Some Notes/Comments On Philippine Super-Models
05-22-09
I read a lot of local newspapers and magazines since it’s usually the only thing most people have in their living rooms where I wait for people to shower, dress up, that sort of thing. Most of it’s dreadful, of course. For the usual reasons: intellectually and spiritually uninteresting topics, deadened prose, nonexistent viewpoints, etc. What makes it all worthwhile for me though, is the standard interview with some random model-type person, who is always female (because not even a not-at-all ‘masculine’ and non-homophobic Reader like me can slog through male model interviews― there are limits to gender-security). I have read maybe four hundred of these journalistic masterworks in the past few months and there seems to be a trend inherent to them: the first thing they always say (or have the interview say for them in the obligatory boring introductory paragraphs) is that they are not your Typical Model. No, they will declare, they are not another Dumb And Shiftless Beautiful Person. Some of them even go as far as to tell you their ‘consistent dean’s list’ level GPAs (which proves just how easy it is to state something without any proof and immediately have it part of pop consciousness).
The strange thing is that this whole phenomenon about not being a Typical Model and supposedly, having beauty and brains, has become more of a cliché than what they’ve been subverting.
So okay: according to these interviews, models are smart enough, if not smarter than most of us. Take Rissa Samson for example. She had a spread for FHM magazine a two years ago and was asked, in the interview, what took her so long to accept their offer. She said (without batting a perfectly-curved eyelash, I suppose) that she didn’t want ‘men jacking off to (her) picture,’ and slid in an encouraging aside for all men to leave their superficial realms of existence and ‘stay up all night thinking of ways to arouse (her) mind.’
Salient question: what the fuck did she mean by that?
Oh, right― I’d have to ‘stay up all night’ to figure out what that meant. Remarkable profundity there; just the kind of thing one might expect from the president of the Professional Models Association of the Philippines. You really can do tell that they all do heavy work, since they have a union. (God forbid these people be paid less than they deserve!)
They are just so smart. And cultured, too: they read all the right books at the right time (right now I guess it’s the Unholy Triumvirate of Albom, Brown, and Coelho― perfect for people just getting around to learning their ABC’s), and take great care to mention some trivial book on New Age or Zen concepts which has helped or enriched their lives in some weird, inchoate way, which, they nonchalantly reveal after all the gratuitous hyperbole, remains as of yet unfinished. Seems every model has one of those today.
Most of them try to look as dorky as possible, to complement― by design of course, as with everything― the fact that they are, without a doubt, extremely hot. They tousle their hair haphazardly, carry books around upside-down while sipping on a refreshing gooseberry-infused green tea frappe with a lemon slice wedge. Some even go as far as to wear glasses with thick plastic frames. And sure, maybe it would be nice to think that these models admit to being the ‘biggest dorks in the world’ (or some other lame echo of that phrase) simply to be true to who they really are beneath all that physical perfection. Guess what, world: they’re absolute geeks― it just so happens they look really really good doing it!
But of course that would be stupid.
I’ve thought about this for an inordinate amount of time (I honestly took up Rissa Samson’s advice and ‘stayed up all night’): why would these models downplay their tangible beauty to emphasize the quality of their brains (the only body part I personally― and most others it would seem― never felt the need to actually see)?
Then it struck me. Models want everything. They say that no, they aren’t all that physically attractive, and that they are ‘dorks at heart.’ They invite you to watch them read thick books with like, no pictures in them whatsoever and drops an occasional six-letter word. You assume that they are smart; you see that they are hot. Two birds with one perfectly chiseled stone.
(This is where it becomes clear just how entrenched I am in the whole Scene.)
Borgy Manotoc, for example: he is a model that most people in our country think of as somewhat intelligent, and magazines constantly tell us his lineage as if that were something that should impress anyone who has ever gone through a Philippine History course or even just cracked open a book in the last twenty years. Okay― let’s go with popular opinion and not question his attractiveness or sex appeal or whatever they call what he has. But does he have to be smart, too?
Interviews never explicitly come out and pronounce his intelligence, but they do so implicitly by bringing up the fact that he studies at some Fashion Institute in some nondescript European city and came from the International School of Manila (cue for girlish squeals). But really now. All those schools will accept anyone dumb enough to plunk the cash required for their irrationally expensive fees. I cannot see any reason why he― or anyone with a trust fund culled from um, dubious means― should be thought of as anything approaching smart just because he went to fashion school. Does this mean I have to applaud any shiftless rich kid who can afford to live abroad and study what comes naturally to its greatest practitioners? And please don’t tell me how mentally exhausting it is to know what colors go with a red and yellow plaid print, because I already know.
Then there’s the whole thing models reiterate when it comes to the inevitable What Kind Of Guy Would Catch Your Attention questions: that the most appealing thing in a ‘guy’ is a ‘wonderful sense of humor.’ Shouldn’t we have gotten past all this nonsense by this time already? We of course know this to be totally false, right? If you aren’t convinced, try walking up to Nicolette Bell (or whoever you want― the secret to their existence is that they’re basically interchangeable!) and tell her a very funny joke (if you don’t have one, lift one from a really funny standup comic so you know that it isn’t not-funny) and watch what happens. (Also, please tell me when and where you plan to do this because I always need a good laugh.) Here’s a clue: the male models accompanying them will hit you again and again with their beautifully shaped arms and legs. (Or just laugh derisively, whatever hurts you more.)
I mean, I hope this isn’t true. That’s all I’m saying. Because if it is― by the very fact that most of these models date other models― then they take everything. They aren’t just physically attractive; they’re also smart and fucking hilarious as well. What then becomes of us?
If we are to swallow the bullshit these models try to pass of as Absolute Fact and really believe that all of them aren’t typical (which makes the word meaningless by the way), it would be hard to imagine a divergent view of models other than this Master Race of Beautiful People we have now. In the end, it doesn’t even matter if what I’ve said here is true in any way. The thing that bothers me― and should bother you too― is that if these people are really all that, there is nothing left for the rest of us. The chestnut about nobody being perfect basically disappears. Though room does exist for some wiggling re: the definition of ‘perfect,’ e.g. a good-looking, smart, and funny person may be snobbish or condescending, the three of them together obliterates the possibility of someone not being seen as ‘perfect’ or at least ‘supremely desirable,’ and any dints in the armor is passed off as charming little quirks.
This is the conundrum peculiar to countries with histories of foreign occupation. At least in the West, the Beautiful People never try to be more than beautiful. The classic model paradigm holds: (indulge me in a clichéd formulation) most of them are young, dumb, and practically frothing over with cum (plus gorgeous). But in our country, where the standard of beauty is unreal― near ethereal― in its stringent requirements of whiteness of skin (and the pink-ness of certain body parts that must follow logically), perilously leaning curves, and an ambiguous American accent when speaking― the sum of which is impossible to find in your local barrio― and you see where all this stems. It comes from our conception of Beauty. The women who we will find beautiful enough to be local supermodels will mostly be of some kind of foreign ancestry. The very same people with enough money (and enough élan and joie de vivre!) to study in what we think are good schools and go to universities created specially for them (and the odd nouveau riche kid from the province who want to fit in and be fabulous). It’s just so stupid.
I guess what I’m trying to say is this: it’s just unfair.
It’s unfair that these people who have more beauty in their icky places than I would wager to have in my whole body would dare step into the only places I have left. I am smart and I am funny (and a really good listener too!) but I’m not extremely good-looking. (I mean, I wouldn’t call myself ugly; but no one has ever did a double-take on me, positively or negatively.) I have accepted that fact: that it is not in my fate to be that kind of person. What hurts is that a person with the level of physical attractiveness I (and most others like me) would probably desire (not really desire per se― just that it wouldn’t hurt to have it, you know) and they’re trying to be like me (or us). I am being totally serious. This isn’t fair. Why can’t these people simply be beautiful? Isn’t it enough?
These models.
They keep going on and on about how they aren’t typical. Where are these Typical Models? Those are the people I want to see featured in magazines, and show me just how pretty they are and how smart I am. I want a model to say without a glint in her perpetually dewy eyes, ‘I am a fabulous Local Supermodel. I am rich and dumb and sexually promiscuous. But who cares? I am hot as fuck.’
Please?
