On Representation

            Us men have impossible standards to maintain for our girlfriends, wives, mistresses, what-have-you. Magazines so glossy you could line the floor with them and open a cheap skating rink would have you believe that Ryan Gosling's abs are so effortlessly obtainable it becomes a genuine mystery that body fat still exists in the world. Whether silver screen or small screen, when Daniel Craig emerges from the waters as James Bond in Casino Royale, clad in naught but blue swim trunks so tight they could double as medical tourniquets, women turn to their respective partners and do a quick mental comparison. They may not look so good in tight blue swim trunks, let alone the ones they actually own, bought in clearance at Target last winter and have only worn once, grudgingly, at a family pool party. We're not safe even in the realms of literature. The titular character of Christian Grey, from that god-awful book that sells faster than a fire sale on the last few remaining Twinkie boxes, has convinced women around the globe that men should have secret drawers filled with whips and handcuffs and other unmentionable items, and be in total, confident command. Reality check - most of us couldn't order someone around the bedroom like a leather-clad drill instructor. We can barely decide if we want the lights on or off most of the time. Women everywhere will be horrendously disappointed to discover that on finding a pair of handcuffs we're more likely to want to play Cops and Robbers, grabbing a pair of sunglasses to pretend we're David Caruso, than think about using them to engage in light bondage. Thanks, E.L James. Thanks for ruining sex for everyone.

            Of course, I can't hold this false image of masculinity up in its own light - one must also factor in that not every girl looks like Emma Stone in Spider-Man, or Scarlet Johansen in The Avengers, and the mass media portrayal of women is just as unfair to the fairer sex - probably more so, since women tend to care about their personal looks, whereas men just tend to splash lukewarm water on their faces in the morning and think "that'll do". Yet, while women look at their men and think "God, I wish he had the body of Taylor Lautner", men look at their women and think "God, I wish she was a super secret agent who fought alongside The Hulk. I bet The Hulk is awesome. And maybe she'd invite me along and we could hang out with Iron Man. Maybe all go out to Applebees and split some appetizers. I'd get some mozzarella sticks. Or a cheeseburger slider. And a beer.  Who'd win in a fight between The Hulk and Batman?" But that's men for you. All we need is for something to explode on TV occasionally and we'll keep quiet.

HULK SMASH

            It comes down to a question of body image and self-esteem. Does seeing Mila Kunis plastered over billboards and magazine covers talking about diet secrets and exercise routines make women feel uncomfortable about their own bodies? Yes. Should it? In an ideal world, no.  But in an ideal world the hoverboard from Back To The Future would be a reality and we'd all live in space like The Jetsons. And that's kind of the point. The mass media idolize the perfectly chiseled features of George Clooney, they celebrate the lithe form of Natalie Portman, they salivate over Sofia Vergara's bum. They literally give us a picture of "ideal" that doesn't ever really exist.  And, like reasonable people we should be going "hey, hang on, that isn't right. What about normal people? What about those of us who can't afford professional make-up artists or fitness instructors or, if all else fails, a good hard session in Photoshop?". Well, that's another problem. What happens when enough people stand up and shout "For all that is good in the world, let us just see someone who's normal"? We get a nice patronizing mini-campaign, usually for a deodorant or some other product that really no-one buys to make themselves look any better, which features "REAL NORMAL PEOPLE" with "real" and "normal" in big flashing lights like they're talking to a small child who just colored in a picture of a cat without going over the lines. Then, after a self-congratulatory pat on their own back, they go back to sponsoring Olivia Wilde's hair.

That's either a strong breeze or incredibly powerful hairgel

            Therein lies the problem. By doing this, "Normal" is heralded as "different". "Normal" is heralded as "special". You don't make something the norm by pointing it out as loudly as you possibly can every time it swings about. You make it the norm by...well, not pointing it out at all. How can we stop homophobia? Don't call gay people gay, call them "people". How can we stop racism? Don't call black people black, call them "people". How can we champion normal looking people over unattainable abs, gravity defying boobs, and faces so photoshopped they might as well be paintings? Don't call them "normal people". Call them "people". Normal is what people accept around them without question, without prompting, without judgment. That, right there, is what we should be striving for.

             Thinking about it, the Hulk would totally win.