Open my Eyes...

Thoughts of an Orthodox girl from California adjusting to Manhattan life as a college student and attempting to understand her place within the Jewish people.

Monday, December 11, 2006

Watch it.

www.campaignforrealbeauty.com.

Obviously, its not an exaggeration of what really happens. I can't figure out why we continue to read magazines which basically hate women - and thus feel the need to conform us to this half-tolerable but totally unreal prototype - and in turn make us hate ourselves. I read an article a few weeks ago (that I now can't find) about a "model" that appeared in a major fashion spread, and then a bunch of other companies wanted to book her for their ads. Then it came out that she didn't exist at all - she was COMPLETELY computer-generated. Oops.
As women, we often fail to see that the fashion industry is not our friend. In fact, we see thousands of ads per day, and each one of them promotes distorted ideals and a sense of inferiority- both because real people can't live up to perfection and because that's the ONLY thing that seems to matter. Also, did you know that high-fashion runway models are picked specifically for having the facial structure and body type of pre-pubescent boys?
Both of my best friends have eating disorders. My cousin, at 5, can't have a conversation without using the word "sexy." Who's to blame for the recent phenomenon of plummeted self-esteem, unrealistic expectations for oneself and others, and an unhealthy focus on sexual imagery? There's no question - clinical proof of the media's effect on our psyche is pouring in every day.
I actually flinch every time I see my younger sister engrossed in a magazine, and to her frustration, tend to launch into a discussion of how not a single woman pictured has not been airbrushed into oblivion, not to mention the rediculousness of using a half-naked anorexic girl even when only selling backpacks or soft drinks.
....and I've officially lost ten more minutes of studying time. Oh, well.

Sunday, December 03, 2006

For the next three weeks, I will be walking zombie; unsure of what day it is, where I'm going, or the last time I slept. What I will know, I hope, is what I have left to cram into my brain before the next morning. Such are the days before the semester comes to a close.
Guys, keep doing mitzvahs...I'd really love it if moshiach entered the scene right about now.