meant different things to different ages, but they have always been determined by both sexes. Second, as far as vanities go, I'd much prefer the person who is a little too fussy about her shape to the person who is a little too fussy about how important or intelligent or perfect a parent she is. As far as prides go, this one isn't so bad to be around.

I do, however, think this ought to be addressed. For one thing, it's a perfectly healthy phenomenon for a woman to look very differently at 63 and 43 than she does at 23. God made young ladies spectacularly lovely, but trying to stay 23 forever is a strange, expensive, and ultimately futile project. My wife has received more praise on her beauty over the past few months than ever before, not because of anything she's done to improve her shape, but simply because her body returned itself to its prenatal shape almost immediately after giving birth. And of course, she is gorgeous. But she isn't being complimented on that, she's being complimented on overcoming the destructive force of childbirth, which many women are unable to do. J tells me that she is secretly relieved herself, and that this was a concern about her pregnancy.

Since the mass distribution of the camera and the screen, we have come to think of ourselves as images in a way that no other people before us have. If I were to ask a man to think of himself catching the game winning touchdown pass in the Superbowl, or a woman to picture herself receiving an award at a fancy dinner, neither would think of themselves in "first-person," as they would actually experience the event, should it happen to them. They would assume the camera, and see themselves in "third person," being videotaped in their mind's eye.

Facebook has removed the image one step further from the pre-photographic culture, by placing one's identity in a editable portfolio of carefully selected images. Having the great misfortune of working with teenagers, I've heard them refer to their Facebook pages as themselves on several occasions. They are liked, approved, and commended where their consciousness resides, which is not in flesh and blood, but in electronic images!

It isn't hard at all to see how a cult of image and shape could grow so quickly in these circumstances. What can we do? I can be very thankful, first of all, that I had a son first. Second, we can appreciate youthful beauty--let's not pretend it doesn't exist, and that very powerfully--but call it for what it is, which is of course ephemeral and of secondary importance to domestic happiness. Third, we can give our sisters and wives every opportunity to know they are loved for who they are, and not what they look like, and we can refuse to adjudicate any other woman's value by their shape or lack of it. What a sad and desperate thing it must be to be a 60-something year old woman who stakes her self-worth is a shape that she can't and shouldn't ever be again, denying herself every pleasure of food and clothing in order to twist back to it, and even--this is frightening, but I've heard it more than once--praying to God that he would intervene in the matter. If I've come across as glib throughout, I apologize. I know that this is a deeply personal issue, and it has to be dealt with for our grandmothers as well as for our daughters.

I think today especially of my sister M, who turned 16 yesterday and is blooming now into the splendor of her loveliness. For the next 10 or 15 years she'll be the envy of many women and the desire of many boys. (Boys, beware--she has five older brothers.) Then she'll begin to age and have children, and the beauty that is so easy for her now will need to be kept up, and then even fought for. I hope she knows now and then that what makes her so remarkable are her inner charms. Her patience, maturity, and tender heart are rare and precious. She is beloved by her niece and nephew, and each of her older brothers are chained to her with a powerful love, her being their only sister and the baby of the family. She is her Father and Mother's delight. I can't imagine that she would ever evaluate her identity and her personhood--the whole robust collection of wonders and virtues which she is--based on the silly and fleeting shape she sees in the mirror. Much love to her and to all women, all of you ex imagine Dei.