“Beats are supposed to be cool, but who knows what
that means? I can only tell you what it’s not.” –Ruby Tabeata, The Beat on Ruby’s Street
What does your daughter see when she looks in the
mirror? What about your son? The American obsession with looks has been given
the seal of approval by an ad nauseum number of studies that tell us appearance
matters. (Breaking news! This just in.)
Sure, it matters. But what kind of appearance and
who makes up the rules? When I was twelve I was obsessed with fashion
magazines, trying desperately to look like someone I never would or could.
Fashion models had tiny hips (if any), the straightest noses imaginable,
perfectly flawless faces and tight, fat-free skin that barely covered bone.
Still, somewhere in my consciousness, is the
nagging reminder of how much I failed to achieve this ideal. Yet, somehow, I
had no shortage of what used to be called “suitors,” and a pretty respectable
number of adventurous, romantic relationships (not to mention two marriages,
the second of which continues to make me extraordinarily happy).
I don’t know exactly how this happened, but I do
know that at some point I began to think differently about appearances. My
thinking coincided with seeing a clip of Rickie Lee Jones performing two or
three of her most iconic songs. I wanted to listen to her, but at the same time
I couldn’t stop watching her. And I didn’t even know why.
Rickie Lee didn’t look like other rock star ladies.
She doesn’t glitter or preen. She smiles a lot, and she doesn’t look past her
audience; she looks at them and
connects. She’s never dressed to show off her body and though her actual
features are symmetrically beautiful, that’s not why you’re looking at her.
You’re looking because she’s cool. Somewhere,
someone called her the duchess
of cool and it stuck like glue, because that’s who she is. A few nights
back I had the good luck to catch one of her shows, and she was even better
than she always was. And I couldn’t’ help but notice that while lots of rock
stars (men included) are getting their faces pulled tight as drums, Rickie hasn’t gone in for
plastic surgery.
Bravo, Rickie, for your beauty and your artistry
and for continuing to write the songs you want to write, despite whether anyone
decides how “marketable” they are. They are songs that stop us in our tracks and
stay in our heads for years, and more importantly, our hearts. They tell us to
stop looking in the mirror to judge ourselves. They tell us joy matters, even
though life is hard.
They tell us to stop worrying about being pretty,
because we are already. They show us how to be cool, but not in some dumb magazine-ish
way. They inspired me when I started writing about a twelve year old girl
growing up in the middle of the Beat Generation. She tells us what she knows:
it’s not cool to care about how you
look. Her mother says pretty fades, but cool is forever. Rickie Lee is a
testament to that.
So the next time your son or daughter says she doesn't like what she sees in the
mirror, take them over to YouTube and introduce them to Rickie Lee Jones. Talk about the difference between looking cool and looking pretty. And oh,
yeah— throw out those fashion magazines.
For some cool articles about tweens and body image,
I would check out a ton of articles by Galit Breen, but certainly this one:
“What
Your Tween Sees in the Mirror” – Scholastic.com
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