At Jack Shainman Gallery:
100 modified advertising images
A Century of White Women by Hank Willis Thomas
One image to represent each year, starting in 1915.
A limited representation
But edifying nonetheless.
A nested set of lenses framed by power
Meant to inspire desire
Women were the subject
And
The object
But an object perpetuating
Objectification
Of colored servants
Exotic locales
Phalluses
And children.
Dolls and toys to play with.
The gallery offered its usual gallerinas
A front desk of cliquish white women
Guarding 100 images
Of themselves?
If nothing else
It was a corrective for me.
Periodically
(This year it coincided with springtime appearance fretting
I gave up candy until I finished reading the springtime issue of vogue
Seduced by a glamourous black tennis player
On the cover of the most elitist fashion magazine)
I get lazy about my own definition of femininity
And spend too much time gazing
Glazing
Glorifying
My personal flavor of
White
Woman.
I'll call her the
New York White Woman.
Blonded
Innocent but cosmopolitan
Or, if not innocent, at least sheltered
Or at least overflowing with a performed naïveté
Sometimes poor
But only temporarily so
Always privileged
Always desired by multitudes
Showered with accolades and invitations
An insider even when she's an outsider
Felicity, Carrie, Serena
Earnest, impulsive, kooky,
Falsely bohemian
Really on the track to the urban version of the
American dream
2.5 children, husband, and dog
In an airy, sophisticated downtown loft
MILFy
Unrapeable
So fuckable
Unmurderable
(A cadre of white men are on revenge standby)
Always making mistakes
Always forgiven by all
Always friends with other young white women
And the occasional token colored person
Highly educated based on a diet of attractive but unmarketable skills
Interior design
Beauty
Nutrition
Fitness
Self-care
Self-indulgence
Wellness
Writing essays about any and all of the above.
Do I want to be this white woman?
Not really.
I come from tiger parents
Who wanted me to be a financial
Titan and pillar
King and queen
So that's the mantle I squirm under.
That's the unhealthy criteria
By which I still subconsciously
Harshly
Judge myself
Nevertheless
I deeply envy her
Her comfort with her own confectionary appeal
Her decorative declaration that
She Has It All.
