Sheila Hageman2013-06-20T01:14:09-04:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=sheila-hagemanCopyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc.HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Sheila HagemanGood old fashioned elbow grease.Victoria's Secret's Models Need to Represent All Body Types Because We All Wear Underweartag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.34600682013-06-19T19:00:00-04:002013-06-19T18:03:45-04:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/About-Face, which promotes a healthy body image and fights against the media's representation of a woman's 'idealized' body.
Their message through this demonstration called Operation Real Bodies Real Love: About-Face Action of Body Acceptance and Self-Love was that "not everybody needs to be like that in order to be attractive, in order to be awesome in general," said Jennifer Berger, Executive Director of About-Face.
The Daily Mail reports that About-Face is hoping to encourage International brands like Victoria's Secret to include more realistic and diverse body types in their media campaigns.
How wonderful to see the looks of joy and adventure on the faces of those protesting. This seems like the richest way to talk back to advertisements and ideologies we do not agree with - show the truth. A healthy body image begins with embracing the bodies we have, not trying to fit the ideals created by others.
Young, impressionable women end up looking up to the models they see in the media. They look and see them as what they should aspire to, what they should reach toward, rather than reaching toward their own personal best.
In line with that, South Bay mother promotes positive body image with Facebook page, is another example of a woman staking claim to her beauty. Jessy Kissinger is a mom who started a Facebook page for moms to post pictures of themselves in their bikinis. No matter what size they wear.
Kissinger told KTVU she is happy and is looking forward to taking her two children to the beach this summer without wearing a cover-up.
Wouldn't it be radical if we all felt so awesome about ourselves that what our bodies look like would not be our main concern? Just think about how much extra energy we would have for other adventures in life.
As a society, we must be invested in what idealized women's images show and represent. If we weren't, we would take a stand against corporations so blatantly compartmentalizing who is considered sexy and womanly. Corporations assume this is how we want to be treated because we don't speak loudly enough against it, otherwise these ads could not exist.
We have been raised in a society where the only women we see fighting the issues are those labeled as 'feminists' or 'fat' in a demeaning voice. The majority of admired female icons are supermodels in bathing suits adorning sports magazine covers in grocery stores. Is it a surprise that we grew up to be women who see female power as equivalent to how good a woman looks in a bikini? Is it any shock that so many women suffer from a desire to be perfect, which has resulted in self-image problems and dangerous physical diseases like anorexia and bulimia?
I am a woman. I feel anger at the stereotyping that we as women have learned to accept. We are still being represented as an 'idealized' gender, which Victoria's Secret unabashedly points out to us. Until we stand up and say there's something backwards going on, until we cry out at the inequality in advertising...nothing will change. I want things to change. I want the next generation of women to not be confused by the double, fragmented, world they live in.
I want Victoria's Secret to market to all of us. I wear underwear, too.]]>Angelina Jolie as Inspirationtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.32742332013-05-14T14:36:45-04:002013-05-15T05:21:29-04:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/
I was greeted by the headline "Angelina Jolie Has Double Mastectomy To Prevent Breast Cancer Risk," and I will admit one of the first thoughts that went through my mind was that a lot of men would be in mourning today. I could imagine the bad Facebook jokes that were going to be made, the stupid jokes late-night comedians would be preparing.
Then I read her Op-Ed, "My Medical Choice," in The New York Times with my breath held.
My mother, too, died young from breast cancer. I have had doctors recommend I have the test to find out if I carry the "faulty" gene, BRCA1, which would be an indicator that I am at a greater risk of developing breast cancer.
But I have not had the test. I have brushed it off with the excuse that if I do carry the gene perhaps insurance companies would not want to carry me anymore. I have not even had a mammogram since my first one the year after my mother's death.
My first mammography.
*
I teach my creative writing class at Hunter College. Subway. 68th Street. Asian man, blue jacket, khaki backpack, sings "Ave Maria." My mother's favorite song, sung at her funeral. Almost one year ago now.
Uptown on the 6 train to therapy. Before my mammography. My first one. I am 35.
It's cold. I'm bundled up in my mother's brown, fake-leather coat--the one whose sleeves were wide enough for her lymph-filled, swollen left arm.
I stop at a store on 86th Street before my trip across town on the M86 bus. I buy a pair of black, knee-high socks because the ones I'm wearing have lost their elasticity and keep ending up around my ankles. I'll change into them at my therapist's office.
Cross town through Central Park. Barren trees. Pockets of crusty, icy, yellow snow.
In Starbucks after therapy, listening to teenage girls discuss Harvard as a backup school and the difficulties of riding horses.
I arrive at the office; I haven't felt this nauseated since pregnancy.
"Is this your first mammo?"
"Any procedures done on your breasts? Do you have implants?" I roll my eyes, glance down at my flat chest and wrinkle my brow in question.
A man with a mustache reads The Meaning by Karl Marx. A heavy-set older woman in a blue sweater, gray sweats and sneakers fills out paper work. A mother talks on her phone; she doesn't want her kids on the bus by themselves.
I wait to experience what my mother did when she first felt the lump. When her life changed forever. Can I do this without crying? Another woman, black puffy coat, gray hat, says, "I love you," on her phone.
Everyone seems fine, but statistically, one of us in this waiting room will get breast cancer.
I'm ushered back, take off my blue turtleneck and bra with the guitars on it. I smell my sweat. Not allowed to wear deodorant today. The waiting room has a doorway onto a patio that overlooks Broadway. One could easily climb, fall or jump over the black iron guardrail.
Done--I wait for the R train. Home to Queens. It wasn't bad: the technician lifted, tugged, laid my breasts inside two plastic sheets. Had to do one scan over. The scans he redid were for my left breast. My mother's cancerous breast. That's the one I worry about. The nipple I had pierced when I was younger.
Very clinical. Image the boobs. And that's it. Go home. Wait for letter.
I realize I never changed my socks. They gather around my ankles. Cold legs.
*
Drive to Mom's cemetery. Nick and Genny sleep. I brought a photo of Genny to leave for my mother--Genny standing next to a snowman she built with Nick. I should put the photo in a plastic bag; it's supposed to rain. I combine two bags of crackers from the diaper bag, mixing Cheese Nips with wheat crackers. The photo slides in with the empty bag's cracker crumbs. I pull out my notebook, rip out a sheet and write down -Her life was never dull. Nick and Genny collect pinecones and line them around my mother's grave. I place the bag below her name, Mary Bowe Koechig.
Leaving the cemetery, I feel hazy and spacey, as if I've seen a dream and am trying to remember it so I can analyze it or share it with friends. It's all cloudy in my mind and I see the past and I see the future, but I don't hear any sounds at all. It's quiet and still, like being underwater.
"The minivan seems to be working well," Nick says as we pull up the ramp onto I-95.
I nod. "For now," I say. I look back at Genny in her car seat; she sucks on two fingers and rubs her nose with another as she sleepily gazes out the window. I keep my eyes open. I watch the road disappear underneath me.
The letter arrived. I sat on my chair only a moment before I carefully ripped it open.
Negative. Normal. No cancer. And that was relief. For then.
*
But in these last six years I've had two more children and been nursing. A lot. You can't have a mammography while breastfeeding.
And the test. The whole insurance thing.
I've been avoiding. Doing my best to not face it. To not look at a letter that needs to be rewritten. It's time. Time for me to stop moving, running.
It's time to be influenced by a celebrity.]]>Are Critics of Beyonce's 'Risque' Super Bowl Performance Unaware of What the Super Bowl Represents?tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.26162492013-02-04T19:00:00-05:002013-04-06T05:12:01-04:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/
In a article entitled 'Beyonce's halftime show criticized for risque costumes, content' Gael Fashingbauer Cooper of TODAY asked whether Beyonce's performance was too hot for family viewing: "
"The Superdome audience went wild for Beyonce's halftime performance, which included a reunion with her 1990s R&B group, Destiny's Child. But not everyone felt that the show, which included Beyonce in a low-cut leather outfit and some sexual innuendo, was family-friendly enough for the biggest football game of the year."
Maybe I'm missing something or maybe this whole article is a joke - inserted slyly by The Onion's reporters when no one was looking...
According to the article, there are a lot of people upset by Beyonce's and her dancers' attire and their "sexual" performance.
We would have to assume that these same critics who tuned in to the Super Bowl with their families were okay with the cheerleaders' skimpy outfits and all of the sexually-tinged commercials that were played.
The Super Bowl is supposed to be 'family-friendly?' Since when? My husband and I have no interest in sports, but if we did, I'm sure we would know what kind of entertainment content was going to be on tap for the halftime show.
I mean, isn't this the same show where Janet Jackson 'accidentally' had a wardrobe malfunction?
Isn't football on this level all about men and their balls and women dressed in skimpy outfits cheering them on?
All I'm saying is, I don't see how anyone should be surprised by how women's sexuality and value is going to be portrayed during a Super Bowl. Simply turning on the television during "the biggest football game of the year" pretty much guarantees you are about to be witness to every stereotype of big, strong man and pretty, sexy lady as possible. To expect anything else in the year 2013, unfortunately, does not seem realistic.]]>This Is My Beautifultag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.24721142013-01-14T11:08:20-05:002013-03-16T05:12:02-04:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/
We are supposedly liberated women today, but I often don't own that for myself. We say we can be it all and have it all. We can be working mothers, wives, lovers, little girls, wise old women, lovers, whores, and saints. But sometimes it's hard. Overwhelming to manage the balance.
It seems I was always too young for my desires, but then in a snap, I was too old. I put on a happy face and pretend I'm enough just as I am, but often it feels like a charade.
I didn't understand the ache when I was younger, though it was just as real. I wondered why I felt so sad and empty and unimportant. I craved affection and love. That is what I'd learned the world offered to pretty little girls who did what they were told and never complained. I strove to be that girl and never grow up. Even if it meant starving myself to stay as small as possible and avoid being a woman for as long as possible. I wanted the world to see me shrivel up and then be able to say, "You did this to me. You made me want to stay a child forever because becoming a real woman was too scary a prospect in an uncaring world."
Until I realized that the world would take no notice of me that way. There was always one more waiting in the wings. I was nothing special. I was not the first, or last, or best, or worst. I was only one among many. Not good enough for a world that demands perfection.
I am older and wiser and have learned lessons I struggled with for so long, but it is never easy. I still must remind myself of my value regardless of what my scale or society tells me.
As women, we must bond together to spread the word about the importance of self-esteem to the next generation. We must begin healing the split through admiring the talents and love visible in every woman regardless of her size or color or uniqueness.
Let's start a new tradition - making real beauty more important than external perfection. Let's celebrate our beauty. Let's not be afraid to have outer self-esteem. Now. Not in some unknown future when we are "perfect."
We are already perfect just the way we are.
I am. I need practice saying it out loud. I am already perfect just the way I am.
This Is My Beautiful.
What is your Beautiful?
Please visit my new website http://www.ThisIsMyBeautiful.com and share your beautiful.]]>Supersizing Has Become the New Norm - Even in Bodiestag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.20782982012-11-05T19:33:39-05:002013-01-05T05:12:01-05:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/Lacey Wildd, a glamour model who wishes to expand her breasts to LLL to be amongst the top-five biggest-breasted glamour models in the world and Susanne Eman who wants to be the fattest woman in the world.
Two women equally determined to go down in history because of going to extremes - a human Super Sizing.
Lacey Wildd, a glamour model who already has a LLL bust, has four children living at home who beg their mother not to put her health at risk anymore, let alone the teasing the children need to endure.
But Lacey insists that her ambition to increase the size of her breasts is actually for her children's welfare. "I started all this so I can give them a better life,'' said Ms Wildd to the Sun Sentinel. "My boobs are my paycheck. Go big or go home is my motto... I am proud to be plastic."
At the same time that Wildd explains her breasts pay her bills, she also admits that because of her surgeries she can't pick up her youngest daughter or exercise. I wonder how this can be good for her children.
I do not want to judge anyone's choices for how they choose to use their own body, but when those choices are having a negative impact on their health and on their children, that seems to be the line where I'm willing to say that something is wrong.
Radar Online reports that Dr Phil McGraw has been trying to help Susanne Eman, but she and her fiancé keep sabotaging his help. The 33-year-old is attempting to gain enough to weigh 800 pounds for her wedding, but dreams of reaching 1200 pounds by the time she is in her forties.
Dr. Phil said that one time he weighed Eman on a freight scale, "She was 600 pounds and it broke her heart" she wasn't heavier.
While I am happy that Eman feels good about herself regardless of her weight, or in her case, because of her weight, she is jeopardizing her health all for publicity and a questionable claim-to-fame.
"It's a perfect pairing," she said. "I still want to be the fattest woman in the world and Parker is fine with that ... being this fat has given me a feeling of total freedom and not only self acceptance but confidence."
Imagine for a moment that instead Eman was vying to be the skinniest woman in the world by starving herself - wouldn't there be an uproar? So why is it okay to punish the body in the opposite extreme?
We seem to be a culture that celebrates extremes of any and every stripe. It's no longer eye-catching enough to be merely 'okay' at something or to be merely pretty or healthy or successful.
With our global culture everything has now become commonplace to the point that the only things that can really make us sit up and say "Wow!" are those things that can be labeled 'supersize'.
Superstorm Sandy. Biggest Boobs on Earth. Fattest Lady Alive. Supermodel.
Supersize.
It's no longer seen as enough to be known within one's own town or region for being good at something; now that we have access to what everyone else who does what we do is doing, we feel the need to compete at the highest level - the 'super' level.
Perhaps the answer is a return to smallness, an embracing of who we are on a local level.
Of course, in the past without a person's ability to expose their 'specialty' online there was not as much a chance to build a fan base either. There was not much opportunity to monetize one's quirky extremes.
The 'super' expansion of our social networking has caused a need for 'super' attention, which can sometimes seem as it can only be achieved through 'super' big messages (and bodies).
How far and wide will this trend go? Will there be a whole new breed of pageants on the forefront?
Miss Superobese! Miss Superanorexic! Miss Superboobs!
Or will we start embracing who we really are and loving ourselves as just as we are?]]>Former Topless Model Advocates Highlighting Women's Talents and Abilities in the Suntag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.19101182012-09-25T19:00:00-04:002012-11-25T05:12:01-05:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/Sun's Page 3 topless women issue. When I was 18, I used nude modeling as a way to earn money to support my acting career. Was I thrilled and empowered by my job? Some days and jobs, yes, but the majority of my time was spent consumed by inner conflict about my choice.
Just because an attractive woman decides to pose topless does not mean she's happy about it, although Neil Wallis, former deputy editor of the Sun, points out a model's choice of appearing on Page 3 as a reason why it's ok. That doesn't take into consideration that many times people make bad choices based on a situation or certain pressures or seeing something as the only way out or toward a dream.
If I had had other models of female success presented to me every day as a young woman, I may have seen other possibilities and ways to feel beautiful and admired in the world rather than posing nude.
Wallis goes on to explain that the women who do buy the Sun have no problem with the Page 3 photos. Really? Has he asked them? Just because there are women who buy The Sun does not mean they are happy about having to see photos of topless women every day. Perhaps they have just come to accept this is the way their world is and there's nothing they can do about it.
Also, claiming something should continue because it is an "institution" as Wallis does is a weak argument. It was "tradition" that only men could vote or work outside the home; certainly Wallis doesn't wish for a return to this kind of thinking, does he?
And as for the argument that we would be hurting these Page 3 women by taking away their chance at a nice paycheck and a chance to feel glamorous? Umm, hello! How about instead making Page 3 an opportunity for women to feel glamorous by having their name in print--a daily chance to show off what these women can do not what they look like.
The Sun could have one day each week devoted to showcasing different talents: Monday could be budding journalist day where they highlight an investigative piece by a writer; Tuesday could highlight a visual artist with a photograph or other piece of art, Wednesday could showcase an up and coming entrepreneur; Thursday could be women making a difference; Friday could be college student of the week.
Just think of the new female readers the Sun would attract. And women would have an opportunity to earn money for something that would help them move forward with promising careers.
I'm not saying that porn and cheesecake should be banned, but it should be kept in its proper place, away from impressionable young minds. A daily newspaper that young women view needs to have encouraging and positive role models for women pictured inside.
Let's make finding an open copy of the Sun in a café an inspiring experience for women rather than a disheartening one.]]>How Kate Middleton Can Take Back Her Imagetag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.18976122012-09-19T14:08:05-04:002012-11-19T05:12:02-05:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/
We all knew that Duchess Kate was naked beneath her clothes, but now we have proof.
So why does everyone care so much about these naked photos? It's certainly not because we're short on naked pretty people to look at; just go to the Internet and do a quick search and you'll be offered a plethora of naked bodies with much better lighting and art direction to boot (not to mention being taken without a zoom lens!).
Here's what's really at stake--these naked royalty photos are all about us "commoners" feeling the power. Just as much of the tabloids are filled with photos and stories of celebrities falling on their faces in some fashion--it makes us feel temporarily "better" than them.
We feel a sense of power as we point and laugh at the "fall" of the mighty. We get a euphoric "hit" when the pretty people who seem so perfect and untouchable descend to the level of real humans.
All of a sudden, Duchess Kate is not royalty, she is...topless. Putting two and two together: She has breasts...so do I...that means...well, she's just like me!
Perhaps instead of suing, the royal family should be doing the old PR spin.
Duchess Kate is so approachable and relatable. She's just like you!
Or another possible approach would be to take the power back into her own hands. Instead of having her public image decided by some sneaky photographer, why not flood the market with her own shots thereby destroying any market value of the original photos?
Kate could hire a famous celebrity photographer, the best stylists and directors and shoot some ultra-glamorous topless photos and post them everywhere. No one will care anymore. In fact, the public will say, "No more naked Kate! We've seen enough!"
And then she can return to her castle and we can all go back to Internet searches.]]>Breastfeeding Professor's Non-Incident Makes Headlines: When Will Moms Be Allowed to do it all in Order to Have it All?tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.18815492012-09-14T14:40:18-04:002012-11-14T05:12:01-05:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/"Feminist Anthropology Professor Blasted for Breastfeeding During Class," but nothing could be farther from the truth.
Professor Adrienne Pine had a dilemma on the first day of her Sex, Gender and Culture class at American University in Washington, D.C when her baby had a fever and couldn't go to daycare. She didn't want her students to miss the introductory class, so she brought along her child to it. Her child did fine for awhile, but when she got cranky, she breastfed for a few minutes until the baby fell asleep.
Professor Pine never meant to make a statement. She was just trying to teach her class. Unfortunately, some students went to the college's newspaper, where they were all too eager to make it a story. Despite Pine's attempts to explain the situation and show what a non-issue this was, it has turned into headline news.
Pine went as far as writing her own piece for CounterPunch to explain her story: Exposéing My Breasts on the Internet. The story does an excellent job of laying out the facts of what occurred and how Pine tried to make sure the non-incident didn't become one.
I agree whole-heartedly with Pine and have been faced with similar situations where I wondered what I would do if I had no babysitter available when I needed to teach a class. I even recall one day when I had a class, my babysitter was sick and I thought I would need to take baby with me to class.
Being an adjunct and not a full-time professor, I did not know what my school's policy even was on bringing a baby to class. I imagined I would let my baby play on the floor and carry him around if he got fussy. If he had needed to nurse? I thought of this in advance. I knew it would be a possibility. And as much as I am an in-public nurser wherever and whenever I need to, I admit I wasn't sure if I would nurse in front of my class.
For me, the problem would have been the situation of my students. They were first-year compositions students and as supportive and enthusiastic as they were toward me, I was not sure if I wanted to have to put them into a situation that might make them uncomfortable. But in the back of my mind, I knew if my baby got fussy and I knew nursing would have calmed him, I probably would have done it.
I was lucky enough that my husband was able to rearrange his schedule and stay with our baby while I taught my class.
What it comes down to is that if a mother is in a situation where she has no one to care for her baby and must take her child to work, and her job is of the type where she is in the public eye, what is she to do?
Must she choose one over the other? Must she just be a mother or just an employee? If the situation calls for it, sometimes a mother must do it all to have it all.
A breastfeeding baby hould not be any different than a baby bottle-feeding on public. And if that makes some people uncomfortable, then isn't that their issue and not the mother's?]]>The Art of the Lap Dance: As Told by a Former Strip Tease Artisttag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.18619702012-09-07T14:04:11-04:002012-11-07T05:12:01-05:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/ The battle being waged by strip club Nite Moves' owner Stephen Dick, Jr. in front of the New York State Court of Appeals over proving stripping is a form of art protected under a New York state sales tax exemption that covers "dramatic or musical art performances" that are "choreographed" opens up a whole new conversation.
Can we label lap dances as protected artistic expression that shouldn't be taxed?
As a former stripper I know all too well that stripping can be an art form. Depending on the club, the stripper, the customer and the particular day, a stripper's performance can veer sharply from one extreme to the other in a nanosecond.
The first club I ever worked in back in 1989 was in suburban Connecticut and I had the whole stage to myself. I put on a truly "artistic" show that involved my character, Kirea, dancing, teasing and luring the men to give me their money. Because I was young, pretty, an actress and very prudish for a stripper, I became known for my "performances." Kirea, the infamous stripper, who took it all off and soared through the waking dreams of sleeping men. I never came on stage and just undressed. I spun tales of erotic body poetry, sang through my navel, prophesized with my breasts.
As time went on and I moved onto bigger and "better" clubs, expectations and dancing styles changed. New York City clubs' stages were often crowded with at least half-a-dozen dancers at a time, which doesn't leave a dancer much room to be creative.
The last strip club I ever danced in came the closest to strictly "arty" stripping. I thought The Blue Angel would be different because it was touted as an "exotic cabaret" and was located in a dark basement in Tribecca. We get a lot of artsy types who thought it was the cool place to be, but they didn't tip well. We were allowed to do performance art along with our stripping, as long as we ended up nude.
There were a lot of characters: Felicia Blue did a cat act lapping milk out of a bowl and streaming it over her body. The men loved it, but she would get it in her wig, which she never washed, and the dressing room would always smell like rotten milk. Elizabeth, a petite blond, was perpetually stoned and accused others of stealing her drugs and booze. She would only dance to one tape by Electric Light Orchestra. Bonnie was in her late thirties and sang old Broadway tunes while she stripped. The crew-cut girl had a killer body. All she has to do was take her clothes off and shake her breasts to make the most money. Then there was the dancer who dressed like a nun and the fire-eater who set the red curtain on fire every time I saw her perform.
The downside of burlesque for strippers is that you often don't make as much money as you would for the old bump and grind. When we weren't dancing we sat around and hoped for customers. We were only paid by tips and most of the time our art went unappreciated.
But this was also the time and place of lap dances. I was one of the few strippers who tried to keep the creative art of striptease alive and well while doing a private dance. But I can't tell you how hard it was (pardon the pun) to get the men to only want a sexy dance done in front of them without some grinding going on in the lap area.
And while I thought I had some pretty clever routines--like my Strawberry Shortcake outfit, which I teamed with a basketful of strawberries that I would suck and let the juices run down my body--often the chic and cheeky routines went un-admired.
What most men are looking for when they come into a strip club is not art, so what you will see most strippers doing (since most strippers are there to make money and not friends) is what is in demand. And what's in demand is the fantasy of a beautiful woman wanting to be with the man, of wanting to get sexual with him, so that's the dance you will most often see.
Can a lap dance be art? Absolutely! Is it very often? Absolutely not, unfortunately.
And although Nite Moves Attorney Andrew McCullough reportedly said in a court of law: "We say, 'Hey, we are, in fact, an art form.' It's quite likely to be an Olympic sport in the upcoming future," I think we can all appreciate the good chuckle had by all when they met back at Nite Moves later on.
And don't hold your breath on anyone ever lap dancing for gold.]]>Minnie Mouse and Lady Gaga Love Them Some Photoshoptag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.18494482012-09-03T08:42:51-04:002012-11-03T05:12:01-04:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/
The headlines declare--Skinny Minnie! Skinny is an understatement.
Barneys New York is partnering with Disney for their Electric Holiday campaign, which means classic Disney characters will be modelling haute couture in the Barneys' windows and in a film made for the celebration.
But even Disney peeps agreed that high fashion just doesn't look the same on squat, plump bodies, so Disney executives gave the a-OK for the artists to supermodel-ify classic Disney characters like Minnie Mouse, Goofy and Daisy.
The results? Scary-skinny beanpole versions of their real selves. Because fashion only looks good on women 5'11" and as thin as a rail.
What message does this send to girls? When even their beloved Mickey and Minnie are deemed too fat to wear nice clothes.
Well, at least girls can look toward their rock star heroines who encourage girls to be true to themselves like Lady Gaga, right?
Behind the scenes footage reveals Lady Gaga did not look anything like the final results of her magazine cover. High-fashion photos that end up on magazine covers are often altered to make them look a certain way, but where is the line drawn?
When the photo barely resembles what the image began life as, is it really even a photo anymore? It's more like an illustration, or a cartoon.
Hmm...maybe Vogue took their inspiration from Barneys' campaign and Disney-supermodel-ified Lady Gaga.
I am personally drawn more toward the untouched image of Lady Gaga where she looks real, authentic and rock star sexy.
This is what I mean when I talk about wanting to see more "real" women represented in media. Sure, some women are naturally skinny and we should celebrate their bodies just as much as fuller-figured women. But it's the realness factor that's so important today.
But in this world of reality TV and Botox parties, how do we know what is authentic anymore? Or even what is meant by authenticity?
Do we even really want authenticity? Or is that too much realness for us? In this connected world where we can't help but see and know about the "real" horrors taking place around us everyday--war, famine, poverty, environmental destruction--are we desperate for an escape from reality?
An escape from real women and real bodies that don't shine and sparkle on their own. An escape from men who are hairy and smelly. An escape from children who cry and demand of us.
Do we need and desire the media to pretty-ify our leisure activities and viewing materials as a method to balance the ugliness of the real world we have created?
And if so, why is that skinny women represent that safe, beautiful place?
Of course, perhaps we are not as shallow as we seem. Perhaps we are unconsciously aware of our excess in the developed land. Perhaps we surround ourselves with emaciated figures because of unrecognized guilt of the bounty we have. Perhaps we are simply not allowing ourselves to recognize what we really look like, really have and really are.
Or, you know... maybe we just like skinny girls.]]>Real Women Know Kate Upton Is Not Fat, But What About Them?tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.16781942012-07-17T19:00:00-04:002012-09-16T05:12:12-04:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/Sun reports on the latest controversy over women's body image: Lardy Kate? Fat's a laugh.
That's right, Skinny Gossip, a pro-anorexia website thinks a Sports Illustrated cover model is "fat" and "lardy." Of course we've all jumped on the bandwagon in shock and disgust about the comments and rightfully so.
I mean, Upton is obviously not fat and so, yes, it is quite easy to get in an uproar and point out the obvious: pro-anorexia or thinspo websites are sad and twisted! Many women strive to be stick-skinny! But that's not even what men really find sexy! Kate Upton is voluptuous, but not fat!
I'm glad that Upton laughed off the comments: "I'm not going to starve just to be thin. I want to enjoy life, and I can't if I'm not eating and miserable," she said, according to the Sun.
But now everyone's celebrating Upton like she's some kind of a hero and fighter for young women's body images?
Umm, come on. This woman is a supermodel; do you really think she gives one hoot what some pro-ana blogger says about her? Let's get real. She's busy rolling in her SI cover girl gazillions and laughing all the way to the bank.
There was no bravery or courage in saying what she did. She's a lingerie model. They're supposed to be "full-figured," which is simply a way of saying curvy in all the right areas -mainstream sexy.
There are plenty of women who say those exact same words everyday: "I'm not going to starve just to be thin. I want to enjoy life, and I can't if I'm not eating and miserable," but who are much curvier. Are they celebrated as setting a fine example for young women needing role models though?
No, they, the real women of the world, are criticized by society every day for not being the "right" kind of "fat."
But what bothers me more is that now the media gets to sit back and point out how they, too, were outraged at a woman being called fat. Look at us! We're so pro-woman! Don't call poor Upton fat!
Sure, when it's easy and they're supporting a supermodel. But what about when it really matters? Will the media be there when it's time to support real women wearing bikinis instead of listing five-thousand ways to get rid of fat before summer? Or by using so-called "plus-sized" models in mainstream magazines?
Not to mention, if there are women out there who really do see a SI model as "well-marbled," what does their idea of the ideal body type tell us about the society we have created? Are we so used to seeing sickly-skinny models that one with a teensy bit of flesh is seen as fat?
Is it really true what the advertisers and marketing mavens tell us - that women want to see "perfect" models without any fat because that's something to aspire to? That's what makes the clothes hang best? That's perfection?
I challenge that notion - women want to see women who look like themselves reflected back at them. Women want to love themselves. And for many women to fully be able to do that they need a little encouragement; that's all.
It's been said before and hopefully it will be said again and again - women need to see all sizes of women celebrated in society every day.]]>Sarah Tressler Inspires Stripper to Sue for Sexual Harassmenttag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.15095392012-05-14T11:45:14-04:002012-07-14T05:12:04-04:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/Reporter fired for working as an "Angry Stripper" sues newspaper for gender discrimination.
I've been wondering when we would see the ex-Houston Chronicle reporter Sarah Tressler sitting beside celebrity women's attorney, Gloria Allred.
As a former stripper I've been on edge my entire post-stripping career waiting for the moment that an employer would fire me when my past career came out. Of course, since I write about my stripping and nude modeling life I have never tried to hide it. And I never would be able to.
I look forward to hearing more about her charges with the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) because right now what's being reported sounds like a stretch: "The true reason for my termination was discrimination on account of my gender," Tressler said.
I see where they're going with this, but I think it's more likely she was fired for conflict of interest. Tressler did cover the society page after all, which might have made a few ladies raise their eyebrows after the story broke.
And I would suppose if Tressler was a male journalist busted for the same double life, he would be fired, too. So I'm not so sure how gender discrimination fits in. Unless she plans on suing society as a whole for creating an environment where stripping is one of the only viable options available to pay for a college education.
And in that case, well, then, I think I might have a case.
What's my charge? It's sexual harassment, of course.
My only question is -- who do I sue? The club owners for providing a hostile work environment? The bar patrons for the actual harassment?
It would be hard to charge the thousands of customers who harassed me, seeing as I'm not sure of their names. Could I bring charges based on physical descriptions, for example -- that fat bearded man with body odor at Flashdancers who shoved my hand down his pants, or that skinny Vietnam veteran at The Blue Angel who said, "If I had a dick, it would be getting hard right now"?
I would have to sue society as a whole, for creating a culture where it's permissible for women to be treated like sex objects.
Somebody should have to pay for all my pain and suffering -- the cat-calls, sexual innuendoes, and flat-out propositions.
I was grabbed, kissed, fondled, groped, leered at, and name-called. And these were unwelcome advances. I was just trying to make a buck. I didn't ask to be manhandled -- or did I?
Was my nakedness on stage a license for a man to grab my breasts? Was my bare butt a call for it to be spanked? Was my exotic dancing really a yearning to be asked out for a "date"?
I said "no" when propositioned, but was asked again and again. I just wanted to be treated with a little respect.
The heart of sexual harassment seems to me that one can claim injury even after one "allowed" the behavior to occur. If women in offices and bars can sue creepy jerks, then why can't I?
Strippers all over the world are subjected to the worst sexual harassment imaginable. In a way, strip clubs have become the last sanctuaries for men who still feel the need to degrade women to feel better about themselves.
Striptease is no longer an art form; rather it has evolved into one of the final resting grounds for legal sexual harassment. No one considers the toll expelled onto us, the stripping women who take the abuse so normal women can walk freely down the streets unharassed by construction workers. Strippers are a final dump site for the toxic sludge of sexual degradation.
Well, this exotic gal isn't taking it anymore! I want reparation, damn it.
My self-esteem was shattered. My body image was distorted. My relationships with men were devastated. My sense of guilt and shame crippled me.
I figure I'm looking at least a couple hundred million dollars in damages. Any lawyers care to take on American society with me?
My only worry is that I fought off a few of those obnoxious men with pointy high-heels to their sweaty faces, warm beer on their bald heads, or shoves to their bulging bellies.
I hope they don't counter sue.]]>The Samantha Brick Story Can Teach Us That Beauty Shouldn't be Skin Deeptag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.14332432012-04-17T22:41:53-04:002012-06-17T05:12:01-04:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/
Well, most critics are quick to point out that's not what bothered them so much as her attitude of that's why it's been so hard for her to have female friends. Her beauty gets in the way.
The thing that gets me so fired up by reading her article is that all the stress is on how having one's father call one beautiful is the answer to women's self-confidence problems and the key to a woman's ability to succeed in the world.
What I would most like to see now is a woman come forward, traditionally "beautiful" or not, who would say her father never mentioned her looks, but instilled in her a sense of being smart and remaining true to herself, which resulted in her success in life.
It seems rather backwards to propagate the notion that fathers need to make their daughters feel physically beautiful to give them some sort of inner self-confidence to tackle the world with.
Wouldn't it be much more beneficial for all women to grow up believing the reason why they are successful is because of something much deeper than their looks?
Brick faced the criticism she received in the media last week by turning to her father's wisdom.
Brick points out "But Dad immediately knew -- as he always has -- what to say to make me feel better.
I called him from my home in France to ask what he thought. As ever, his support was instant and unwavering. First, he reassured me that those lambasting me were 'very sad people with very shallow lives'.
Then, unable to understand why I'd become the focus of so much bitterness, he asked: 'Why aren't people directing such anger towards the real problems going on in this country? You've done nothing wrong, you've struck a nerve and you've proved that your point is valid. Treat them with the contempt they deserve.'"
Okay, I'm not the only one here shaking my head in disbelief am I?
Brick's father, instead of attempting to simply infuse love and reassurance into his daughter seems all about having Brick be petty and look down on her "attackers."
Perhaps it should come as no surprise that Brick bases all her good on her being better than other women. Her father has certainly instilled in his daughter that it's a you-against-them-world out there.
I admire Brick for being honest and expressing herself and her experience, but I do not agree that fathers should be so concerned with instilling a beauty myth into their daughters as a way of creating a faux self-confidence. Rather, I want fathers to bestow upon their daughters faith and confidence in their minds and their souls.
And perhaps then we will find ourselves living in a world where women do not have the need to be so concerned about their looks and would never find themselves in a position of having to declare their beauty as an explanation for anything.
]]>Sarah Tressler: Marketing Genius or One Lucky Stripper? tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.14086692012-04-09T12:40:15-04:002012-06-09T05:12:01-04:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/
Years ago, a stripper who could write halfway decently had a surefire hit on her hands if she wrote a memoir. I give you, Diablo Cody's Candy Girl or Lily Burana's Strip City. This was before strippers had become "accepted" into the mainstream with novelties like uber-hip burlesque clubs and pole dancing classes offered at your local gym.
With the decline in book sales overall, the market for stripper stories totally sank. With access to free stories on the Internet and blogs, anyone who wants to read a behind-the-scenes stripper tale does not have to spend a single dime to have a huge library of salacious anecdotes at their fingertips.
When I tried to sell my memoir Stripping Down, a large percentage of publishers and agents were quick to point out that my ship had sailed. The stripper story had already been written and there wasn't room for another one.
It didn't matter that the stripping theme of my story was only one aspect of my book. There was stripping in there; I had been a stripper -- the world's readers had been-there-done-that.
Fortunately, after years of searching, I found a home for Stripping Down with Pink Fish Press, a small press out of Washington. The publisher Renda Dodge saw past the title and the one (g)string of action to discover my book dealt with multiple themes related to my relationship to my body and sense of self, my new roles of mother and caretaker for my own mother who was battling breast cancer and the whole issue of the struggle of womanhood.
I stripped down to what really mattered -- health, time and family. I wrote as I took on the new roles of mother, caregiver and wife. While helping my baby daughter take her first steps, I nursed my mother through the final stages of breast cancer, which triggered an exploration of female identity and body image.
Not your run of the mill stripper story, if there is such a beast.
Enter Texas journalist Sarah Tressler, whose name was unknown except to the handful of women who still read the society pages in Texas until a rival newspaper's Richard Connelly exposed her side job -- stripping.
Tressler also detailed her stripper escapades on a blog titled "The Angry Stripper," where in one widely-discussed post she waxed poetic on Jeremy Piven's less-than-stellar cunnilingus skills. Since she blogged under the moniker sarahtress, it doesn't seem to me she was being too careful hiding her extracurricular activities.
Tressler allegedly even "flaunted" her stripper money around the newsroom, angering other journalists for risking the newspaper's reputation if the truth came out. There's been speculation that someone spilled Tressler's secret to end her display of wealth; unfortunately, the story breaking may have had an opposite effect than intended. Now Tresslar's popularity has spread and you can be sure she'll be penning the story she's clearly wanted to write.
The question is: did she have something to do with her own outing? Was working as a society page journalist all a ruse to create controversy in an otherwise has-been profession of stripping?
If she had simply tried to get an everyday stripper story published, she probably would have had doors slammed in her face; who knows? Maybe she did already. Well, before she became gossip fodder for the week.
You can be sure we'll be hearing about three-figure advances and publishers jockeying for position any day now.
Will it be because she has such an amazing tale to tell? Perhaps, but it is likelier that it will just be the next well-played and marketed salacious book of the moment, which will be guaranteed sales because Tressler succeeded at playing her cards well.
Which in this case means -- keeping her hand a "secret."
]]>Nadya Suleman Strips Down and Shows Us That All Women Are Beautifultag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.13829662012-03-27T13:32:54-04:002012-05-27T05:12:02-04:00Sheila Hagemanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/sheila-hageman/bare it all in Closer Magazine.
I know there are a lot of people who have problems with Octomom and her choices and I'm not saying I agree 100% with everything she's done or said, but I do think her stripping down for the cameras can be seen as a healthy experience for all involved.
Let's face it; we don't see too many mothers of octuplets posing in the nude anywhere. I'm sure there are a lot of readers thinking--thank goodness for that!
But why shouldn't all women's bodies be celebrated?
Nadya Suleman's body looks fabulous for being a mother of 14. But what I like best about her photos is that they don't look photoshopped or perfect. She exudes a serene sense of confidence and pride.
How many mothers do you know who would feel confident enough to pose nude? It doesn't even have much to do with what a woman's body actually looks like. Most women over a certain age having given birth would not dream of posing nude.
Again, I can hear the thoughts in readers' minds--that's because a mother should never pose nude! It's embarrassing.
But shouldn't we ask ourselves why?
First of all, Suleman is posing in a nonsexual way. She's showing what her body looks like naturally. This could be very helpful for other mothers who have felt they must hide away their imperfect bodies after becoming mothers.
Secondly, why is that once a woman becomes a mother she is supposed to suddenly become a conservative, playing-it-safe role model?
Just because a mother poses in the nude doesn't mean she's a bad mother or that she endorses her children running around naked for cameras.
I mean, how many parents drink alcohol, some often even in front of their children? Or what about those who continue to smoke cigarettes?
If these parents aren't ostracized for doing "adult" things that their children can find out about, why should a mother posing nude be any different?
Instead of less mothers posing nude, we should have more!
Instead of airbrushed abs on stick-thin models who eat two lettuce leaves a day, we should photograph stretch-marked bellies of mothers who sometimes indulge on cookies.
Let's make real women the new role models for little girls.
And for those who would say Suleman sold out since Tmz reported she posed because she was hard up for cash and this photo shoot was a strictly a monetary decision, which pulled her in $10,000?
Consider yourself in Suleman's position: what is so wrong about posing in a tasteful way for a magazine that may in the long run help other women feel better about their own bodies?
And it's not like a woman with fourteen kids can run out and get an everyday job and afford daycare for her children.
Suleman was given an opportunity and she took it.
She's not even totally nude if you want to get technical about it. We see more skin on magazine covers all the time from models posing in bikinis.
Posing nude may not be for everyone, but I for one am glad that we're seeing some "real" women and their naked selves representing.]]>