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Sparkle (1)
I feel like I need to start this post with the disclaimer that I don't watch Glee. And no, there isn't a reason. It actually seems (from what I've heard) like the kind of show I'd probably really like, but somehow I missed it when it began and then it seemed too late to start watching, or something. I clarify my position here just so that you know I know next to nothing about this show, the actors, anything. What I know is that it's a popular show, and its characters are largely high school students.
I also know that the actors who play the "kids" are not, in fact, underage.
So the collective gasp prompted by scantily-clad Glee cast members on the cover of GQ affects me not at all as a fan of the show, because I don't watch it. And it doesn't bother me that actors who primarily portray teens have chosen to pose in a decidedly mature manner even though many of their fans are kids, because they're certainly old enough to dress (or not) as they choose. In some ways, the fact that the Parents Television Council is outraged about it almost makes me want to champion the photos, because I think the PTC has a habit of screeching, "Won't someone, please, think of the children?" in defense of a one-size-fits-all morality that I find unrealistic.
Photo courtesy GQ.
But. But. The cover photo -- and additional photos inside the magazine -- disturb me. Maybe not for the reason you think, though. I'm actually less concerned about the young fans who might see the photos (really, are a lot of teenage girls reading GQ?) and more feeling a little bit sad for Dianna Agron and Lea Michele. By all accounts these young women (again, to clarify: both women are 24) are incredibly talented singers and actors. They also happen to be beautiful. And so I guess in our society, regardless of your other redeeming talents, if you're beautiful and you're featured in a magazine, it's appropriate to remove most of your clothing...? Because... I don't even know why. I've never been in that situation, so I guess maybe I don't understand.
Let's step back from the Glee shoot, for a minute. Let's just talk about being a teenage girl in this country. If you have some time, I urge you to read this entire post from Chasing Ray entitled "Can you hear us screaming?" Colleen Mondor writes:
When I was 15 I wanted to scream everyday, for a thousand reasons that ranged from my divorced father, remarried mother, my brother who was gone in the Marine Corps, and the totality of what I did not know and the certainty that I wanted to know everything. Frustration and outright anger fueled me. I was very good at pretending I was fine but I wasn't and those strong emotions are still with me even today. I realized when I read this paragraph that I was not alone in having those intense feelings and I wondered who else felt the same way.
She goes on to share some of the reactions from her group when she asked them what made them want to scream, as teenage girls. Perhaps most compelling is the longest response, which also happens to be anonymous. A small piece of it:
What made me want to scream, as a teen girl? My breasts. When I got breasts, I lost everything else.
Parental trust, affection, respect, and the belief that I had a brain in my head – all of that went out the window, thanks to two largely useless overdeveloped glands.
While reading Mondor's piece, I tried to remember what I felt like at 15. Some of the wrenching responses she received simply don't jive with my adolescent experience. I remember being told that I had a great figure -- mostly by people in my family -- but I wore baggy clothes to hide it, mostly, and was generally regarded by my peers as a somewhat surly nerd. (Because I was mostly a surly nerd.) I remember having pangs of jealousy, on occasion, seeing how the pretty girls could evoke attention and privilege with their looks, but mostly I hung my hat on my "smart girl" identity, and that, to me, was something that didn't "go" with being attractive. It wasn't that I thought I was unattractive, I don't think, merely that I believed dwelling on looks would make me shallow and stupid. So I didn't. And I haughtily believed that
