Fragility
So, my XM played me Depeche Mode's "Precious" last night. I hadn't managed to hear it before, because a) FM stations weren't playing it, b) I haven't been clubbing so very faithfully as of late, and c) I had been too lazy to track down a preview myself.
About the song itself: I like it. I'm impressed that Depeche Mode has managed to last so long without fundamentally changing the way they sound, unlike umpteen trillion bands that get bored and change, leaving their fans in the dust. They managed to do this without sounding terribly stale to my ear, either, but this may be because I frankly don't listen to that much 80's synth-pop (I know, I know, I'm so not g0thz0rs), so I might not be tired of it yet.
The lyrics started me on a thought-tangent, though.
The song starts out, "Precious and fragile things/Need special handling." Other lines throughout the song repeat the same theme: "Things get damaged/Things get broken," "Angels with silver wings/Shouldn't know suffering." Basically, the song is about "Oops! I broke you! Poor wittle thing..."
What I pondered was this: why does popular culture have such a fascination with the fragile female? Why on earth would being easily broken, or needing "special handling" be something to admire, to laud?
I can certainly see the beauty in some delicate things: the thinnest crystal is often considered the most beautiful; spindly church spires and fragile sugared confections induce oohs and aahs in onlookers. But such fragility, in my opinion, is not attractive in a human being.
I suppose it's something that's been held over from the days when women were expected to faint at the sight of blood and need help crossing streets. I'd have hoped by now, though, that this society o' ourn would have realized that such fragility is only as beautiful as the psychiatry bills it racks up.
If anyone were to metaphorically adorn me with angel's wings, they'd better be made of steel.
I know that the "delicate flower" archetype has its pop-culture foil, the ninja chick. I'm just baffled as to how anyone could find fragility and brokenness endearing.
I suppose the kind of fragility that I find fascinating and attractive is deceptive fragility. Things that look delicate, but sting. Wasp waists, katana blades, metal shavings... high heeled shoes that are nothing but a few straps of leather, but in which I can dance, and run, and kick the everloving crap out of those who deserve it. Corsets and diaphanous articles of clothing that conceal sinew and bone and energy. *That* is the kind of fragile I can get behind.
About the song itself: I like it. I'm impressed that Depeche Mode has managed to last so long without fundamentally changing the way they sound, unlike umpteen trillion bands that get bored and change, leaving their fans in the dust. They managed to do this without sounding terribly stale to my ear, either, but this may be because I frankly don't listen to that much 80's synth-pop (I know, I know, I'm so not g0thz0rs), so I might not be tired of it yet.
The lyrics started me on a thought-tangent, though.
The song starts out, "Precious and fragile things/Need special handling." Other lines throughout the song repeat the same theme: "Things get damaged/Things get broken," "Angels with silver wings/Shouldn't know suffering." Basically, the song is about "Oops! I broke you! Poor wittle thing..."
What I pondered was this: why does popular culture have such a fascination with the fragile female? Why on earth would being easily broken, or needing "special handling" be something to admire, to laud?
I can certainly see the beauty in some delicate things: the thinnest crystal is often considered the most beautiful; spindly church spires and fragile sugared confections induce oohs and aahs in onlookers. But such fragility, in my opinion, is not attractive in a human being.
I suppose it's something that's been held over from the days when women were expected to faint at the sight of blood and need help crossing streets. I'd have hoped by now, though, that this society o' ourn would have realized that such fragility is only as beautiful as the psychiatry bills it racks up.
If anyone were to metaphorically adorn me with angel's wings, they'd better be made of steel.
I know that the "delicate flower" archetype has its pop-culture foil, the ninja chick. I'm just baffled as to how anyone could find fragility and brokenness endearing.
I suppose the kind of fragility that I find fascinating and attractive is deceptive fragility. Things that look delicate, but sting. Wasp waists, katana blades, metal shavings... high heeled shoes that are nothing but a few straps of leather, but in which I can dance, and run, and kick the everloving crap out of those who deserve it. Corsets and diaphanous articles of clothing that conceal sinew and bone and energy. *That* is the kind of fragile I can get behind.