Extreme Makeover (UM)
There's an interesting trend in television these days: shows about makeovers. You know what I mean: shows where shabby houses, cars, and people are re-done so as to make them more attractive. And they have trendy "urban cool" names, like Pimp My Ride, Pimp My House, and Pimp My Wife.
Invariably, the "before" picture is a mess. Particularly the people. Some are just plain; others are just plain ugly. But after copious amounts of surgery, exercise and couture, they emerge to their shocked and amazed families as now being.... presentable, I guess.
I've watched a few of these shows, involuntarily (by being in the same or adjoining room), and in none of these cases would I consider the "after" version of these people to be desirable except perhaps to someone serving life in prison and even then, only if the made-over person was waving a pardon.
What message is being conveyed here? Assuming, of course, that there is a message at all (and there is some type of message in virtually anything that becomes popular in our culture). Well, message number one is that appearances are everything. So if the '60s weren't already really over, they are now no longer just dead: their corpse has been exhumed, incinerated, and its ashes flushed down the toilet.
If you're plain and unattractive, that equals unhappiness. The "before" men and women aren't just plain. They're miserable. But let's not bother exploring the reasons for their unhappiness. The cure, obviously, is to become more attractive. Let's forget about the fact that many very attractive people commit suicide all the time. That would distract from the show's message.
Your unhappiness, says the subliminal message, is like a worn-out sofa or a dented fender. The cure is as close as a scalpel. After all, what's the difference between surgery and repairing sheet metal? Of course, surgery carries with it a risk of death, but why be so darned negative? There's a whole room full of fat ugly relatives waiting to gawk and fawn over you at the end of the show.
Let me also point out parenthetically that the subjects of these shows are complete unknowns. Inherent to the program's interest and watchability is the unspoken premise that we, the public, have any reason to give a shit whether these people become beautiful or die on the operating table. But none of the viewers question this premise. So the producers have bet correctly on this issue.
Anyway, after being "pimped," the renovated beauty is presented to her family, whose eyes open wide as if a tsunami were coming right at them, and then there's the hugs, the tears, etc. My God, Cynthia! Your face! Your tits! The hump that's gone from your back! I could actually be seen in public with you now!
But what if the newly-pimped beauty is still unhappy, after the cameras are turned off and everybody goes home? You're not going to cure a lifelong self-image problem in 30 minutes. But really, who cares? In the words of Billy Crystal as Ricardo Montalban, "It is more important to look good than to feel good."
Who in their right mind would agree to be featured on national television as a person so unattractive that they need an Extreme makeover, have every bodily flaw presented to the world in closeup while they stand in their underwear, and then show the whole world the surgical procedures necessary to remodel your pathetic face and body? In the adult film industry, at least, one could do some "fat" or "ugly" niche videos and get paid for it.
Conspicious for their absence are any TV shows that concentrate on one's personality. You know, like transforming somebody from a shallow, greedy moron into a multi-dimensional, caring, sensitive individual. Let PBS try that shit during sweeps, we'll be inhaling KFC to American Gladiators vs. The Real World No-Holds-Barred Cage Match, thankyouverymuch.
So here we are, five years into the new millenium, almost four post-9/11, and the evolution of our collective spiritual development has brought us to this level of enlightenment: it's what's on the outside that counts. And beyond that lies the constant threat of massive destruction by a sinister and fanatical foreign enemy bent on wiping out our way of life.
It's like the 1950s without the tail fins.
-Uncle Meat
Invariably, the "before" picture is a mess. Particularly the people. Some are just plain; others are just plain ugly. But after copious amounts of surgery, exercise and couture, they emerge to their shocked and amazed families as now being.... presentable, I guess.
I've watched a few of these shows, involuntarily (by being in the same or adjoining room), and in none of these cases would I consider the "after" version of these people to be desirable except perhaps to someone serving life in prison and even then, only if the made-over person was waving a pardon.
What message is being conveyed here? Assuming, of course, that there is a message at all (and there is some type of message in virtually anything that becomes popular in our culture). Well, message number one is that appearances are everything. So if the '60s weren't already really over, they are now no longer just dead: their corpse has been exhumed, incinerated, and its ashes flushed down the toilet.
If you're plain and unattractive, that equals unhappiness. The "before" men and women aren't just plain. They're miserable. But let's not bother exploring the reasons for their unhappiness. The cure, obviously, is to become more attractive. Let's forget about the fact that many very attractive people commit suicide all the time. That would distract from the show's message.
Your unhappiness, says the subliminal message, is like a worn-out sofa or a dented fender. The cure is as close as a scalpel. After all, what's the difference between surgery and repairing sheet metal? Of course, surgery carries with it a risk of death, but why be so darned negative? There's a whole room full of fat ugly relatives waiting to gawk and fawn over you at the end of the show.
Let me also point out parenthetically that the subjects of these shows are complete unknowns. Inherent to the program's interest and watchability is the unspoken premise that we, the public, have any reason to give a shit whether these people become beautiful or die on the operating table. But none of the viewers question this premise. So the producers have bet correctly on this issue.
Anyway, after being "pimped," the renovated beauty is presented to her family, whose eyes open wide as if a tsunami were coming right at them, and then there's the hugs, the tears, etc. My God, Cynthia! Your face! Your tits! The hump that's gone from your back! I could actually be seen in public with you now!
But what if the newly-pimped beauty is still unhappy, after the cameras are turned off and everybody goes home? You're not going to cure a lifelong self-image problem in 30 minutes. But really, who cares? In the words of Billy Crystal as Ricardo Montalban, "It is more important to look good than to feel good."
Who in their right mind would agree to be featured on national television as a person so unattractive that they need an Extreme makeover, have every bodily flaw presented to the world in closeup while they stand in their underwear, and then show the whole world the surgical procedures necessary to remodel your pathetic face and body? In the adult film industry, at least, one could do some "fat" or "ugly" niche videos and get paid for it.
Conspicious for their absence are any TV shows that concentrate on one's personality. You know, like transforming somebody from a shallow, greedy moron into a multi-dimensional, caring, sensitive individual. Let PBS try that shit during sweeps, we'll be inhaling KFC to American Gladiators vs. The Real World No-Holds-Barred Cage Match, thankyouverymuch.
So here we are, five years into the new millenium, almost four post-9/11, and the evolution of our collective spiritual development has brought us to this level of enlightenment: it's what's on the outside that counts. And beyond that lies the constant threat of massive destruction by a sinister and fanatical foreign enemy bent on wiping out our way of life.
It's like the 1950s without the tail fins.
-Uncle Meat
posted by Anonymous at 5:38 PM
2 Comments:
a bit broad on the decade generalizations. A pre-occupation and obsession with image (over substance) doesn't strike me as something new at all nor is it something that the 60s was free of.
There always seems to be a concern with image in the mainstream and a counter culture that despises this as well as counter cultures that are concerned with image as long as its not that of the mainstream. I guess the difference is now we have the technology, we CAN rebuild you!
Yeh, too bad for the poor bastards that feel like they need this. And yeh, they'll probably still be as empty inside as ever. And how does one initiate a spiritual/mental makeover in popular culture when the road to REALLY doing something like that is pretty much the anti-thesis of ratings?
But the healthiest alternative I can think of for all of us? Turn off your TV.
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