Fashion Cat Fight!
Meow
Question: What is funnier than a bitchy French model having a cat fight with a bitchy French hair stylist, in the middle of an editorial shoot, when both pronounce “hair” as “air”?
Answer: Nothing!
I witnessed this scene unfold before my scandalized eyes this morning at work, a frenzy of wild arm gestures and raised heavily accented voices caught my attention. Why two French people would choose to argue in English is a mystery… Apparently, our model didn’t want the stylist to tease her hair as she was afraid it would damage her delicate blonde tresses. The stylist indignantly responded that he was not “teasing” anything, this isn’t 1983 after all! He was merely trying to “separate ze curls!” The spat reached such intensity that the Fashion Editor was forced to bring down our Editor in Chief to settle things.
The poor model, on the verge of tears told my boss, “But eeel damage my air! It’s my air!” to which the Editor replied, “It’s not up to you, it’s up to me and I say let him style your hair or leave!” The model implored for follicle mercy, but to no avail. Now, the stylist was certainly not doing anything which would lead to hair damage, but the girl’s insistence that it is her hair struck me; trying in vain to assert ownership over her own body and in the end submitting to the authority that controls her career.
I wasn’t impressed with Ms. Air’s general attitude from the moment she set her violet suede sneakered foot into our office, but nevertheless, I did feel for the girl. I can’t imagine a more humble moment than being forced into doing something with my own body that was against my better judgement. Sure, we all had a hearty laugh about the episode after she’d left, but I would have been vastly more indignant than she, had tables been turned. Knowing my hot-headed stubbornness, I probably would have shared a few choice words with the Editor and stylist before storming right out the door.
Strange how we expect women who profit from their beauty to relinquish all control over their very selves. At a fashion magazine, we tell them how to look, what to wear and which way to stand and tilt their head. It reminds me of that Native American belief (you may remember the controversy over the unauthorized use of a Native American boy’s photo for an Enigma album) that to possess one’s image is to possess their soul. A quaint sentiment in the eyes of Westerners, and yet there is real truth to it.
Once a person becomes an image, they cease to be a real person. Instead, we feel free to poke, prod and scrutinize to our hearts’ content, never thinking of how hard it is for the image in question. Who among us has not cast criticism at Mischa Barton’s cellulite whilst ignoring the dimples on her own backside? We justify the cruel and degrading comments about models and celebrities by saying, “She’s a model, she gets paid to look good!” or “If I had that much money, I would sure as hell look better than that thing!” We seem to miss that by treating women as two-dimensional extensions of their perceived beauty, we are just as guilty of objectifying women as the worst chauvinist.
