The Opposite of Real

A certain disturbing usage of the word "real" has lately come to my attention. Frankly, this word has struck me as problematic for a long time. When I was in college, people would say things like: "just wait until you graduate and have to start living in the real world." Although I could discern the intention of this statement, I still felt irritated and wished they would choose another word. College was very real to me. And as it has now been nine years since I graduated, I can say with the certainty of experience: college was as real as anything afterward... just different. But I digress. The truly icky applications of this powerful word go deeper than college vs. post-college life. 

Living the Unreal college life, circa 2005.

Consider the following phrases: "REAL men don't cry." "Real women have curves." "Chris Kyle was a REAL American hero." "REAL Christians___" (fill in the blank). 

In one sense, there is absolutely nothing wrong with these statements; there ARE men who don't cry, women who are curvy, Americans who kill and die for their country, and Christians who___. The serious issue comes to light when one contemplates what is meant, in each case, by the opposite of real. There are several possibilities, as you can see from the dictionary definition above, including fake, imaginary, and even nonexistent... which (I feel) is the most harmful. I've heard the word "real" used to attack a person's most fundamental sense of identity, be it gender, nationality, religion, etc. To state that a certain section of the population is "real" automatically creates an opposite population that is either fake, imaginary, or nonexistent. I think it is often used without sufficient forethought, and not always intended to injure... at least not consciously. But I do believe that the applications of "real" should be reconsidered. There is surely a better way to assert one's validity that does not involve negating the other (the perceived threat to oneself). 

Original Sundance poster.

Real Women Have Curves. Have you seen this film? I saw it many years ago, just after it was released. I thought it was a wonderful movie and I very much enjoyed it. That has not changed. However, the title always made me feel a little strange, and it took some time before I understood why. As a girl who has never been what you could call "busty" (in fact, bras are rendered useless on my body), it gave me the sense that I lacked an essential ingredient in the recipe of *woman.* Now, some might say that I don't know what it's like to be a bigger girl, and that I should not complain since I am thin and our culture is obsessed with thinness. I agree, that obsession is a serious problem. However, I stand strong in my opinion: cannot we both... alll... be real? What if a woman could be a woman simply because she feels like one? I would like to live in a world where that was true. 

The case is similar for a man who cries; he should be allowed to exist as a man because he says he's a man.... whether or not he sheds tears. (Actually, the statement "real men don't cry" is degrading to women as well as men, as it implies that the man in question is really more of a female... horror of horrors).

Below are two photos from a series by Howard Schatz documenting the very different body types of professional athletes. I think they are quite powerful when it comes to conversations about what physical attributes make a woman "womanly," because it's clear how silly that proposition even is. ALL these women are "real" women. 

Professional women athletes fig. 1

Professional women athletes fig. 2

Once again, in using Chris Kyle (of recent American Sniper fame) as an example, my intention is NOT to claim that he wasn't a "real" American. Of course he was. But the implication is that those who choose not to kill and die for this country are not Americans. I am one of those people. Am I not an american? Does being American involve denying the existence of those whose opinions we do not agree with? What a sad thought that is. But certainly human beings have been using this strategy of negation for thousands of years. One of the most consistently problematic and destructive uses of this word (and the idea it represents) is in the context of religion. Wars are fought routinely for the proclaimed purpose of defending the "real" god. Even within a religion, members of different sects or denominations often claim a monopoly on "realness" that can be extremely hurtful to others. In all these cases, the implications of "fake," "imaginary," or "nonexistent" take aim at the most integral ways we define our existence. 

Annunciation as mystic hunt, circle of Martin Schongauer, 1450-1491.

I sincerely hope that we all can be a little more careful with this word REAL... it is such an important word, which is why it is also such a dangerous one.

Doing "Right-Right"

... ... ... Medieval-style.

I have been feeling weighed down lately by the many conflicts that seem to mark this year. Between countries, between religions, between races, between genders, between friends, between family members... and of course the undeniable conflicts within myself. For a number of reasons, mortality has also been a subject of thought for me these days. Although such contemplations are not easy or pain-free, I am grateful for their presence... I am indeed learning much and gaining patience.

Arhia, Rhiannon, Goat, Annwn.

When I was a child, I spent the majority of my time playing with big sister Rhiannon. She was the strong one, the imagination genie, the adventure warrior, and the one upon whom I modeled myself. I would have been utterly at a loss without her; she made my childhood what it was. A fight between us was rare--- she was a leader, I was a follower, we liked our positions, and I didn't often feel a need to oppose her. But inevitably a tiff occurred... and then woe betide me. Of course I am lucky. Annwn was much oftener the one left out. But alas I can only speak to my own experience, so I will say: it was hell being in the shadow of Rhiannon's frown. To make me understand the true meaning of my sin, whatever that may have been, Rhiannon would attach herself to Annwn instead and enact a little maneuver we called "Doing Right-Right." The tactic is simple: #1 (Rhiannon) shuns all communication with #2 (Arhia), making sure to rub her fantastic relationship with #3 (Annwn) in #2's face. Secret whispers and derisive laughs abound. Many a time #2 and #3 were switched up, as I said above, but of course I don't remember this clearly--- such is the human mind! The game was ridiculously effective, aka hurtful. Once upon a time I thought this was an invention of my tribe, but now I've come to understand it is a common practice among children... though perhaps known by another name.

Sun Tzu's Art of War.

As I remember it, we did this both to punish the one left out, and to create a sense of closeness between the two who "did right-right." To draw comparisons again with war: The enemy of my enemy is my friend... or, They had a common enemy. The cruel games of children, of course, are but trifling when one considers those we inflict upon each other as adults. Still, it seems to me that many motives remain the same. There is a desire to punish, and to identify over shared similarity with the one who is not marked by strangeness. Somehow it is a part of human nature, that reflex we have to shy away from difference--- to abhor things unknown (or wrongly perceived as unknown). 

Ready set awesome.

I have many a time committed acts of discrimination based on fear of difference. There are endless varieties of discrimination, some of them passing as unseen, socially acceptable, or even socially approved. For example, before Myer was hired at Harvard Business School, I had a habit of talking about "that kind of person" in a markedly rude and ignorant manner. This sort of discrimination, however, is highly acceptable among many people, even the well-educated. It can actually get you points to talk down about "corrupt Ivy League business people" in many circles. I understand that it may be a wholly different matter than, say, the Fergusen-style racial atrocities going on in this country.... but fear is fear. Discrimination is discrimination. And I believe that whenever I use biased, judgmental, and ignorant language in any arena, I contribute to horrid acts such as the killing of Michael Brown. My friends and family may not ever think to call me "racist," but I sincerely see myself as necessarily having to be part of the problem. 

Racism is made of many ingredients, and none of them is equal to the product. Racism is made of non-racist elements. Like, imagine racism is a cookie--- that cookie does not include any ingredient in the recipe called "cookie".... it includes flour, sugar, butter, chocolate, nuts, etc. Saying a cookie is made out of cookies sounds ridiculous; so, too, does saying that racism is made out of racists. Ingredients in the cookie of racism include actions I myself have initiated, such as turning away from a man asking for money on the street because I was ashamed, when I could at least have smiled at him with genuine kindness... or making jokes about those "stupid jock guys" instead of putting myself in their shoes and contemplating the history and circumstances that formed them. Discrimination based on race, religion, sexual preference, gender, social or economic status... all of these have lengthy recipes and none of them exists apart from the fabric that is made from all of us. 

The best Imagine.

The new year is always a time for "resolutions," for fresh commitments and rejuvenated investment in living out one's beliefs... but I wish to make this promise every day: I shall strive to awaken within each moment, so that I may see my judgments before they calcify; to listen deeply without an agenda, without a need to prove or convince; to keep always in mind the subjective nature of truth so as not to be caught in the trap of righteousness; and to remain conscious of the contrast between my body's impermanence and the endlessly reverberating nature of my actions. Obviously I shall make countless mistakes as I continue to learn... but I do believe I have the capacity to become a creature of greater wisdom and awareness.

By: Thich Nhat Hanh

Hair: God, Sex, Death & Power

Birds in Autumn.

Rapunzel, A. Rackham

There was a time, many years ago, when I took pride in my hair. Well, not in my hair, exactly, but rather in the fact that it was virgin hair. Actually, among the girls of the Kohlmoos household, the thought of cutting one's hair off was to be looked upon with abhorrence and disdain--- an insult to the "ways of the clan." Girlfriends might say to us on occasion, "your hair needs a trim; it will grow longer that way. Look at all the split ends!" That seemed ridiculous, however... cut it to make it longer? Pishaw! Somehow that made us all the more protective of our ragged 'dos. We all wanted long hair; really long hair, like down to our butts, down to our ankles. It seemed the equivalence of beauty, based on various fairy-tales Mom had read to us. But there was also something about the wildness, the extremity of it--- of not allowing a scissors to touch the hair at all--- that appealed to our sense of identity. 

Ok, I lied above. I did cut my hair once as a child, when I was about four. I remember standing outside on the bench... enjoying the sound the cutting made as it echoed through the strands of hair and into my brain, a luscious munching noise. I felt like I was doing something dangerous, and had a wonderful time imagining what Mom would say when she saw me. Of course she wasn't angry, but I did get to see a reaction... always fun for a kid.  

The Beloved Thich Nhat Hanh.

Hindu practitioner of asceticism.

Throughout history and across the earth, hair has always carried weighty significance. The cutting, styling, or strategic letting-be of hair is sometimes overtly symbolic, sometimes a more subtle form of cultural code. Almost all religions have rules and customs pertaining to hair. Buddhist monks and nuns shave their heads to signal their commitment to the practice of seeing beyond the ego and its world of *things*. (I heard Thich Nhat Hanh answer this question once; he said, "We shave our heads first of all to remind ourselves that we are monks and nuns... but also to let other people know not to try and marry us." TNH humor.)  In much of the Islamic world, women are required to cover their hair as a sign of modesty--- hair being considered a sexual aspect of the human body. For similar reasons, some ultra-Orthodox Jewish women shave their heads just before marriage. The idea is the same: modesty is equated with covering the hair. However, in this tradition, it became custom a to shave the hair off as a way of making the covering of it an easier task. Some resources also trace the practice back to ancient times when non-Jewish European kings had the "right" to sleep with any Jewish woman on her wedding night... so she might shave her head in the hopes that he would find her less attractive. In an apparently opposing tradition, certain Hindu ascetics who have dedicated themselves to achieving moksa (liberation from the wheel of birth and death), leave their hair completely uncut and untended, eventually developing what we would call dreadlocks. Although it differs in appearance from the religious custom of shaving one's head, the purpose is the same: to leave behind ego and the realm of earthly concerns.

Queen Elizabeth I

Unidentified French Grandee.

Hair often becomes symbolic in the realms of politics and war. Think, for example, of Elizabethan England. where an extremely high forehead was considered the beauty ideal for women. It was thought to indicate intelligence, but was also a sign of great wealth, as the cost of having one's hairline plucked regularly would have been quite out of reach for any except the uppermost crust. Queen Elizabeth I definitely contributed to the popularity of this style, and the regal aura it exudes is clear in the portraits painted of her throughout her lifetime.  A similar interplay between style and political power can be witnessed in the fashion for large wigs ("periwigs") that became all the rage in the French and British courts during the mid-1600s and lasted until the French Revolution. Wigs were already becoming a regular accessory by the close of the 16th century due to an epidemic of syphilis, a disease which caused dramatic hair loss. As long, full hair was a symbol of status and prestige, and syphilis a shameful illness for obvious reasons, wig-wearing fast became important for those in high positions. But the fad took off in a serious way thanks to France's Louis XIV and England's Charles II, who suffered from early baldness and grayness, respectively. Soon wigs went from cover-up to status symbol for both sexes, quickly assuming an air of ridiculousness in size and in style (consider the powder pink and blue versions, and those sporting scenery or food!)

Samurai topknot.

Wes Studi in "LOTM".

The distinctive Samurai topknot was originally utilitarian, being designed to fit snugly beneath a helmet. But like the French wig, its utility was forgotten as it morphed into a symbol so powerful that a warrior would cut off his topknot upon being captured as a signal of his shame and imminent demise. Warriors of the Native American tribe known as the Mohawks are the originators of a hairstyle which survives today, although much-changed in both appearance and meaning. Most Hollywood films inaccurately portray this customary 'do, making it look more like the Punk version than the historical reality (see above photo from The Last of the Mohicans). In actuality, Mohawk warriors' hair was plucked out, not shaven, and looked not so much like a strip as a patch near the back of the crown. It also included three hanging, decorated braids. Being the signature hairstyle of a warrior, the "mohawk" served a similar purpose as the Samurai topknot in that it indicated rank and power. (I have to add here that the hair-strip we call "mohawk" has appeared in many places and at many times throughout history, and is not the sole claim of the people whose name we use to refer to it.) These intricate wartime hairdos look even more extraordinary when compared to the current requisite cut of US military personnel. The buzzcut is simple and utilitarian, yes, but also serves to discourage individuality... unlike those highlighted above.

Pamela Anderson for Lange, 1992.

Have you ever entered the fix-it room of a ski or bicycle shop? If the answer is "yes," then you will recognize the poster at right (if not this one, then one like it--- seen one, seen 'em all). Brilliant, no? These girls invariably have big and/or long hair. As a male friend once said to me, "No chick can be hot with short hair." I disagree, naturally, but then... I'm not a guy. (Seriously though: Natalie Portman in V for Vendetta. 'Nuf said!) The point here is that long hair = "sexy" in our culture, and probably for the majority cultures around the world. I suppose it is a certain kind of power, like those French wigs... although I'm not sure who exactly holds the power here, considering the aforementioned comment of a friend. Perhaps the power is fluid in this context; a game like any other. I have seen this game, but even when I had long hair, I never acquired the skill to play. If I ever have occasion to take the bus or train, I like to watch what girls do with their hair when they flirt. It is an art, I swear! The perfect flowing locks, falling just so--- the flirty glance from under them, the flirty *toss* to the side. It is a tool in the complex technology of attraction.  Long/big hair is always "in" to some extent, but one era during which it was a must for almost everyone was the 1980's. I remember going over to the neighbors' house, the Sheridans. They had four girls--- girls who introduced the ragamuffin Kohlmooses to hoola-hoops, banana-seat bikes, jelly shoes, and hairspray. At this point you should revisit the photo at the top of this post; do these girls look like they know jelly shoes or hairspray? But although such things seemed strange and foreign at the time, today I feel a twinge of nostalgia when I see an 80's film in which these items make an appearance. I suppose that is my cultural memory... Yes, hairspray. One must have needed a good bit of it not only in the hair but in the respiratory system to make this shag-carpet insanity look attractive!

Random 1980s yearbook pictures. Yow!

Rituals involving the hair of mourners after the death of a loved one are many and varied. Above we saw how religious renunciation of worldly things can mean either shaving one's hair completely or allowing it to grow untended. Mourning customs are similar in their extremes. Jewish Tradition, for instance, forbids male relatives of the deceased from cutting their beards for seven days, Likewise, male Hindu relatives of a deceased person do not cut their hair for eleven days, but on this day they ceremonially shave both head and beard. There also exists a Nigerian custom in which a widow shaves her head in order to express sorrow at the passing of her husband. 

I think everyone has strong feelings regarding hair, especially women. One reason why I found it so liberating to shave my head is that I stopped obsessing about hair entirely. There's nothing to worry about in that department because nothing can be changed. It is what it is. No decisions are to be made. As a teenager, I used to bring myself to the verge of tears on days when my ponytail had "lumps" or my braid was uneven. My hair was a massive OCD trigger for me. Now, when I see a girl with perfect hair, I don't think "Why isn't MY hair like that?" It's not like that because I have none, haha! Problem solved. Of course I do occasionally wish I could do something radically different with my hair... but overall the shaved-head experience has been a positive one for me. 

Egg-head, 2009.