bossanovagirl

I feel so strongly about this, but I could not blog about my feelings about fascinators in my multiply site because I have contacts who either make them, or are crazy about them. Thank god I don’t think anybody in my friendster list wears them.

I believe they’re the single stupidest, most ridiculous, pretentious fashion invention there ever was. Kasalanan ito lahat ni Carrie Bradshaw. Swallow naman ng mga feeling fashionista, “Yes, I understand hair fascinators, ergo I’m fashionable!”. I wonder if they’re familiar with the story of the Emperor’s new clothes?  Because this fascinator phenomenon reminds me so much of that children’s story.

Fascinators are so tacky! (Just consider the name–fascinators–it’s so icky!).

I mean, what are they (makers and wearers) thinking–they don’t look good now, and surely they won’t look any better years from now when you look at your pictures and you’re wearing this dead, bird-like thing on your head (or some other stupid design, like a wee hat with feathers and tulle) at a wedding.  And they’re so absurdly expensive! You can just see how many fashion victims there are out there–just try searching your multiply site for “hair  fascinators” if you don’t believe me. The only thing I think it’s okay to wear these fascinators is at the Ascot races, and then of course you’d have to belong to the British high society.  In a third world tropical country like ours, they simply don’t make any sense at all.  They’re laughable.

Yes, maybe I am NOT the target audience for this.
http://www.veoh.com/videos/v15648938YgMYS9rT

Was driving down Marcos Highway this morning, and as I approached the Katipunan Avenue-Aurora Boulevard intersection and saw the billboard, I said to myself “But, really, isn’t the concept of a dream date just a bit backward?”

I could imagine girls in poodle skirts and bobby socks on dream dates with Juancho Gutierrez (may he rest in peace) and Pepito Rodriguez–the clean-cut matinee idols of my mom’s generation–in a world that was laid-back and naive and pure.

But hasn’t a lot happened since that time? Isn’t a campaign like this rather a disservice to womankind? To my knowledge women have gone so far with their fight for equality and have accomplished so many things by leaps and bounds. Women have already travelled in space, for goodness’ sake. Women now rule nations, head corporations, make scientific discoveries, and every day they are making decisions that matter. Dream dates, I believe, are a throwback to that era that was ushered in by the introduction of the television, where the moving pictures on the small screen were still a novelty that had only begun to be enjoyed within the comforts of the home. The idea of romance embodied itself back then in the form of tall, dark and handsome men like Cary Grant and his ilk. With the advent of digital technology, people realized how easily illusory worlds can be conjured, and shams were effortlessly manufactured as quickly as they were exposed. The fast-changing times brought about developments as much as an increasing amount of healthy skepticism in mankind.

Dream dates hark back to a world that still believed in fairy tales. But even children’s books now don’t talk much anymore about fairy tales. Children’s books nowadays talk about of sibling rivalry, insecurities, parental separation, sexual orientation, marginalization, illness, death, intolerance, abuse. Because authors of children’s books have realized that there is a need for a discussion of real-life issues; publishers of children’s books have realized that there is a market bought about by an increasing demand for books that can help set the kids up for coping with the real world.

How come there still are advertising campaigns like this? And, in the first place, how come corporations still manufacture whitening products? Don’t get me wrong, I am still undeniably a child of consumerist culture, after all. But for all my cynicism, I still buy into campaigns that celebrate women and beauty as Dove, Nike Women and Olay (haha!) as the next girl. With regard Olay, my explanation is this: we now live in very toxic times, and a girl like me needs all the help she can get to protect herself from the ravages of a polluted environment. And Olay is the most affordable solution I can find. So there. I have no issues about beauty products per se, but only with products that I think are off-sync with the times.

I thought nobody believed anymore in Cinderella stories, much less dream dates.Or so I thought, till this morning.

Where does the concept of “dream date” fit today? Just the awkward name of the promo itself is so hopelessly an anachronism in these times of Oprah and Tyra Banks and other TV high priestesses advocating the expansion of beauty ideals to embrace all ethnicities, ages, body types and persuasions.

I struggled through adolescence and early adulthood thinking I was ugly. Blame it on Phoebe Cates and Brooke Shields and my collection of Seventeen mags because they messed me up. It had been a long–often arduous–journey for me to come to terms with my self-image. Now, happily, with all that angst shucked in my past, I am more comfortable in my own skin; I believe you can only be as beautiful as you feel inside. I believe that when you believe you are beautiful, you make other people feel the same way about you, too.

“Pinkish white skin” is the product promise. I will not even bother to comment if I find this claim believable. It is a promo to push the sales of jars (or is it bottles? tubes?) of Ponds White Beauty. For lack of creativity perhaps or–as I would much prefer to cut the copywriter some slack–for lack of flexibility due to the insistence of the client, the words “pinkish white”–the product benefit–was slapped onto the promo title.

Ponds Pinkish White Dream Date.

The mere sound of it makes me shudder.

But, worse than that, I cringe because I believe it perpetuates a culture of shallowness.

Have you seen the Fuwa mascots of the Beijing Olympics?  They’re sooooo incredibly cute!!! I like Huanhuan and Beibei the best.  In fact I plan to start calling Anton Beibei. =D

Wish I could have at least one plush toy. Who’s your favorite Fuwa?

…a tall glass of ice-cold czech beer. (yes, a tall glass, not a mug.)

as you know, i have not had a sip of anything alcoholic since december 2005 when i learned i was pregnant–well, perhaps save for a tiny-tiny sip of my dad’s beer while we were killing time in grappa’s reposo st., waiting for an exhibit to open.

hay.  i SO need beer right now.  been craving for the last couple of weeks na, actually.

kahit hindi czech. and hindi na sa grappa’s.

kahit cerveza negra man lang.  yum.

loves me.

loves me…NOT.

photos courtesy of Jun Tobias

you’re probably wondering why i have amidala’s pic here, right?

well, this was pretty much how i looked (sans the elaborate hairstyle,headdress and costume) after anton gave me a head butt that caused cuts on my upper and lower lips.  it bled and swelled but applied an icecube to it and helped somehow.  now it’s reduced to this clotted wounds on my upper and lower lips not too unlike amidala’s fancy lipstick style.

i’ve actually been greeting A and my dad happy father’s day ever since june started; this is an overdue post.  dug up a photo i’d taken of A early last year when we were still in our QC apartment.  had wanted to make him subject of this portrait painting i was supposed to make for an mfa class.  anyway, i dropped the subject, so i never got to do the painting.  needless to say A was a most unwilling subject–probably because he was too self-conscious.  he kept making kenkoy faces while i was taking the pics. anyhow, i was able to capture a couple of pics i really like.  it captures a side of him i think people don’t really get to see a lot (because he is always kenkoy or when he’s intense, he’s too scarily intense)–a pensive one.  wish, though, i had better lighting inside the apartment.

me!

i had the most outrageous dream last night. i dreamt i was one of the contenders for the
next pussycat doll.

my dream started with the first day of the challenges. apparently I had overslept, and all the girls
were already in this ballroom of the hotel. there was a queue, and the girls were all
writing down something in these passport-like booklets. turns out they were filling out resume forms.  because i was late, i didn’t get any booklet, and i then i realized there was another girl who was in the same predicament as i was.  the only difference was–and it made me self-conscious–she was able to take a shower before coming to the ballroom:  her hair smelled freshly shampooed.

i ask one of the organizers for a booklet for myself and the other girl, and of course they give me the run-around for being late, and suddenly it’s time for the first challenge (challenge?!!! parang "amazing race"?).

there was this jet li lookalike who was brandishing what looked like a bamboo pole.  he moved this way and that, until he stopped in front of me, his intense eyes engaging with my gaze while he proceeded to spar with me. 

well, it did look like he wanted to spar with me–it was the only thing i could make of the situation.  so, spar with him i did.

and then i realized just how badly out of shape i was.  my arms and legs felt weak as i did my best to swing a kick at him and parry his bamboo pole with my arms.  surprisingly, though, i made quite an impression on the audience, because there were oohs and aahs from the audience.  i was able to deal the jet li lookalike 2 blows, and it seemed enough for him to give up on me and move on to a next sparring partner.

would have wanted to know how i fared with the judges, if what i did was enough to get me through to the next round, but there was a loud sob and a well-enunciated "mam-ma" that pierced though my consciousness.

anton had woken up.

there went my bid for being the next pussycat doll.

p.s. this is what i get for setting the tv on sleep while watching "the search for the next pussycat doll".