So many shows, movies, and magazines would have you believe the key to success is a makeover. Feeling down? Makeover. Not living up to the aesthetic standards of your best friend? Makeover! Just murdered two people and the cops have your picture? Makeover! Does it ever occur to the magazine editors that some of us don’t fantasize about a makeover? Some of us think we’re perfectly fine as is. Revolutionary concept, right? Doesn’t matter because the rest of society thinks it’s their job to knock at your door insisting you start hating yourself a little more.
This happened to me in the mid-2000s. Back when Myspace was still a thing, I got an unsolicited message from a producer on The Tyra Banks Show. It was 11 a.m. on a Monday, and I was at my crappy temp job when I received the surprising offer. I’ll never forget the wording: “We want to give you a makeover! You’re cute, but you’re not, like, a BOMBSHELL.”
Nope, I wasn’t, but… I don’t know… fuck you? I was twenty-three and supporting myself with a shitty office job. I didn’t need to be a bombshell. I wasn’t upset that this producer didn’t see me as hot; I was upset that he thought it was OK to tell me that.
Plus, no way would they give me the kind of makeover I would actually want. No way would I be getting blonde hair extensions, a spray tan, a push-up bra, and a white tank top. (I don’t care what the standard is, I think ’90s-era Pam Anderson is the hottest woman to ever walk the planet.) Makeover shows are created to make women like other women more. It’s always “chestnut lowlights,” a “fun” blazer, a chunky necklace, and a kitten heel. But… let’s think about this. Why no spray tan and white tank top? Why no miniskirt or five-inch heels? Why is it trashy to show off certain parts of your body? Because men might be attracted to you and you might flirt or even—gasp—have sex with them? America’s bizarre puritanical values are neatly illustrated through our makeover shows, where both women and men line up to take a crack at how we look and what we’re doing “wrong.”
And the rest of the world doesn’t play by American standards of beauty, just in case you’ve never been issued a passport. Go to any Latin country or Europe and it’s all hanging out. Naked kids everywhere, the elderly in speedos, men, women, children; flesh is everywhere. Good, bad, or flabby, no one cares. Everyone’s fuckin’ and everyone’s cool about it.
Boyfriend jeans are another fashion fallacy that runs deep. But the fantasy element of these mythical jeans—denim that is beloved by every women’s magazine around the globe but by no one else—might have your Girl Logic convincing you to buy into the following oh-so-romantic narrative:
You just slept with your boyfriend, and, after a lazy afternoon of sex and sharing (“We talked about his parents’ divorce, and it got deep. We also realized we both LOVED Season 2 of Fargo, and that Season 1 was good, but nowhere near as good!”), you realize you’re starving from all that mutually beneficial lovemaking. So you decide to head to the corner café and cuddle publicly. Maybe you’ll wear a chunky sweater that miraculously doesn’t make you feel like a sweaty llama. Maybe one side of the sweater will casually fall off your shoulder and a few tendrils of hair will haphazardly flip to one side, like Kristen Stewart in, well, everything she does. God I love her hair. Maybe you’ll drink a seventeen-dollar coffee and not have to take a Jurassic shit right afterward. Maybe you’ll sensually apply lip balm and not get your hair or scone crumbs caught in it like five seconds later. Anything could happen on this crisp fall day!
As you’re getting ready for all that cozy coffee-shop loveliness, you casually throw on a pair of the BF’s worn-in blue jeans, and because your hips are so slender and your legs so long, they hang off you like moss from an oversexed willow tree! You stroll casually to Le Cafe, passing outdoor patrons: “Oops, did I just cut open your cheek with my razor-sharp hip bone? So sorry!”
Your Girl Logic remembers seeing images like this in movies and ads for European coffee, so it instantly dumps you into that fabulous fantasy landscape where you’re the effortless ingenue. Maybe you even trip while holding the coffee, you sexy klutz from the intro! The reality, though, is far less glamorous. Why would you ever need to don a man’s ill-fitting pants? Did you bleed through yours? Pee yourself? Oh my God, did you crap your thong? Let’s be frank: his pants look bizarre on you, like it’s 1995 and you’re trying to look gangster but your mom won’t buy you baggy jeans so you’re trying on your Dad’s Orvis khakis with a woven belt.
Now let’s talk shoes! All women are supposed to love white wine, gossip, and our financially and physically crippling shoe collections, right? But no one tells you which shoes actually look good with which outfits. Part of the problem is that most shopping websites don’t show models’ feet. Like, once I bought a knit Kenzo bodysuit with cut-out shapes all over it. It was hot. I paired it with leather pants and… oh my God, what shoes?! On the Kenzo website, they didn’t show the model’s feet! SWINDLERS! Is it because they don’t want to promote another brand? Maybe. Or maybe it’s because they’re sitting in their Paris atelier, scratching their heads, like, “Fuck, I don’t know what goes with this weird top either. Ah well, c’est la vie.”
This leads me to believe that short of selling you the bodysuit and the lifestyle associated with the bodysuit, designers have no idea how you’re supposed to actually wear the bodysuit. They just want you to be a legless torso flopping about snorting glitter with a severe cheekbone.
Then there is the mystery of the tunic, an item that is impossible to be worn the way fashion intends it to be worn. “It’s a tunic!!” has become the mantra for every salesgirl who is afraid to tell her customer that she is too heavy to wear said garment as a dress, so instead they instruct her to “pair it with leggings.”
If someone tells you to pair it with leggings, that secretly means you shouldn’t be wearing it. Leggings go with T-shirts and sweatshirts; they’re not to be taken seriously. That’s why they come in fun patterns like laser-eyed kittens and pink camouflage. (What is pink camouflage for, hiding from Valentine’s Day?) Sorry, but I doubt designers are creating haute couture with the intention that, once it goes to market, “ze customer will just pair it wiz leggings.” Average-sized women, having no official manual for, well, pretty much anything, are left to our own devices to figure out all this fashion shit on our own. So we started wearing leggings with Uggs, and men hated us for it. Deep down, I think they hated that we were comfortable.
At least we have our Girl Logic to help guide us, at least some of the time. Because while GL can be our worst enemy when it comes to fashion, it can also be an asset, encouraging us to experiment and think outside the box of what everyone keeps insisting you should wear. Like when your GL tells you to hold onto those clunky combat boots you bought your freshman year of high school because YOU NEVER KNOW. Or when your GL makes you buy that minidress that you felt ridiculous in at first, but now your boyfriend can’t stop fawning over it. Of course, GL might occasionally nudge you into a pair of ill-conceived crotchless coral panties (because you want to look like you’re ready to fuck in a cabana!), but if you’re lucky, it might also send you home with a new denim jacket: the one infinitely cool clothing item that regular women and insipid fashion magazines can agree on.
My main advice when it comes to clothes and GL is to know and accept your body. Heed your Girl Logic when it’s screaming at you to try something new and fun (um, provided it costs less than $500), but don’t let your GL override what you know from experience will work for your body type. For instance, if you have short, stocky legs, don’t let that works-on-commission shoe salesman—or your own well-meaning but overexcited GL—convince you that today is the one and only magical day that ankle straps won’t make your legs look thick. If you have big hips, don’t give straight-leg white jeans the opportunity to ruin your day. If you want to wear clothes that aren’t in line with what you know looks good on you, you have three options. Get a good tailor, buy a brand that’s expensive enough that there’s a solid chance it’ll be cut well enough to look good anyway, or, when all
else fails, hold back your tears and go do ten sit-ups in the dressing room. Then go home. You probably already have something at home in your closet that will make you feel great, anyway.
My Handy List of Clothing Items That Are Simply Never OK
Embroidered Jeans. As a traveling comedian, I’m horrified to report that people are still encrusting the curvatures of their butts with diamonds and circumscribing the borders of their jeans in thick white thread, like a murder victim’s chalk-corpse outline. Did someone commit a homicide in your butthole? Then lose the white stitching. No one thinks the diamonds are real, and no one thinks you’re a better Christian because you have crosses sewn on your ass. A bedazzled fleur-de-lis? You’re not French, your last name is Sanchez. You’re a mother, or, worse, a FATHER, and you want other citizens to take you seriously? These pants have to stop if we are to grow as a society. Trump wants to build a wall? Build a wall around the True Religion outlet.
Shirts That Say, “I’m a Mermaid,” “I’m Really a Mermaid,” “I’d Rather Be a Mermaid,” “Yo Soy Mermaid,” or “Je Suis Mermaid.” Look, you’re a grown woman, and that level of escapism isn’t whimsical; it’s irresponsible. You wanna check out of society, wear broomstick skirts, make beaded jewelry, and live in rural Oregon? Fine. At least you’re still paying taxes. But when grown women say they want to be mermaids, it means that the world has been so hard on them that they’ve decided the best way to live is to project to the world at large that you want to be an imaginary fuck-toy for a horny sailor. And that scares me.
Bathing Suits with Hardware on Them. I think this one falls under the category of “Ludicrous Things Women Are Expected to Wear Without Making a Peep of Complaint.” Like how Claire Underwood in House of Cards wears four-inch stilettos all day with tight pencil skirts on fifteen-hour flights and never untucks her goddamn shirt!? COME ON, CLAIRE! LET THAT SNOOCH’N’POOCH BREATHE! My point is that this trend where we decided bathing suits need to resemble Achaean battle wear is just, like, fashion at its most useless. Here is some basic science: hardware on a bathing suit is generally made from some type of metal. Metal conducts heat. Hot metal burns skin. Burned skin hurts and swells up and you will end up looking like you pledged a black fraternity. So I suggest you opt out of the heavy metal.
A Mule. This shoe is ugly, makes you look like you have a hoof, and they named it “mule,” which is an ugly animal. I just hate it. You know what’s sexy that a mule covers? Toes. You know what’s not sexy that a mule exposes? Your calloused crackly heel. This shoe has everything backward.
2.5
Guy Logic: A Primer
Girl Logic forces women to consider the past and present, and how both inform the future, before making key decisions. What separates this type of thinking from the way men think is that women apply GL to every decision, even pedantic ones, like choosing frozen yogurt toppings. Men just don’t sweat the small stuff as much, possibly because men aren’t held to the same exacting social standards: men can be overweight, bald, loud, brash, and blunt and still be loved. When’s the last time a man was dubbed the “office slut” and it was a bad thing? Or the last time a guy gained a little weight and the tabloids called him “pregnant”? That would be hilarious, actually.
The contrast between male and female decision making is most obvious in social situations, especially sexual ones. Of course there are men who meet a woman and immediately react with trepidation because of some crazy girl they slept with years ago, so they buy the current girl a drink while asking themselves, “If I bang her, do I want to deal with the potential emotional fallout in the morning?” But most aren’t thinking that far ahead. They are, however, weighing the variables in the present. Variables like “How many more drinks until she wants to have sex with me?” “How many more drinks until she’s so drunk that I can’t have sex with her?” And, in some desperate cases, “How many more drinks until I will want to have sex with her?”
As men get older, they start playing the long game. Sometimes they even arrive at the conclusion that sex just isn’t worth it if they’re too exhausted, either physically or emotionally. Don’t forget, there is a societal pressure on men to go out and pick up women; it’s what guys are supposed to do, right? So when they see an opportunity to get laid, more often than not they’ll go for it. Can’t tell you the amount of times some fortysomething male friend will confide, “This twenty-year-old I’m dating is running me into the ground.” And I say, yeah, grandpa, keep up or chill out. Or, here’s a novel idea: try dating someone who saw Billy Madison in theaters; it’s not like women turn into the Crypt Keeper after thirty.
The thing to note about men is that, while not being as communicative as women, they are definitely clearer about their intentions, if you’re paying attention. When a guy likes a girl, he shows up. He calls back, he makes plans, he isn’t “just so slammed lately.” The sooner young women grasp that, the less heartache and headache they’ll have. There is no “he’s just been so busy with work” when a guy wants to see you… or fuck you.
Clearly men are more action oriented than thought or feeling oriented. My theory is that this dynamic dates all the way back to prehistoric days. Men would bring back a dead animal (that women had to cook) as a way of taking care of you, or as a sign of affection; then eventually their offerings evolved to smaller gifts (which men brought because women couldn’t buy their own, since we didn’t really have jobs until the past two hundred years or so). These days, with women being totally self-sufficient, the most overt way a man can show you he’s interested is simply by giving his time. And no, spending 12 a.m. to 6 a.m. with you doesn’t count.
Guy Logic, in social settings with women, usually consists only of the question, “Will this get me laid?” Will buying this girl a drink and listening to her talk about how much she loves her niece and nephew get her to sleep with me? Will helping this girl move make her want to have sex with me? No earth-shattering secret there. And, yes, men are capable of being friends with women as long as he isn’t attracted to her, or vice versa. Basically, you can be friends but only if one of you is cool with knowing the other one isn’t into you. And there is the version where both of you just aren’t attracted to each other, which is ideal. (Until you’re single for a really long time and you start thinking, “Actually, Blake’s kind of cute in that boy who looks like a hot lesbian kind of way.”)
Men are also less high maintenance than women, as we all know. You can change plans, cancel, or shift things around, and they don’t give a fuck. (Obviously everyone has a bullshit limit, I’m just saying that men tend to go with the flow.) Girls care. We care too much. If you tell me a time to be somewhere, or that you’ll be there, or that you love me, I hold you to it. I once called a Lyft thinking a friend was already at the bar, and it was only when I was arriving at the bar that she called to tell me she was still home. I had to take a knee, because I knew I’d either drive to her house and strangle her with my bare hands or throw my iPhone out of a moving vehicle. And, guys? I did not want to buy a new phone.
3
Oh Boy, It’s a Guys’ Girl
Touching on what we just discussed, men are… different. This isn’t a bad thing, per se, it’s just true. They generally avoid overthinking, ruminating, or overanalyzing (three of women’s favorite pastimes). They pursue what they want, or what they think they want, in a straight line without pausing to consider the questions that trip women up, like, “Will it make me look greedy if I ask for more money? Will he stop calling me if I express any semblance of interest? If I light this firecracker on my butt, will it ruin my chances of bearing children?”
Men who are not blessed with GL strike now and think later. Sure, women do that occasionally, too; bad judgment is universal. But, when it comes to basic instincts, women are simply more thoughtful, and Girl Logic has a big hand in that.
Another significant factor: men just don’t have to worry about the same cultural standards that send our GL into a tailspin. They get to have more fun tha
n we do, and they get to do it on their terms. A lot of what women do for fun in the modern age is stuff men got to do first (fuck as a hobby, read, drink, skateboard, vote, etc.). Men have always been allowed to be loud, make beer bongs, eat garbage late-night food, pass out wearing Wolverine costumes—basically, to behave like animals. (Again, they can thank their lack of Girl Logic for all that nonsense; most women know that beer bongs are never a good idea after age twenty-five.) Women, by virtue of the fact that we are physically more vulnerable, haven’t partaken in the same degree of fuckery. Remember the TV show Jackass, which was all about boys daring each other to do reckless, needlessly dangerous, self-maiming pranks? There are reasons girls didn’t come up with that first: (1) because what those dudes were doing was stupid and painful; (2) women don’t usually have the same desire to test their own mortality; (3) if you want to have a baby someday, you can’t be taking cannonballs to the stomach for a living; and (4) most of their prank’s hilarity lay in some dude getting hit in the balls, it’s just not as funny when a woman gets hit in the crotch.
Even so, women like being able to partake in fuckery if they so choose. Women now have the freedom to pursue their own version of happiness and can enjoy typically “male” entertainment: watching sports, drinking our faces off, snowboarding, or scream metal. And for some women, being “one of the guys” is something of a privilege—it suggests that you share not only their interests but also their freedoms.
I have to confess, I’ve always been something of a Guys’ Girl. It’s not like I specifically set out to become one; it happened naturally as a result of various factors, including my family background, which I’ll get into shortly. My career path also led me to inhabit Man-Land most of the time; the comedy scene is predominantly male, so you need a thick skin and a masculine sense of confidence to get by. And part of why I’m funny might be because, though I look girly, I have a somewhat masculine sensibility that I know how to use to my advantage. I may be a Guys’ Girl, but I don’t suppress my femaleness; my GL is still alive and kicking. My GL sometimes causes me to worry about offending people. I worry about how men might be interpreting my confidence, even as I’m rolling with the guys. The combination of confidence and Girl Logic in comedy is a tricky thing: you need confidence to do this job successfully, but in the past, men have disliked me for it. And then of course doing this job well builds confidence, which can make a comic even more successful, and around and around we go. It’s a Catch-22 wrapped in a riddle that GL will take a long time to sort out.
Girl Logic Page 6