Over the past 2 years I have been introduced to the literary works of Jane Austen. I wasn’t sure at first how I would like Pride & Prejudice, but one of my favourite things to do is to read the book before the movie. As the DVD release date of P&P approached I bought the book and began to read. After a first few tough chapters, and as I embraced the language and style, I was hooked.
So I then I watched the movie. I loved it.
So I watched Gwyneth Paltrow in Emma. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Then I borrowed or bought every one of her novels and read them from beginning to end.
I was hooked. It was so bad that I actually took out a book from the library that was just about her. No narrative, just a long biography of the bits and pieces that we know about this woman’s life.
Jane Austen became my literary hero.
I was talking with one of my guy friends in the autumn, and I told him about my recent interest in Jane Austen and her books. And he scoffed.
That’s right. He was disgusted with me.
His facial expression would have said it all, but then he followed it with “I hate Jane Austen”. Well, I was hurt. How could he say that about my friend? I gathered my composure and dove in.
“What exactly don’t you like?”
“Well, I hate how she makes it impossible for men to please women. She sets up these perfect stories with these outrageous men who are so romantic, and I’m just not that kind of a guy. So I hate her. I hate how she ruined women.”
“Oh.”
Recently I was watching TV, and I don’t know if all of these fragmented thoughts finally caught up to me from TV, movies and commercials, but I thought “I hate Hollywood.” It had nothing to do with the people there at all. I’m sure they are all very nice. It had everything to do with what I was watching and how it made me feel.
I feel fat. I feel ugly. I feel imperfect. I feel badly dressed. I feel unsexy.
All of the commercials and the billboards and the TV shows slammed together. And I thought, I can’t live up to that. I can’t have the flat tummy or the unblemished face or the cellulite free body. I’ll never be like that. Meanwhile I compare myself to these women, whom I admit are very beautiful and I am sure very nice, and I feel invisible.
And as I considered these thoughts of my inconsequential value, I wondered how I would ever feel comfortable dating with these perfectly created women staring at my man over my shoulder. And I realized that I had the very same problem as my friend had with Jane Austen. I was angered by the media who portray this “ideal woman” that I could never live up to, and that in return would cause whomever I met to long for said woman.
I don’t think it is fair that Jane Austen was blamed for suggesting all the romantic gestures of a man into the minds of women. Just as it is not the model in Victoria Secret or actress to be blamed for my insecurities. The media and advertisers, yes, but the models, no.
But I do see a potential problem that we need to work out.
As women we need to be secure in ourselves despite what the media portrays that we should be. God didn’t create imperfect and perfect looking people, he created man and woman and they were good, in all our shapes, sizes and styles. And at the same time we need to see the potential pressure we may put on the men to live up to a romantic ideal. I know that I am guilty of putting these beautiful romantic gestures and situations into my head, and then believing that it is the only way.
At the same time I hope that the men in our life realize the struggle us women have living up to the portrayed “ideal woman”, and that they in turn will take the time to encourage and appreciate us just the way we are.
No comments:
Post a Comment