Scrapping The Old You: Make-over Time!!! (*girly squeal*)

As I sit on the couch for the seventh straight hour while eating an implausible amount of frozen French fries, my hang-over draws me into a familiar series of thoughts: “I am such a fat cow. Why do I spend every Sunday like this? Next week will be different. Next week I will start jogging.” This thought pattern repeats itself every week. Never is it more pronounced than on New Year’s morning, when I make the customary pledge to drink less, eat less and exercise more. Besides post-breakup periods, January is the most popular time of year for this urge towards self-transformation. And if there’s anything I’ve learned from TLC, it’s that a make-over can solve all my problems.

There is something incredibly satisfying about an ugly duckling story. With the current onslaught of makeover shows on television, I am never left wanting. My personal favorite is What Not To Wear, a show that stars two bitchy yet loveable fashionistas, Stacy and Clinton, who go across to the country in order to tell people that they look like shit. They secretly film their poorly dressed victims and proceed to air these images on television.

After their standard breakdowns, the sloppy subjects go to New York City where they shop ‘til they drop and eventually see the light at end of their unstylish tunnels by following a series of rules that Stacey and Clinton have created for them. In the end, they always look fabulous with a new wardrobe, new hair, new make-up and, of course, a new lease on life. The transformation is inevitably heart-warming, and I’ll admit that I’ve cried a number of times as the newly formed hottie reunites with her (jealous) friends and (horny) husband at the end of the show. These magical moments make me believe that change is possible (if only I had the right make-up brush).

The creepy part about What Not To Wear is the uncanny way that the fashion rules can get into your head. I often find myself watching strangers in public places while running a Stacey and Clinton dialogue in my head: “Oh god! Look at those jeans! It looks like she has absolutely no ass at all!” I watch and I judge. I also imagine myself being secretly video taped every time I leave the house. Once, I stopped myself from walking the dog in my jogging pants (when is there ever a more appropriate time to wear jogging pants?!) because I could imagine how the secret footage might look. Stacey and Clinton have seeped into my unconscious. I monitor my clothing decisions based on the feeling that someone is watching me and judging my ass. This is the panopticon at its finest; Foucault would have such a hard-on.

The obvious popularity of these types of shows makes me question the nature of this contemporary fascination with self-transformation. The makeover craze is not gender neutral. Although men are aware of their appearances more than ever before, women continue to be the prime subjects of these makeover stories. The beauty industry supports this desire for physical change by teaching women that they are perpetually flawed, but that everything is fixable.

 Women pay huge sums of money to remove their fat, rip out their body hair, eliminate their wrinkles, plug their holes and smooth their surfaces, all in an effort to make the female body as glossy and flawless as possible. Celebrity magazines reinforce the unhealthy tendency to hyper-scrutinize other women’s bodies and as a result, to hyper-scrutinize ourselves. Covers are often filled with close-up images of stars’ cellulite in a demonstration of disgust. Sweat stains and excess cleavage are also the subject of close examination and distaste. Male bodies are simply not monitored in the same manner. In this way, women learn that an unruly body is an undesirable one.

Nothing baffles people more than a fat woman who doesn’t feel bad about herself. The rule is that if you’re fat, you should be making an effort to lose weight. Television programs like The Biggest Loser and X-Weighted fulfill our desire to see this out-of-control flesh tighten up and become less offensive. Personal trainers with the personalities of fascist dictators whip participants into shape.

We come to understand that hard work and determination will always save the day. It’s the capitalist work ethic in action! We also learn that if you want to have the desired body, you must maintain a tight control over every calorie that enters your mouth. This is the part that infuriates me, because let’s face it, a world without beer and nachos is not a world I want to live in. It is no longer about just looking good. It becomes a lifestyle choice. Either you live your life calculating the risk of a chocolate chip cookie, or you live your life with pleasure and love handles.

Amongst women, eating disorders are now the norm. I know more girls who have them than don’t. It is a depressing (and incredibly boring) state of affairs. The popular obsession with slenderness goes a long way to control female behavior. Anorexics just don’t do good keg stands and, realistically, who wants to hang out with someone who can’t give ‘er once in a while? So, as possibilities for New Year’s resolutions go through my head – no more cheese, no more beer, no carbs after 8:00pm, etc. etc. – I have sadly come to the realization that I am not really makeover material.

I will never get to have that dramatic reunion with friends and family in a hot cocktail dress because I’m not willing to sacrifice my jogging pants to the gods of good taste. And sacrifice is what seems to be the necessary component of any good makeover story. I’d have to make some hard choices if I was going to get on the size two bandwagon. But in the end, if I had to choose, I guess I’d quit beer before I’d quit cheese. Because at least cheese doesn’t make me want to sleep with strangers.

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