A First-Rate Girl”: The Problem of Female Beauty
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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,
Jenna, Jenna. But in the absence of visual confirmation
all he had in his arms was a random sweaty attacking female.
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,
Jenna, Jenna. 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.
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.
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.
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.
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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