Illusion of Embodiment
Amid our consumer culture, cultural theorist Jean Baudrillard argues that the mode of relation to the body is a narcissistic one:
It is a managed narcissism, operating on the body as in colonized virgin “territory,” “affectionately” [tendrement] exploring the body like a deposit to be mined in order to extract from it the visible signs of happiness, health, beauty, and the animality which triumphs in the marketplace of fashion . . . One manages one’s body; one handles it as one might handle an inheritance; one manipulates it as one of the many signifiers of social status.3
The body becomes significant as both capital and consumer object, with standardized ideas of beauty as the goal.
According to this logic, we, the public audience, assume that, because of their size, plus-size models suffer from a “sin by omission,” i.e., failure to keep up with necessary engendered bodily devotional practices.4 However, unbeknownst to the public, they do indeed discipline themselves and engage in regimented practices as part of an aesthetic labor process.
While these plus-size models engage in at times severe bodily management practices, the public outside of the fashion industry has no knowledge of it. This public is not privy to the model’s intimate disciplines. That is part of the fantasy portrayed by the fashion industry—to show a final image without revealing all the work that goes into its production. The public is only allowed to see a commercial persona—a constructed image of the plus-size woman.5 The aesthetic labor process creates this commercial persona—one ripe with sexuality. Exposing the flesh, these images show a plus-size model embracing her fat, flaunting her stigma.
While plus-size models actively manage their fat bodies, they still face stigmatization because they are not meant to reveal exactly that which may serve to counter the presumption of laziness and lack of discipline associated with fat in the cultural discourse. Ultimately, there is little hope of changing the cultural discourse toward fat and plus-size models, as long as the bodily practices of plus-size models remain hidden from public view.
This study captured the discrepancy between the public staged performance of fat and the hidden backstage aesthetic labor process in plus-size modeling. In this intense aesthetic labor process, these models utilize their body as capital, embark on a variety of body projects, and, ultimately, reproduce heteronormative imperatives involving female bodies. In cultivating themselves as models, these women engage in engendered body projects designed to control their fat and, ultimately, reinforce their sense of disembodiment.
The self-surveillance and corporal discipline required of this aesthetic labor process is antithetical to the task of reclaiming one’s embodiment because the body is still an object that the model must control and master. As “docile” bodies, plus-size models engage in a constant battle to control and discipline their flesh. They develop a repertoire of specialized professional techniques to increase their “model physical capital.” Technologies of control, such as a tape measure, legitimize and normalize this constant surveillance of each curve. As part of the physical strategies employed by plus-size models to remain marketable to clients, models track each measurement and manipulate their bodies by either invasive or non-invasive techniques, ranging from strict dieting and exercise to wearing padding in the appropriate places. As women, plus-size models continue to manage and manipulate their bodies in hopes of appealing to fashion’s elite.
Plus-size models emulate a work ethic dominated by the normative values of self-discipline, inner strength, and diligence. While plus-size models invest in their bodies, they alienate the self and transform their bodies into manipulated and consumed objects. There is no subversion because preexisting aesthetic ideals direct this process of self-cultivation. Plus-size models assume the same come-hither poses and piercing looks as straight-size models. They try to claim their space in fashion without presenting a counter-aesthetic. The singular difference is the size of the bodies. Plus-size models and agents aim to expand the notion of beauty to include bodies of different sizes, but that does not eliminate the problem of disembodiment because these women, whether straight-or plus-size, are simply bodies. Fashion still judges these women on the basis of their looks. Modeling reduces them to curves, numbers on a tape measure. They are not women but breasts and hips. The models’ reclamation of embodiment is an illusion. After all their aesthetic labor, plus-size models are still disembodied, fat bodies.
Full-Figure Disclosure
This study presents us with a unique example of how labor processes can extend beyond the confines of work, affect the social identity of workers, and aid in the production of fantasy. Other body-centric professionals—dancers, athletes, exotic dancers, and fitness instructors—adopt techniques of bodily control that affect not only their performance of work but their lived experience. Fitness instructors, too, must inhabit a fit body, i.e., corporally demonstrating the effectiveness of an exercise regimen, or they may lose their clientele. Professional singers engage in ritualized vocal techniques to maintain their instrument even when not in performance mode, e.g., strict vocal rests, wearing scarves around their necks to keep their vocal cords warm, and consuming beverages and foods designed to soothe their voices. Method actors embrace their characters on and off the film set by physically altering their bodies for a role and refusing to break out of character in between takes.
Yet, contrary to a dancer or boxer who trains his or her body toward an established aesthetic—an athletic, lean, and strong body—plus-size models work within the confines of a cultural field of tastemakers to create aesthetics. From affective, emotional, to physical labor, the work process of plus-size models not only increases the utility of a body but also functions to assist the production of an image. As such, they have a role in (but not control of) molding cultural constructions of fatness. The structure of modeling, like many body-centric fields, is essentially a network of differential relations between social actors that involves both a highly developed canon of body techniques and those social actors who can synthesize these techniques.6 Fashion models develop their bodies according to the requirements of the field, as dictated by their agents. Models embody an aesthetic.
Today’s plus-size models represent a diversity of shapes and sizes—from hourglass to triangle and size ten to size twenty-four. They display their curvy bodies with pride. They stand in direct opposition to the stigmatizing image of the fat woman depicted in cultural discourse. Erving Goffman reminds us that the stigmatized individual is “not a type or a category, but a human being.”7 When dealing with “normals,” Goffman reveals that it may become necessary to remind them of the stigmatized humanity and pursue a course of action that reduces the tension. In this sense, plus-size models are not just fat bodies with spoiled identities. They are women who want to be seen for more than their weight. They want to be seen as beautiful. They want to grab your attention because they are special for reasons both related to and beyond their physical stature. But, plus-size models are more than “happy fat girls,” as freelance model Yvonne wryly generalized the conception of plus-size models portrayed by the industry. Plus-size models smolder in provocative lingerie that displays all of their flesh. These models make a statement.
By appearing in advertisements that sexualize and emphasize their curves, plus-size models work for cultural producers whose objective is to boost retail clothing sales. Consequently, these models represent a movement to reevaluate the negative discourse on fat. These depictions of curvy bodies reflect a more positive image of larger bodies. These carefully crafted images reveal a fun, flirty, and fashionable woman but hide the active work done by and on her.
Remember, however, a plus-size model is not an average woman. A fashion expert chose her for her symmetrical facial features and proportional frame. Upon entering the field, she is the agent’s blank canvas. Then, a slew of aesthetic professionals—her agent, photographers, stylists, makeup artists, and hair professionals—work on her. Only then d
oes her body idealize a fat body. It takes a team and strict adherence to the demands of aesthetic labor to create a desirable image.
The resulting image of this aesthetic process is an illusion. First, photographers and image editors manipulate the image either by airbrushing or photoshopping, a practice exposed in Dove’s Evolution commercial. The image captures the fat body, so to speak, in the best light. A three hundred-pound woman, like Velvet D’Amour, with professionally styled hair and makeup, the proper lighting, camera angles, and positioning of the body, can be subjectively considered, in her own words, “hot” and appeal to a wide audience. Second, the bodies, themselves, are not sustainable in the long run without medical complications. Given the extremes to which she goes to maintain her body size and shape, a fashion model jeopardizes her health and well-being. The fashion industry swings from one extreme in weight to another, and models must adjust their bodies accordingly in order to remain marketable.8
Too Fat and Too Skinny
For many plus-size models, Velvet D’Amour, at nearly three hundred pounds, is an icon. They applauded her for her confident strut down the runway, and many models used her photography as inspiration for their own work in front of the camera. Fashion critics even crowned her as “today’s super-sized hero” for ordinary women.9
Velvet’s emergence on the runway coincided with the skinny model debate that erupted within the fashion industry following the deaths of two South American anorectic models, Uruguayan Luisel Ramos and Brazilian Ana Carolina Reston.10 Several of the major fashion capitals considered instituting preventative measures after these sudden deaths. For example, Spain took action by first banning ultra-thin models from fashion week and then banning skinny sizes on mannequins.11 In New York, Bronx Assemblyman Jose Rivera proposed the creation of a state advisory board that would establish weight guidelines for the fashion and entertainment industries.12 In 2012, the Council of Fashion Designers of America urged designers to ensure that their runway models were not younger than age sixteen.13 Unfortunately, most of these proposed initiatives from around the fashion globe did little to decrease the prevalence of eating disorders among fashion models. Britain tried to ban size zero models from London Fashion Week, but that was quickly abandoned after other fashion capitals failed to follow suit.14 Anorectic looking models still parade down the runways to the cheers of celebrities and the fashion elite.
In response to this skinny ban bandwagon and the mixed reception she received after modeling for Jean Paul Gaultier, Velvet explained:
I’ve had people ask me “Do you think you are promoting obesity by you being on the runway?” I think it’s laughable. If what’s on the runway had anything to do with obesity then we would all be emaciated.15
While Velvet disagreed with a model’s impact on the general public’s eating behavior, ultra-skinny models who walk the runway and appear in magazines do have an influence. Studies demonstrate that young girls develop eating disorders while attempting to emulate the thin physiques of high-fashion models.16 As plus-size models become more prominent in fashion, more questions arise about the dangers of fat.
Plus-size models, like Velvet, are frustrated by the lack of diversity in fashion and the incongruity of treatment between plus- and straight-size models. She experienced this differential treatment after submitting her calendar to several women’s magazines. All but one rejected her request for publicity. Velvet revealed:
I am too obese to be okay. It doesn’t really matter what I have done, you know, in their mind, like, they would be promoting unhealth by touching me . . . That sort of accepted mythology of looking upon a thin model and publicizing that person from here to kingdom come, based on what they perceive as is healthy versus, you know, I go swimming 120 laps and don’t have high blood pressure. I never smoke. I never drink. I don’t do drugs. I just think it is so hypocritical to me that they can put models in magazines, who, on occasion, walk off the runway and keel over. So, how is that healthy?
Yes, how are any of the bodies of fashion considered healthy? When, if at all, does the issue of health come into play? The answer is simple—never. The fantastical images that emphasize the sensuality of ample curves omit the health risks associated with maintaining a static body size at all costs. The aesthetic labor process, itself, demands that a model ignore the dangers associated with forcing her body to fit a desired mold. These are manufactured bodies shaped to fit an aesthetic value without concern for how they were created.17
Fashion perceives these models as voiceless bodies with dyeable hair and fixable features. If their measurements are not in perfect proportion, they stick padding onto their hips or “chicken cutlets” onto their breasts and squeeze them into a pair of Spanx. Photoshop eliminates the remaining imperfections, such as acne, cellulite, and extra rolls of flesh. Agents take their plus-size models to dinner, encouraging them to eat and gain weight. If a fit model loses weight, she is told to do whatever it takes to gain the weight back before the next fitting, even if that means binging on fat-laden foods that can wreak havoc on an individual’s body. If these efforts fail, the client and/or agent will easily replace them. The organizational structure within the field of fashion conceals the destructive potential of these severe bodily management practices. “Whatever it takes” is the unofficial mantra, all behind the camera and hidden from the consumer’s view.
I Came, I Saw, I Was Conquered
My brief time as a model paralleled the journey of many others, a path marked by doubt, discomfort, thrill, and a whole lot of rejection. I began without a clear sense of my marketability or possession of basic modeling skills. I knew little about fashion. Yet, I dreamed of my image emblazoned on a billboard in Times Square. These starry-eyed thoughts of fame danced around my imagination, prompting me to make one more call or send another email in hopes someone would “discover” me.
While none of these fantasies came to fruition, I experienced the world of fashion from the inside. I stepped in front of the camera and onto the runway. I peeked behind the curtain and found women who yearned for a fashion authority to recognize their intelligence, confidence, and beauty. They wanted to change the way people thought about beauty, diversifying its definition to include curvy bodies. They championed for size acceptance. Ultimately, they remained voiceless dolls, dependent on agencies to direct their careers and clients to mold their image. Instead of challenge a social system that perpetuated preoccupation with the body, these plus-size models reified it. In order to succeed, they altered their bodies according to others’ specifications. If we want to seek out actors who challenge hegemonic beauty standards, we must look elsewhere. Instead of the objects in the billboards, we must look to the designers of those billboards.
I journeyed into a fantastical world governed by strict aesthetic rules. According to its logic, I was no longer considered an average body type but, rather, “plus size.” One agent urged me to “stay the same [weight],” while another presented me with an option to either gain or lose weight. Given these conflicting messages, I wondered whether I could be myself—accept my body—in this industry. Was this experience empowering me or, alternatively, suppressing me? When women like me seek personal validation by entering a field dominated by aesthetics, what does it say about our culture and its fixation on physical appearance? Why did I need someone to say, “Yes, you are pretty enough to model”?
Despite my academic credentials, the engendered cultural pressures to embody beauty continued to weigh down my self-esteem. I envisioned that this opportunity would finally silence my internal critic. To an extent, it did. I rocked the fashion runway and learned how to accentuate my assets. These experiences and gained aesthetic knowledge empowered me—to a point.
After many years of neglecting my body to focus on mental pursuits within an academic setting, I felt uncomfortable and overwhelmed by the continual focus on the physical body in a fashion setting. From the moment I entered the fashion district, strangers wrapped tape measures around my body,
styled my look, and paraded me before an audience. No one asked for my thoughts and opinions. I had simply gone from one extreme to another—from books to looks.
As a woman, I felt enough everyday cultural pressure to “do looks.” I no longer wanted to compulsively measure my bust, hips, and waist and enslave myself to a number on the bathroom scale. I tired of the unpredictability and need to be in a constant state of readiness—always groomed and fashionably dressed—to drop everything and run to a casting at my agent’s beck and call. I was simply not interested in doing beauty all the time.
Soon after my jaunt down the runway and a series of failed castings, my size became an issue. I was too small. In order to continue modeling, I needed to gain weight so that my body would fit into a plus-size sample size. Given fashion’s unpredictability, I may have had to then lose weight in the future to match new aesthetic demands. I did not want to play these kinds of body games. How could I be authentically me while continually manipulating my physical body according to clients’ specifications? Changing my body to meet the requirements of another is antithetical to the pursuit of embodiment.
In the end, I (and my body) retreated in defeat, refusing to match the aesthetic ideal required for plus-size modeling. The larger cultural discourse that fosters bodily insecurity and hegemonic body standards won. I could not willingly act to make my body larger. I rationalized that my role was not to embody the changing face of beauty but to understand its construction; however, truthfully, the stigma of fat was too great.
As I now sit, comfortable within the halls of academia, I recall the sight of plus-size models gathered together in the hallways of a Manhattan studio, waiting for their chance to wow the casting directors. These women laughed together, shared work-related horror stories, and showed off their skills in impromptu posing contests. While I sat with them, feeling nervous and out of place due to my lack of experience and aesthetic knowledge, I marveled at their confidence and sheer joy at a casting. I wanted to experience that level of festivity, as well. Their glee, however, understated a painful journey of self-discovery. As Chris, a size fourteen/sixteen model, revealed:
Fashioning Fat: Inside Plus-Size Modeling Page 17