Wednesday, October 1, 2014

BEAUTY AND ITS SOCIAL VALUE























I have a friend who dates only exceptionally attractive women. These women aren’t trophy-wife types—they
 are comparable to him in age, education level, and professional status. They are just really, notably good looking, standouts even in the kind of urban milieu where regular workouts and healthy eating are commonplace and an abundance of disposable income to spend on facials, waxing, straightening, and coloring keeps the average level of female attractiveness unusually high.
My friend is sensitive and intelligent and, in almost every
 particular, unlike the stereotypical sexist, T & A-obsessed
 meathead. For years, I assumed that it was just his good 
fortune that the women he felt an emotional connection 
with all happened to be so damn hot. Over time, however,
 I came to realize that my friend, nice as he is, prizes 
extreme beauty above all the other desiderata that one 
might seek in a partner.
I have another friend who broke up with a woman because 
her body, though fit, was the wrong type for him. While 
he liked her personality, he felt that he’d never be sufficie
ntly attracted to her, and that it was better to end things
 sooner rather than later.
Some people would say these men are fatally shallow. 
Others would say they are realistic about their own needs,
 and that there is no use beating oneself up about one’s 
preferences: some things cannot be changed. Those in 
the first camp would probably say that my friends are out
liers—uniquely immature men to be avoided. Many in the
 second camp argue that, in fact, all men would be like the
 man who dates only beautiful women, if only they enjoy
ed his ability to snare such knockouts. In my experience, 
people on both sides are emphatic, and treat their 
position as if it is obvious and incontrovertible.
To me, these stories highlight the intense and often guilty
 relationship that many men have with female beauty, a 
subject with profound repercussions for both men and 
women.
You’d think it would also be a rich subject for fiction
 writers—after all, our attitudes about beauty and attrac
tion are tightly bound up with the question of romantic
 love. But,in fact, many novels fail to meaningfully
 address the issue of beauty. In a recent essay in
 New York, the novelist Lionel Shriver argued that “fiction
 writers’ biggest mistake is to create so many characters 
who are
 casuallybeautiful.” What this amounts to, in practice, is
 that many male characters have strikingly attractive
 female love interests who also possess a host of other
 characteristics that make them appealing. Their good
 looks are like a convenient afterthought.
This is, unfortunately, sentimental: how we wish life were,
 rather than how it is. It’s like creating a fictional world in
 which every deserving orphan ends up inheriting a 
fortune from a rich uncle. In life, beauty is rarely, if ever,
 just another quality that a woman possesses, like a 
knowledge of French. A woman’s beauty tends to play an 
instrumental role in the courtship process, and its impact 
rarely ends there.
When a novelist does examine beauty more closely, the 
results are often startling. Two of my favorite male 
novelists do not fall into the trap that Shriver delineated.
 They are clear-sighted and acute chroniclers of the male 
gaze.
Consider Richard Yates’s “Revolutionary Road,” a novel 
about a dysfunctional marriage. Frank Wheeler’s love for
 his wife, April, has everything to do with her good looks:
 April, whom he first spots across the room at a party, is a
 “tall ash blonde with a patrician kind of beauty.” Frank’s 
upbringing was distinctly un-patrician. His father was a 
lifelong salesman; during the Depression, his parents 
struggled to hold onto their modest lower-middle-class 
existence. Then Frank served in the Second World War, 
which allowed him to attend Columbia on the G.I. Bill. He
 built a new identity, as a bohemian and an intellectual—
an “intense, nicotine-stained, Jean-Paul Sartre sort of
 man,” in his self-romanticizing account. But he still
 couldn’t quiet a certain anxiety about his status. Yates 
writes,

It nagged him, in particular, that none of the girls he’d

known so far had given him a sense of unalloyed
triumph. One had been very pretty except for unpardonably
thick ankles, and one had been intelligent, though
possessed of an annoying tendency to mother him, but 
he had to admit that none had been first-rate. Nor was he
ever in doubt about what he meant by a first-rate girl, 
though he’d never yet come close enough to one to touch
her hand.




Enter April, “an exceptionally first-rate girl whose shining
hair and splendid legs had drawn him halfway across a 
roomful of strangers.” Frank, “bolstered by four straight 
gulps of whiskey … followed the counsel of victory.” He 
approached her, and “within five minutes, he found he
could make April Johnson laugh, that he could not only
hold the steady attention of her wide gray eyes but could
make their pupils dart up and down and around in little 
arcs while he talked to her.” So begins one of contemporary
literature’s worst relationships.
For Frank, April represents success. April, for her part, likes 
Frank O.K.—he’s “interesting,” she tells him—but she 
doesn’t like him well enough that he ever feels secure. To
be so close to the woman who represents so much but to
also feel her perpetually holding back maddens Frank. 
When April gets pregnant, she wants to have an illegal 
abortion, which Frank interprets as a rejection of him. 
And this is intolerable. Though he doesn’t want a child 
any more than she does, he is finally able to talk her into 
getting married and having one. Anything is better than a
 rejection from the only first-rate girl he’s ever been close
 to.
It is notable that April’s power over Frank does not lie in
the fact that she excites him more than other women 
sexually—it is, rather, that her cool brand of beauty imbues her,
 in his mind, with a higher social value than
that of his previous lovers. In other words, he is driven, 
if unconsciously, by an impulse cooler and more calculating
than lust.
Both Frank and April are, in some sense, victims of her 
beauty, of its hold on Frank’s imagination. They both 
would have been better off if he had let her go. And this 
is key: if April’s looks give her power, it’s not always a
 power that works to her advantage. The course of her
 life is shaped by Frank’s need to repeatedly win her affect
ion. Young and without a better alternative on the horizon
, she gives in to the pull of Frank’s desire and decides 
that what she feels is probably love, or at least close
 enough.
Frank’s relationship to April’s beauty is hardly heroic, 
though he aspires to meet a Hemingway-esque ideal of
 masculinity (he’s always clenching his jaw to look more
 commanding).We imagine that someone like Hemingway
 winds up with beautiful women as a matter of course—
we don’t picture him working at it consciously, wondering 
whether this one’s hair is too frizzy or her hips too wide
 for her to be a suitable complement to the image he 
seeks to project. It is one of the many strengths of
 “Revolutionary Road” that Yates so thoroughly sees 
through his characters’ pretensions.
Jump ahead several decades, and we see a similarly keen
 eye in Jonathan Franzen. In “The Corrections,” he proved
 adept at capturing the complicated dynamics among 
women surrounding that most charged of beauty-related 
topics: weight. When the svelte, stylish thirtysomething 
Denise Lambert sits down for lunch with her parents, 
Franzen notes that her less svelte mother,

Enid, who all her life had been helpless not to observe the

 goings-on on other people’s plates, had watched Denise
 take a three-bite portion of salmon, a small helping of 
salad, and a crust of bread. The size of each was a 
reproach to the size of each of Enid’s. Now Denise’s 
plate was empty and she hadn’t taken seconds of anything.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?
          ” Enid said.
“Yes. That was my lunch.”
“You’ve lost weight.”
“In fact not.”
“Well, don’t lose any more,” Enid said with the

skimpy laugh with which she tried to hide large

feelings.


That “skimpy laugh” and those “large feelings” show us 
just how raw this subject is, how something so seemingly
 innocuous is so fraught for Enid. I suspect that I am not
 the only woman who finds this scenario familiar, whether
 from Enid’s vantage point or from Denise’s, or both. The
 size of appetites—for many women, it’s as sensitive a top
ic as there is.
Of course, this sensitivity didn’t emerge in a vacuum. It
 develops alongside a consciousness of the male gaze, 
the sense of being constantly sized up. (Women level this
 gaze on each other as well.) What makes this so
 persistent, so impervious to feminism or anti-consumer
ism, or any type of ideology, is that it’s so often unconscious.
Walter Berglund, in Franzen’s later novel “Freedom,” 
provides a perfect example. He is the ultimate “nice guy.” In 
college, he’s the type who doesn’t get a lot of girls. In this, 
he’s not at all like 
his best friend and roommate, Richard Katz, a bad-boy 
musician with a steady supply of female admirers. Walter 
is as feminist as feminist can be. He disapproves of 
Richard’s womanizing ways and rails against “the 
Subjugation of Women.” He’s also a devoted son who 
spends his weekends helping his aging mother run a
 struggling motel. The guy is a real mensch. Yet he is 
more exacting than Richard about women’s looks. Walter,
 Richard explains, “always goes for good-looking. For 
pretty and well-formed. He’s ambitious that way.” Blond,
 athletic Patty Emerson fits the bill, even though for a 
long time she, like most of Walter’s love interests, fails
 to reciprocate his feelings.


We can’t help but suspect that Walter’s ambitiousness is 
related to his feelings of inferiority. Walter, we think, want
s to prove something about himself, about his own 
desirability, by winning the kind of girl that men agree is
 a prize—that is, an unambiguously attractive one. On the
 other hand, Richard’s very sexiness enables him to be 
more spontaneous and broad-minded, more open to 
women who aren’t conventional beauties. He mistreats 
them in other ways.
* * *
It isn’t, however, the case that men value beauty only from
 insecurity. If only. Then we could simply write off men 
who evaluate women by their looks as scheming social 
climbers. But the human response to beauty is also 
visceral, and Franzen reminds us of this, too. In “Freedom
,” Walter and Patty’s college-age son, Joey, becomes 
infatuated with Jenna, an exceptionally pretty girl, an 
attachment that proves to be both powerful and long-
lasting.
We see the force of Jenna’s looks when Joey notices how 
men respond to her in public. It’s of a different order from
 what he experiences with Connie, his more ordinarily
 pretty girlfriend. With Jenna at an airport, Joey realizes, 
men were
checking him out resentfully. He forced himself to 
stare down each of them in turn, to mark Jenna as 
claimed. It was going to be tiring, he realized, to have
to do this everywhere they went in public. Men sometimes
 stared at Connie, too, but they usually seemed to accept, 
without undue regret,
 that she was his. With Jenna, already, he had the sense
 that other men’s interest was not deterred by his 
presence but continued to seek ways around him.
Soon after, Franzen has fun with the disconnect between
 beauty and desire, even when desire has been stoked by 
beauty. When Joey finally gets together with Jenna, he 
finds his attention drifting away at the very moment he 
should be most fully engaged (in bed). Joey notes that 
Jenna
fooled around more brutally, less pliantly than Connie did
—that was part of it. But he also couldn’t see her face in 
the dark, and when he couldn’t see it he had only the 
memory, the idea, of its beauty. He kept telling himself 
that he was finally getting Jenna, that this was Jenna,
JennaJenna. But in the absence of visual confirmation
 all he had in his arms was a random sweaty attacking female.
“Can we turn a light on?” he said.
Eventually Joey and Jenna go to sleep, mutually dissatisfied.
As it happens, Jenna is a vacuous, spoiled drip, with little to
 recommend her other than her good looks. But Franzen
 is too fair a novelist to blame Jenna for not being the
 woman of Joey’s dreams. It is, rather, Joey’s obsession
 that is shown to be foolish. Aware of his youth, readers
 are likely to sympathize with his silly fixation on a good-
looking woman he doesn’t even like, but we also hope 
that he will grow out of it.
Franzen’s presentation of Joey and Jenna stands in 
contrast to myriad novels in which a male protagonist 
falls for a woman for little reason other than her beauty,
 and then seems not merely disappointed but also angry,
 almost self-righteous, when she turns out not to be 
exactly the person he wanted her to be. We see something
 of this, for example, in Phillip Roth’s “Goodbye, Columbus.”
 Its hero, Neil Klugman, meets Brenda Patimkin at her 
family’s country club, where their conversation consists
 only of her asking him to hold her glasses while she
 dives in the pool. We’ve got to assume she looked pretty 
good in her bathing suit, because that evening Neil finds 
her family in the phone book and asks her out. The 
summer romance that ensues is wonderfully and 
unsentimentally evoked, but it isn’t built to last. By 
autumn, Neil and Brenda’s ardor is beginning to cool. 
Neil is increasingly disdainful of Brenda and her family,
 whom he sees as vulgar and materialistic. As a narrator, 
he seems bent on showing us how terrible they are. 
Indeed, they are rather terrible, but I’m not sure this 
indignation reflects particularly well on Neil, either. The
 high-mindedness that he is capable of elsewhere is not
 really in play in his pursuit of Brenda. He went after a girl
 because he found her attractive, and, for a while, he was
 willing to overlook what he didn’t like. Eventually, 
though, he could no longer forgive her for who she was 
and for what her family was like. But Brenda didn’t 
mislead him, except in so much as her good looks can 
be said to have enchanted him. Of course, women no 
more deserve contempt for their beauty than they do for 
their lack of it, and to be initially adored and then, when 
better known, to be found wanting can be punishing, too.
 “Goodbye, Columbus” is a terrific novella, but “Freedom'
 is more humane, its authorial sympathies distributed
 more justly among its characters.


Beauty is often treated as an essentially feminine subject,
 something trivial and frivolous that women are excessively
 concerned with. Men, meanwhile, are typically seen as 
having a straightforward and uncomplicated relationship
 with it: they are drawn to it. The implication is that this 
may be unfortunate—not exactly ideal morally—but it 
can’t be helped, because it’s natural, biological. This 
seems more than a little ironic. Women are not only 
subject to a constant and exhausting and sometimes 
humiliating scrutiny—they are also belittled for caring 
about their beauty, mocked for seeking to enhance or to
 hold onto their good looks, while men are just, well,
 being men.
The reality is, of course, far more complicated, as our 
best novelists show us. They train our gazes on men at 
not only their most shallow and status conscious but 
also at their most ridiculous (the clenched jaw). It’s not 
always easy to know what to make of these men, who 
certainly aren’t wholly bad. But in a world where women
 are so frequently judged by their looks, it’s refreshing to
 encounter male characters whose superficial thoughts 
are at least acknowledged by their creators.

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