The Finch Formerly Known As Gold

30 August 2003

Look at me, I'm not Sandra Dee

Michael Blowhard notes that scoping the babes isn't quite what it used to be:

[T]he girls and women remind me of the chic new architecture: a matter of ever-shifting translucent panes, of alluring surfaces twinkling one right behind another, all of them beguiling the eye while moving forward and back, in and out. Some people find this kind of thing to be bliss. I find it to be like an endless diet of whirling TV graphics. Walking around the city these days, I have to do my deliberate best not to walk into lampposts. Casual girlwatching used to be an easy-to-manage thing, something I could do semi-consciously. Now the pressure is so high and the attractions are so loud that it's almost impossible not to girlwatch.

Given my own history in this realm — yes, I look, and yes, I feel just a tad embarrassed for doing so, and yes, I would feel about 0.7 centimeters tall should the object of my gaze raise an objection — I can understand what he's going through, even though women on the Lone Prairie tend to be just a bit more conservative in their garb. It's almost an argument for shopping at the local flea market, where at least there's the theoretical expectation that no one's there to show off, though I'm not inclined to test this hypothesis personally.

Of course, gawking gets to be an ethical handful when the gawkee is underage, something some of us are more easily able to overlook than others, and the trends being what they are — well, let Michael finish the thought:

How much farther can it go? 14-year-old girls who will probably be my bosses in 14 more years are growing up in a world that takes Britney, Cristina and online porn for granted; they'll soon be pushing the boundaries a little farther. But once the waistline has sunk down to the pubic hairline, how can it go any lower? I have visions of waistlines continuing to sink and hemlines continuing to rise, and of a day when the two of them cross paths.

And if it does, all the pressure will be off. Few areas, I suspect, are quite as sexless as your average nude beach, partly because the proponents want it that way — keeps the complaints from politicians down, doncha know — but mostly because the reality is never (well, almost never) quite as wonderful as the fantasy.

Not that I care that Cameron Diaz gets an occasional zit.

Posted at 12:01 PM to Almost Yogurt , Birthday Suitable