judith “jack” halberstam on drag, gender and fashionable stupidity ...

By Stephanie Abraham
I. Oppression vs. Freedom
I
have thought about the decade that I
worked as a fashion model — from age
12 until 22 — as if it took place in a
different lifetime. I’ve compared “then” and
“now” in my own mind as if they were two
different elements on a categorical chart,
“then” being the objectified-victim column
and “now,” the liberated-feminist one. Yet,
lately I’ve become uncomfortable with this
way of seeing. It is true that now I
understand systemic oppression and
liberation movements. Before I had only an
individualist framework through which to
interpret the world, so I do feel more
empowered now. Still, model vs. feminist is a
stereotypical juxtaposition that no longer
works for me, as I’ve realized that remnants
of my model-past run up, down and all
around my feminist-present.
I earn a living as a substitute
teacher. Whereas I’m on my fourth year in
this job, many people do not last one. This is
because of the difficulties of teaching, and
the struggles with kids, yes, but also because
of the financial instability and the we-needyou-here-right-away
calls that come between
6 and 7 a.m. This is familiar territory for a
model — models rarely have stable
employment and must respond in a flash to a
casting or booking. Having begun that kind
of life as a pre-teen, I know the routine.
However, now I make $27 an hour, whereas in
the past I made up to $4,000 in one day. I
can’t help but think of A Room of One’s Own
and Woolf’s suggestion that a woman can
find freedom in economic independence.
Framed in this way, I was “freer” back then.
Yet, many would say that being paid
for my corporal “beauty” was inherently
oppressive and that I was oppressing other
women by imposing an impossible beauty
standard. Yet, is working with children in
public schools non-exploitive? One could
argue that as a teacher in public schools I
serve as an agent of state repression. Mumia
Abu Jamal, a political prisoner who has been
on Pennsylvania’s Death Row for over 20
years, suggests that freedom is found in the
mind. Each year I seem to agree with him
more. Perhaps freedom and oppression are
not the cookie-cutter concepts we perceive
them to be. Aren’t they more multidimensional
than the simplistic categories
we try and make of them?
II. Perfectionism vs. Self-Acceptance
I spent several years after retiring from
modeling attempting to rid myself of my
seeing beyond the binaries
mannequin training. Of course, try as I may,
there are times when my body will not let me
forget. Recently, I was studying late on
campus. When I took a break and walked
down the hall, I noticed that the building
was nearly empty, so I focused on staying
alert for safety reasons. However, when I
came around the corner I stopped in my
tracks and forgot about everything but what
lay in front of me — a long, sleek hallway,
Feminist on the runway.
brightly lit, just like the runway. Before I
could think, my hips took the lead, my stride
became more determined, my right hand
slipped into my pocket, my left one flowed
back and forth at my side. I remembered the
adrenaline, how my heartbeat would mesh
with the rhythm of the music. At the end of
the ramp I would turn ever so slightly, stop
and pose, then turn and pose again, giving
the photographers another chance to get the
ideal shot. All I could see was the flash of the
cameras. I spent hours in front of those
instruments in hopes that they would work
their magic, capture a moment of perfection
and render me flawless.
Perfection is a dangling carrot chased
by many people — especially those in
competitive environments, especially models.
Most women — models or not — bombard
themselves with impossible demands.
Growing up in a patriarchy does that to you.
For me, it has to do with growing up in the
United States (where the demand is to “be
the best”), in the Catholic Church (where
“dirty” and “sinner” are often mapped onto
women) and in an Arab Irish household (both
cultures emphasize fitting in, passing and
succeeding).
I thought I had left the brutal
expectations behind me when I left the
modeling industry. Fed up and ready to move
on, I called my agent and told him I no
longer had it in me. Then I tucked my
portfolio and headshots in the bottom drawer
of my dresser and tried not to look back.
Shortly afterward I discovered feminist
theory and activism. I raised my fist in the
air, renounced the beauty myth and
demanded self-acceptance for all women.
Recently I was re-reminded that [my]
life does not change as quickly as I think it
does. I broke down. Something had happened
between a colleague and me that I thought
was impossible to work out, and of course I
took the blame. I dug my face into my
partner’s shoulder and wept. Unperturbed by
my tears, he lifted my chin and said, “The
problem is not you — it’s the person who
invented the word ‘perfect.’ Perfection does
not exist. I wouldn’t want you any other way,
and I don’t think she, or anyone else in your
life, would either.”
Up until then I hadn’t noticed that I
was still on that hamster wheel hoping to
outrun that which is inherent to humans —
making mistakes. He had narrowed in on
what I was really up against, and it was
something I hadn’t even considered. I
realized then that it’s not that “once I
[model-self] was lost and now I [feministself]
am found.” Instead, I’m me, still trying
to figure it out.
I once heard that life is a spiral
offering us the same lessons over and over,
and that at each interval we hit them on a
different level. People’s lives can’t be
plugged into the boxes we use to categorize
the world. They are infinitely more complex
than that. “Fashion-model-turned-feminist”
implies a false dichotomy as well as a falsely
linear life narrative. I am a model, a feminist,
an X, a Y and a Z — all at once. These are
different aspects of my complex identity that
are visible at different moments. What are
yours?
Stephanie was once told that her mouth was her
best attribute. She thought, Yeah, because it's nice
and LOUD. Get loud with her:
lamuallim@sbcglobal.net.
LOUDmouth 20