Violence in Advertising

The article I chose for this post, is not starkly against my argument that sex and advertising has come to an extremely dangerous boiling point, but it does promote the use of our own sex fueled brains to sell products.  The article I chose is actually a chapter out of the book Taking ADvantage You and Me, Babe: Sex and Advertising by Richard F. Taflinger. The chapter describes in detail the deep importance of using sexual imagery in advertising.  That it is one of the easiest ways to capture the human eye in a split second. Because after all advertising is all about the speed in which you draw the potential customer in. The author makes it clear that bringing the sexual aspect of the brain into advertising is a trick old as time and one that is certainly here to stay.

Though this chapter was not specifically promoting violence against women in advertising, I feel it’s quite a slippery slope. Once you begin to depict women as sexual objects, you are dehumanizing them. In turn this engrains in men, and women alike that women are ‘less than.’  The chapter on sex and advertising explains the different ways to appeal to men and women sexually.  It even reiterates that men need dynamic movement, obvious sexuality, to push boundaries.  Where as women prefer subtle images, often with the man portrayed as their ‘saviors.’  I find this concept disturbing, without realizing it, men are being shown images of women who are hyper sexualized, and open for male domination.  Where as women are becoming more and more infatuated with the image of six pack clad adonis’s swooping in to save them.  It seems we have take two steps foreword to be knocked three steps back.

In my paper I argue strongly that violent images in advertising are an extremely disturbing problem.  It is dishearteningly to see that there are entire chapters, in countless books about advertising promoting sexualizing women.  I know that cutting out sex in advertising completely would be impossible. Having said that though I thoroughly hope there will be more restrictions put on companies, forcing limitations on how raunchy ads can be in the future. 

Mid-Term Postin'

For the most part I feel solid about the writing I’ve done for this class.  I already liked writing to begin with which made things much easier.  Yet most of my experiences of writing have been creative writing.  Learning to write a paper in MLA format is an entirely new endeavor, I’m getting there slowly but surely. I guess that’s what happens when you go to a tiny philanthropic art high-school.  I would have to say that out of the two papers I’ve done so far, I like the second one much more.  It was definitely far more challenging then the first.  As Liz said in my conference with her, “writing about yourself is easy, you could write about yourself forever.”  For the second essay I picked to write about Mad Men, and how I feel the show romanticizes womanizing.  I enjoyed looking at the show (one of my personal favorites) from an outsiders perspective.  It was interesting to pick apart the slight nuances and really get into the raw meat of the show.  I’m happy with my grade right now, and I do think that I deserve the A that I’m getting.  I’ve been very diligent with my work and really tried to apply myself to my full capacity.  I also really enjoy the time spent inside the classroom. Both Tuesdays and Thursdays are long days for me, so it’s nice to end the day in such a positive environment.  Class is never dull, there is always a lively discussion.  I love that we have such an eclectic group of people.  Since we’re all so different it really makes for interesting debates, as well as a super fun time!

Snooki

This blog is far more difficult for me than the last.  First off, I don’t have a Facebook, or a Twitter.  I do have an Instagram, but I’ve never really seen the appeal of following celebrities.  So, for this blog since I can pick any celebrity under the sun, I decided to go for one of the most ridiculous choices.  That being said, of course I picked Snooki.  We all know Snooki from her larger then life personality on the reality TV show, The Jersey Shore.  Nowadays however, Snooki is a new mother and soon to be wife, as she constantly reminds her six million Twitter followers.  The shift in people viewing Snooki from an extremely hot mess party girl to a sweet (yet perhaps still slightly misguided) mother, didn’t just happen overnight.  Though Snooki is the reality star everyone loves to hate, she has come leaps in bounds in transforming her image.  Tweets of wild drunken nights on the boardwalk, have been traded in for graphic tweets of breastfeeding her new baby Lorenzo.  Not to say that Snooki has let all of her old self fall the the wayside.  Her Twitter is full of energy upon first sight.  Bright fuchsia, and dramatic cheetah print splash across the screen.  You needn’t scroll down far to get a slap in the face of Snooki’s humor.  Though there are a sprinkling of sickly sweet tweets about her fiance Jionni, and new motherhood, she is for lack of a better term, still quite buck.  Surprisingly her tweets are often quite inspiring.  Snooki is very vocal about standing up for who she is, and refusing to give in to other peoples hateful opinions.  Playfully telling people to ‘stop chugging hatorade’, and calling herself a ‘milf’.  She also promotes loving your body, not needing to change to fit the mold others have made for you.  In my opinion, whether you love Snooki, or hate her, she is undeniably her own woman.  She has come a long way from being punched in bar brawls in seedy clubs in Jersey.  Just read her Twitter and you’ll see, “The breast pump bra is a miracle. Thank you for making it so much easier.” A long way indeed...

Not the happiest childhood memory. But an important one nonetheless.

         The dank smell of the rain from the previous day hung in the air. It invaded my nostrils with the force of a battalion of soldiers.  There were leaves strewn on the ground that gave a satisfying crunch as I tramped across them.  I slowly walked up to the base of the emerald green staircase that led to my front porch.  Waiting for me on the rough wooden swing sat my little sister.  Her cherub-like face showed no emotion, as per usual.  Brown around the pupil, subtly fading to green, her eyes gazed off at an abstract fixed point in space.  I never asked where her mind goes when she stares like that, I don’t need to know.  And I doubt she would tell me anyway.  I walked up the steps deliberately, one by one.  I walked to the swing, sat by my sister, and began to rock back and forth.  With every movement I felt the rush of air, momentum, and freedom come over me.

We sat like this in silence for more then ten minutes.  The only sound was the creaking of the hinges that held the swing to the roof.  Neither of us knew what was coming.  But we knew it was something big.  Bad or good, we couldn’t have had less of a clue.  I heard the car before I saw it.  I din’t turn to watch my mother pull into the spot, park, or turn ofF the engine and slam the door closed.  I still did not look up when I heard her healed cowboy boots click as she climbed all eight stairs to the porch.  “I need to talk to you girls, and what I have to say isn’t easy.” She said.  I had an urge to meet her gaze but resisted.  I didn’t want to see in her eyes what she might say.  I suppose she took our silence as a resignation, a willingness to listen to whatever inevitable horror she was about to relay to us.  The seconds felt like hours as my breath caught inside my rib cage.  My heart seemed to beat twice as fast as I waited for her to spit out what she wanted to say.  In nearly emotionless voice my mother told us,“Mama and I won’t be together anymore, I’ve decided I need to leave and live on my own away from her.”

The words hung in the air as a hanged man dangles from his noose.  I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think.  I felt like I was about to vomit, the bile in my throat threatened to push out of me with as strong a force as Niagara falls.  I heard my sisters voice as If it were coming from a million miles away say, “Where will you stay Mommy?”  Rachel responded, “I have an apartment at Berwyn and Sheridan, I’ve actually been staying there for three months.  I would have told you sooner but I didn’t want to upset you unless I knew it was a permanent decision.  Now I know without a doubt that it is.”  

The world was spinning, the leaves looked too red, or were they orange? All swirling together blending with the grass, the trees seemed to be closing in on me.  Dangling too near to my head for comfort.  Nothing seemed real.  Not only was she leaving us, she already had.  She was a liar, nothing but filth, deceitful by nature.  This was unforgivable, no level of graveling could ever restore my faith in her.  

I balanced myself, grabbed onto one of the old victorian poles of the stair railing, and pulled myself upright.  Without even a glance back in her direction I turned on my heal and darted back into the house.  The loud clank of the front door slamming was my cue.  The tears began to flow and I couldn’t stop them.  I sank down onto the smooth, freshly buffed wooden floor and wept.  It was hours before I finally pealed myself off of the ground.  It was that day that I mad a silent vow to myself.  The vow being, no matter how awful, twisted, or immoral what I have done might be, I will never be deceitful.

First Post!

Though I have always loved to write, tonight marks my very first blogging experience.  I must admit, I find the idea of blogging slightly intimidating.  Plus, I wouldn't really call myself a computer whiz.  It took me twenty minutes and a multitude of advice from my classmate Ben to try and create this blog.  The advice was via text, adding another dimension of confusion.  But in the end I got this puppy up and running.  Blogs in general seem like they could get a bit monotonous.  Millions of people writing lengthy paragraphs about their daily grinds could get old quick I think.  That being said, the one kind of blog that NEVER feels tired to me is the classic cooking blog.  I could scroll through descriptions of food till the cows come home.  Reading a description of how this chef or that chef just made the most delicious chocolate honey comb soufflé? Don't mind if I do!  Clearly food gets me worked up, but who knows, maybe now that I have a blog I'll want to read things that don't involve pork belly, bacon, and chocolate.  Time will tell.