On being an ugly woman
So, in this year's play at our church ('The Comic-Con Caper'), I'm playing Francis Reynolds, a single mother of five, who goes to this Comic Con every year dressed as Princess Leia. I've been dressing as and trying to act like a woman for several weeks of rehearsals now, and I've learned a lot! I now know how to take off a bra without taking off your shirt. I discovered that it's much easier to file your nails on your left hand than your right (assuming you're right-handed). Through a lot of trial and error, I finally worked out that since men's waists are a generally lower than women's, and since I'm tall to begin with, breasts look a lot more normal on me several centimeters lower than my bra wants to let me have them--I'm going to have to add more elastic to the straps, because they're too short, even at maximum extension. I've discovered that stores like Payless don't even stock shoes or boots for women with my-sized feet. I now know that you can feel fingernail polish through your nails, and that I make a lot more typos with long fingernails. I found that the most helpful videos online that tell you how to walk and talk like a woman are created for the transgendered.
I've also found out what it feels like to be called ugly. And I have to tell you, it stone-cold sucks.
Now, the entire *point* of me being cast as this character was that our writer/director created Francis to be not very attractive, but felt it would be kind of mean to make a woman intentionally ugly, even on stage. But, she thought, if you had a *guy* dressed as a woman, that would be unattractive by default! So I walked into the roll prepared to not be a beautiful woman.
But what I was unprepared for was my reaction to my own appearance. After I got my bra and Leia dress, I would wear them during rehearsals, and started trying to stay in-character (or at least in-gender) the entire time, even when not on stage. I walked around the rehearsal space with my feet pacing an invisible straight line so my hips would sway slightly. I sat with my legs crossed demurely with my hands on my knees. And I realized: I wanted to be pretty! And more subtly (and, upon reflection, erroneously) I felt that in order to be a good woman, I had to be a beautiful woman.
But of course, Francis does not have very good material to work with, and despite my and her best efforts, she looks like a guy in drag. Some of my fellow actors at rehearsal made a few offhand comments along those lines. "Man, you look terrible." "The years have not been kind to 'Princess Leia'." And remember: this is the whole point of me being this role! I'm supposed to look unattractive! But guys, I am here to tell you (because the women already know): having my looks disparaged as a woman made me feel horrible.
There were a few things going on there, I think. At the most basic level, this was the first time in my entire life that anyone had ever called me unattractive, so it was kind of a shock. This is not because I'm some Adonis (far from it), but because I don't have any obvious deformities, and because I'm a guy, and calling guys ugly is not really something our culture ever does. It has been a serious struggle for people in my life who care about my appearance (read 'my mom and my wife') to get me to put any effort at all into looking presentable, because I have never really believed that there was any real benefit to be gained by it.
At another level, dressing as a woman woke me up to something I guess I must have known, but never really realized: there is intense pressure on women in our society to look good. I mean, I knew that, but I kind of imagined it was overblown. It couldn't be *that* bad, could it? But stepping into Francis's life, and seeing the same world through her eyes let me see that pressure in a suddenly personal way. Suddenly, the apparent 'normal' level of beauty in TV and movies and commercials and magazine covers wasn't some scale set up to measure other people: I was suddenly on that scale myself. And on that scale, I was a failure.
But mostly, what it made me realize was that without even knowing I had done it, I had bought into the hype. The main person who was judging Francis by her ability to look good... was me. Before that moment, I would have told you, with a certain amount of superiority, that *of course* I didn't care about what women looked like. How superficial! Sure, some women are more attractive than others, but that's not what matters about them! But... no. Francis is an interesting woman, with strengths and weaknesses and quirks and skills, but the #1 feature that I instinctively cared about was her looks. Do I do that to other women? I think I might. And that makes me feel worse than being called ugly did. I think somewhere along the way, I became part of the problem.
And I don't know what to do to fix it, either. It's an attitude I've had for a long time without realizing it: it's not going to evaporate instantly in the sunny light of realization. I'm really really hoping that this is one of those cases where 'knowing is half the battle', because then I'd at least be 50% of the way there. But even if I'm that far along, I have no idea what the next step is. Pay attention, I guess? Try to at least not lose ground, by finding a way to remind myself periodically that this is something I want to change?
I guess one obvious first step is for me to cut Francis some slack. She may look ridiculous, but I don't have to let that define her, at least for me. I can do what I can for her as far as makeup and hair and gait (and she does care about all of that), but beyond that, I can let it go, and focus on all the lovely things I've discovered about her over the course of doing this play. And to Cristie, our director: thank you so much for believing in me, and giving me this role. It's been an honor.
I've also found out what it feels like to be called ugly. And I have to tell you, it stone-cold sucks.
Now, the entire *point* of me being cast as this character was that our writer/director created Francis to be not very attractive, but felt it would be kind of mean to make a woman intentionally ugly, even on stage. But, she thought, if you had a *guy* dressed as a woman, that would be unattractive by default! So I walked into the roll prepared to not be a beautiful woman.
But what I was unprepared for was my reaction to my own appearance. After I got my bra and Leia dress, I would wear them during rehearsals, and started trying to stay in-character (or at least in-gender) the entire time, even when not on stage. I walked around the rehearsal space with my feet pacing an invisible straight line so my hips would sway slightly. I sat with my legs crossed demurely with my hands on my knees. And I realized: I wanted to be pretty! And more subtly (and, upon reflection, erroneously) I felt that in order to be a good woman, I had to be a beautiful woman.
But of course, Francis does not have very good material to work with, and despite my and her best efforts, she looks like a guy in drag. Some of my fellow actors at rehearsal made a few offhand comments along those lines. "Man, you look terrible." "The years have not been kind to 'Princess Leia'." And remember: this is the whole point of me being this role! I'm supposed to look unattractive! But guys, I am here to tell you (because the women already know): having my looks disparaged as a woman made me feel horrible.
There were a few things going on there, I think. At the most basic level, this was the first time in my entire life that anyone had ever called me unattractive, so it was kind of a shock. This is not because I'm some Adonis (far from it), but because I don't have any obvious deformities, and because I'm a guy, and calling guys ugly is not really something our culture ever does. It has been a serious struggle for people in my life who care about my appearance (read 'my mom and my wife') to get me to put any effort at all into looking presentable, because I have never really believed that there was any real benefit to be gained by it.
At another level, dressing as a woman woke me up to something I guess I must have known, but never really realized: there is intense pressure on women in our society to look good. I mean, I knew that, but I kind of imagined it was overblown. It couldn't be *that* bad, could it? But stepping into Francis's life, and seeing the same world through her eyes let me see that pressure in a suddenly personal way. Suddenly, the apparent 'normal' level of beauty in TV and movies and commercials and magazine covers wasn't some scale set up to measure other people: I was suddenly on that scale myself. And on that scale, I was a failure.
But mostly, what it made me realize was that without even knowing I had done it, I had bought into the hype. The main person who was judging Francis by her ability to look good... was me. Before that moment, I would have told you, with a certain amount of superiority, that *of course* I didn't care about what women looked like. How superficial! Sure, some women are more attractive than others, but that's not what matters about them! But... no. Francis is an interesting woman, with strengths and weaknesses and quirks and skills, but the #1 feature that I instinctively cared about was her looks. Do I do that to other women? I think I might. And that makes me feel worse than being called ugly did. I think somewhere along the way, I became part of the problem.
And I don't know what to do to fix it, either. It's an attitude I've had for a long time without realizing it: it's not going to evaporate instantly in the sunny light of realization. I'm really really hoping that this is one of those cases where 'knowing is half the battle', because then I'd at least be 50% of the way there. But even if I'm that far along, I have no idea what the next step is. Pay attention, I guess? Try to at least not lose ground, by finding a way to remind myself periodically that this is something I want to change?
I guess one obvious first step is for me to cut Francis some slack. She may look ridiculous, but I don't have to let that define her, at least for me. I can do what I can for her as far as makeup and hair and gait (and she does care about all of that), but beyond that, I can let it go, and focus on all the lovely things I've discovered about her over the course of doing this play. And to Cristie, our director: thank you so much for believing in me, and giving me this role. It's been an honor.