NEITHER HERE NOR THERE

Remind me to never complain about the depictions of men in advertising. Not because the images and concepts are not horrifying, but simply because they are, at least, not the depictions of women.

Today the wife came along with me to take care of a household chore. Not that this is such a rare occurrence; I am just trying to paint a picture here for you. So, as I was saying, today the wife came with me to take care of this familiar household chore. There was little else to do practically this afternoon – despite the crushing amounts of grading for her to do and the quantities of writing for me to dispatch – so off we went. While at the site of domestic preparation I encountered a pair of images that reminded me of a recent history that makes the Burger King “Manthem” commercial – which I so recently railed against – seem a veritable ERA promo. Today we went to the launderette.



There I found the remnants of bygone advertising – though not-surprisingly still in use. I have never actually seen anyone obtain their laundry soaps, softeners, or whatnots from one of these select-o-matics, but I suppose they are still restocked with all the modern conveniences – note that Fab is was nowhere to be found in this one. And of course, if laundry aids are to be sold, there must be a woman in Donna Reed attire to guarantee that the purchaser is buying the right thing. Surely a man wouldn’t know anything about laundry – heck even a woman in slacks is problematic [just remember that Mary Tyler Moore actually had to fight to wear Capri pants on the Dick Van Dyke show]. Then again, laundry is what women do – hence further confirming my need to figure out my proper gender assignation.

But this woman is from the fifties – or at least the perpetual depiction thereof that was held on to throughout the sixties and into the early seventies. Surely things have changed… But wait; what is this I see?

Here are the disposable laundry bags gladly displayed by the lovely Ms. Blonde. I, personally, have never seen anyone quite so happy about a bag full of laundry before, but then again I may be doing it all wrong. Heck I can’t even get my gender performance down properly, so I would assume I am doing everything incorrectly if I were you. I would estimate this woman to be of seventies vintage, but with the endless recycling of clip art one can never tell just when she showed up at this particular launderette. For all I know this machine was made and installed just before I moved here. Why should anyone come up with an original representation when it is so much easier to reuse a perfectly stereotypical one already in hand.

Actually, now that I think of it, I find it disturbing that this place is called a launderette – interchangeably a laundromat, but that is word for examination some other time when I am pissed off about modernism, automation, and the flying car the Jetson’s promised us but the world never delivered. But, back to the launderette, if we go to the handy-dandy dictionary widget – as I so frequently do – and look up the suffix –ette, we find:

–ette
suffix forming nouns:
1: denoting relatively small size: kitchenette
2: denoting an imitation or substitute: flannelette
3: denoting female gender: suffragette

I find it distressing that these three denotations are tied to the same suffix: that scale, value, and gender are wrapped so tightly together. It seems revealing, though, as a means of looking at the representations of women. While Burger King may tell me that I am not a real man, the force of –ette is that it demands that women not be real. –ette may have now jumped to the top of the list of my least favorite words, or at least induce me to actually start keeping a list thereof.

It is not so much that I am startled to find these representations at the launderette – or that the launderette is a launderette. I – along with you the reader, I assume – have understood these issues for years. But today it strikes me, as I am doing laundry, as particularly distressing. I wonder whether I – as the househusband – need to learn to adopt the postures and poses of these women of the launderette in order to properly fulfill my duties. I figure I could manage the hand gestures of the laundry aids sales-lady, but at this point I am not sure my hips could handle the laundry bag woman pose for more than a few seconds.

It always amazes me how culturally reliant we are upon stereotypes, and how willingly we still accept these uses and modes of speaking. I am not quite sure who I am referring to when I say we, especially since I am not sure what “we” I might belong to – some days I strongly consider petitioning to join some other species, perhaps the marmosets. But what has become evident over the past several days is that while I apparently am not a man, it seems equally obvious that I cannot be a woman.

Thus, I remain a man [provisionally] without a gender. I suppose I shall have to find some new pronouns. If anyone out there has some spare pronouns they wouldn’t mind loaning out, let me know.