Saturday, June 6, 2015

Call Me Calizabeth

Caitlyn Jenner the man formerly known as Bruce broke the internet this week, but not a lot of stereotypes about women with her Vanity Fair cover. I wanted to see her as I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar.

Older adult womanhood shot by Annie Leibowitz is about what? Lounging louchely on white leather couches with expensive mermaid hair looking moodily out at the world though a penthouse window. Or come-hither camera, I've still got it, a starlet in a white satin bustier. (I have one of those! Wait. Damn. I don't. I must have misplaced it with my Nice 'N Easy hair color from 1988. Remember the commercial? "It's you, only better.")

Her athleticism and bravery has been poured into several fitted evening gowns and that feels old hat. Really old hat. Like a top hat made of beaver on a master of the universe who runs railroads whose woman is at home making preparations to hostess with the mostess a dinner party in a bustle.

I was hoping for some kind of expansionary image, some kind of pushing of the envelope of Woman, some kind of punny, explosive, funny Bette Midler in a bed of roses and thorns, clever impish RuPaul rakishness, "We're all come in to the world naked and the rest is all drag," and instead we've been diminished to breaking the internet with our butts. Again.

Caitlyn could have just as easily have called herself People Pleaser, and I would have said, Girl, there is no way you can win this game; that's been my name for a long time. Then we'd giggle girlishly, do you think he's cute? OMG! Kinda!

We'd twirl our banana curls. We'd put maraschino cherries in our pink drinks before heading up to the roof deck to do yoga with Kim.

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