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aruanBoys and Bras: The Alluring Cocktail of Risky Bliss
There's got to be a deeper meaning behind Hawthorne's 'devil-may-care about my redundancy' regarding the use of the word 'bosom' in a novella about Puritans. And I, being the good student of psychology that I try to be, will choose to blame classically conditioned fixation. Specifically though, I intend to negotiate a much more complex minefield of insecurity, trepidation, and some cause for concern – the brassiere. Despite the generally positive overt consensus, utilizing the Social Psychological perspective with special attention to its Symbolic Interactionism aspect (the theory that holds meaning in/of objects not as inherent but rather as emerging from a process of social interaction), I expect to illustrate that men are in fact intimidated by alternately the bain and saving grace of women everywhere.
First gaining popularity in the form of the corset, a brutal assault on the feminine character by justifying virtue of small waistlines, the modern brassiere came about around 1913. No wonder those loony Victorians were prone to swooning and daintiness! Not only is breathing made exponentially impossible, but to add insult to injury, one's range of movement is limited to raising of the arms and light shuffling of the feet, as any sudden movement was likely to apply that last bit of pressure to the stomach and solar plexus sending the "weak-constituted" creatures into a "fit of the vapors." Wood and whale bone reinforcements indeed. Notch one for ungrounded negative female stereotypes. Ahem. In any event, like with any most thing in my life, I have a healthy bipolar relationship with my bras. Unfortunately, like most women, I haven't much choice or options in alternatives should I seek to refrain from wallowing in the realm of back pain and bad posture. Heck, they're now theorizing that the invention of the bra came about as "a garment initially intended to be healthful and comfortable in replacing the corset," (Farrell-Beck, 2000). And no; while conventional gripe would have it, the bra was not in fact invented by a man – credit goes all to Mary Jacobs, who needed an alternative to binding her flesh painfully that would not show through her new sheer ballgown.
On the whole and in general, men are fans of the brassiere – there's no ardent celebration about being squeezed and pushed into a Miracle Bra from our side, trust that. They're pretty; they're tantalizing; they emphasize a feature men were born with a rooting instinct for. The stipulation here, however, lies in that they're fans of the brassiere -on other women- not their partners. In the crucial moment, a botched attempt at unsecuring the snug (or was that smug?) little garment can result in at best a brief fit of the giggles or worse, breed frustration enough to wreck the mood, sending any and all plans for erotic pleasures right out the window. To invest so much in enhancing their socially-governed ideals of masculinity and masculine prowess only to be defied by a lacy little scrap of material has to be crushing to the self-esteem. Scary notions could arise: maybe I wasn't meant to undress women… maybe I'm just nice window dressing selling empty promises when it comes down to the wire… unsettling prospects all, and especially for a young man new to the world of sexual conquest. I can't quite think of any other comparably daunting object possessed by a woman (excepting the female orgasm since it has come into fashion itself).
However, homeostasis not to be kept at bay and all means fair play in getting the groovy kind of love to justify the ends of maintaining one's security in one's manhood, complex coping mechanisms have developed. And traditionally (as any good movie director will tell you), what do men (not so much women, as most had no cause to be in contest with or fearful of their fathers, thank you Dr. Freud) do when something threatening appears on the horizon? Marginalization becomes the name of the game. The imminent threat to emasculation is neutralized by pouring on the base of objectification – let's recontextualize and reevaluate this otherwise potentially damaging piece of reality into a new role in some over-the-rainbow fantasy. Sexually liberated women? Porn stars and strippers. Higher-paid bosses? Frustrated egomaniacs with badass boytoy cars to make up for their lack of equally ample physical attributes. Brassieres? An article needed to help women carry on in their daily routines while keeping them conveniently bound until some big strong hunk of burning love can set them free and consequently show their pleasure. Hello, 1960's bra-burning protests of feminism, but alas, aging and constitution are on the side of manufacturers. To men, bras, like women, are sexy but only to the point of coyness – once the prospect of sex is at stake, things had better get simple and go with a flow. "The mystery is sexy," one friend attests. But at the relevant time, "just another step in foreplay," a "roadblock" to the real festivities as another described it. And the braless fashion? Most men expressed not excitement but rather concerns about a "saggy boob syndrome" and the tendency of larger size bustlines. Their answers seemed assuring that bras are a good thing, which purely superficially can certainly be construed as genuine care that these are complications to be avoided by means simple enough. In a way, they're advocating the continued dependence of women on brassieres, perpetuating their own necessity and ego-satisfying role, so that the simple eyelet from metal hook technique becomes akin to riding into the jaws of dragons to rescue the fair albeit helpless maiden at the top of the lonely tower. It's kind of funny. Until you've seen the effects of a fumbled attempt on an already shaky-foundationed man. Then it's a long hard road back to the homefront and we all know no spoils go to the singed.
Viewed as a test of skill (read: masculinity) and barrier in lovemaking, the brassiere is a subject of some trepidation among men. First, to keep the offending garment from being directly spiteful to them, objectification helps to make it a woman's necessary evil, in turn making the man the gatekeeper to her ultimate liberation.
(Just don't call them drama queens.)
There's got to be a deeper meaning behind Hawthorne's 'devil-may-care about my redundancy' regarding the use of the word 'bosom' in a novella about Puritans. And I, being the good student of psychology that I try to be, will choose to blame classically conditioned fixation. Specifically though, I intend to negotiate a much more complex minefield of insecurity, trepidation, and some cause for concern – the brassiere. Despite the generally positive overt consensus, utilizing the Social Psychological perspective with special attention to its Symbolic Interactionism aspect (the theory that holds meaning in/of objects not as inherent but rather as emerging from a process of social interaction), I expect to illustrate that men are in fact intimidated by alternately the bain and saving grace of women everywhere.
First gaining popularity in the form of the corset, a brutal assault on the feminine character by justifying virtue of small waistlines, the modern brassiere came about around 1913. No wonder those loony Victorians were prone to swooning and daintiness! Not only is breathing made exponentially impossible, but to add insult to injury, one's range of movement is limited to raising of the arms and light shuffling of the feet, as any sudden movement was likely to apply that last bit of pressure to the stomach and solar plexus sending the "weak-constituted" creatures into a "fit of the vapors." Wood and whale bone reinforcements indeed. Notch one for ungrounded negative female stereotypes. Ahem. In any event, like with any most thing in my life, I have a healthy bipolar relationship with my bras. Unfortunately, like most women, I haven't much choice or options in alternatives should I seek to refrain from wallowing in the realm of back pain and bad posture. Heck, they're now theorizing that the invention of the bra came about as "a garment initially intended to be healthful and comfortable in replacing the corset," (Farrell-Beck, 2000). And no; while conventional gripe would have it, the bra was not in fact invented by a man – credit goes all to Mary Jacobs, who needed an alternative to binding her flesh painfully that would not show through her new sheer ballgown.
On the whole and in general, men are fans of the brassiere – there's no ardent celebration about being squeezed and pushed into a Miracle Bra from our side, trust that. They're pretty; they're tantalizing; they emphasize a feature men were born with a rooting instinct for. The stipulation here, however, lies in that they're fans of the brassiere -on other women- not their partners. In the crucial moment, a botched attempt at unsecuring the snug (or was that smug?) little garment can result in at best a brief fit of the giggles or worse, breed frustration enough to wreck the mood, sending any and all plans for erotic pleasures right out the window. To invest so much in enhancing their socially-governed ideals of masculinity and masculine prowess only to be defied by a lacy little scrap of material has to be crushing to the self-esteem. Scary notions could arise: maybe I wasn't meant to undress women… maybe I'm just nice window dressing selling empty promises when it comes down to the wire… unsettling prospects all, and especially for a young man new to the world of sexual conquest. I can't quite think of any other comparably daunting object possessed by a woman (excepting the female orgasm since it has come into fashion itself).
However, homeostasis not to be kept at bay and all means fair play in getting the groovy kind of love to justify the ends of maintaining one's security in one's manhood, complex coping mechanisms have developed. And traditionally (as any good movie director will tell you), what do men (not so much women, as most had no cause to be in contest with or fearful of their fathers, thank you Dr. Freud) do when something threatening appears on the horizon? Marginalization becomes the name of the game. The imminent threat to emasculation is neutralized by pouring on the base of objectification – let's recontextualize and reevaluate this otherwise potentially damaging piece of reality into a new role in some over-the-rainbow fantasy. Sexually liberated women? Porn stars and strippers. Higher-paid bosses? Frustrated egomaniacs with badass boytoy cars to make up for their lack of equally ample physical attributes. Brassieres? An article needed to help women carry on in their daily routines while keeping them conveniently bound until some big strong hunk of burning love can set them free and consequently show their pleasure. Hello, 1960's bra-burning protests of feminism, but alas, aging and constitution are on the side of manufacturers. To men, bras, like women, are sexy but only to the point of coyness – once the prospect of sex is at stake, things had better get simple and go with a flow. "The mystery is sexy," one friend attests. But at the relevant time, "just another step in foreplay," a "roadblock" to the real festivities as another described it. And the braless fashion? Most men expressed not excitement but rather concerns about a "saggy boob syndrome" and the tendency of larger size bustlines. Their answers seemed assuring that bras are a good thing, which purely superficially can certainly be construed as genuine care that these are complications to be avoided by means simple enough. In a way, they're advocating the continued dependence of women on brassieres, perpetuating their own necessity and ego-satisfying role, so that the simple eyelet from metal hook technique becomes akin to riding into the jaws of dragons to rescue the fair albeit helpless maiden at the top of the lonely tower. It's kind of funny. Until you've seen the effects of a fumbled attempt on an already shaky-foundationed man. Then it's a long hard road back to the homefront and we all know no spoils go to the singed.
Viewed as a test of skill (read: masculinity) and barrier in lovemaking, the brassiere is a subject of some trepidation among men. First, to keep the offending garment from being directly spiteful to them, objectification helps to make it a woman's necessary evil, in turn making the man the gatekeeper to her ultimate liberation.
(Just don't call them drama queens.)
