NOW PANIC and FREAK OUT!

Posts tagged rant

I had a rather lively and entertaining discussion with some of my Twitter friends today. Or maybe I should call them my Doctor Who friends. Either way, the discussion today had nothing to do with Doctor Who at all.

It started with a “fashion don’t” article shared by one of my friends. Apart from the usual vitriol for Crocs and leggings, the writer dropped a rather questionable line: I don’t want to sound preachy here, but if you respect yourself, you will stay away from skin-revealing clothes. 

We could chalk it up to the writer’s weakness (in this case, writing), or her inability to express herself properly (again, writing). I could try to be kind, but I’m not in the mood. Also, I’m pretty much a bitch 24/7, so there’s that.

First things first. I judge you by the way you dress.

That is true. We all judge each other by the way we look. I can’t look at you and say, “that person has a kind heart”, because there’s no way I could tell without getting to know you extensively first. 

Honestly, I don’t have the time for that.

So yes, I judge you by the way you dress, the way you carry yourself, the way you slouch, the way you talk, even the way you chew. 

If you dress like a whore, by all means I will assume you are a whore. 

But that’s exactly the point.

To assume, as we all know, is to make an ass of you and me. 

Just because I assume it, doesn’t mean you “become” it. Of course, you can choose not to look like a whore, but that’s your thing, not mine. 

I have the right to judge you, but you also have the right to judge me back (or ignore my judgment and just walk around like a Lady Gaga in training gleefully). Because honestly, my opinion doesn’t have to mean anything to you. I certainly don’t care about yours. (Also, this is why I look like a hobo most of the time.)

The problem is that the writer says this explicitly: if you respect yourself, you will stay away from skin-revealing clothes.

Definitions are in order. What is skin-revealing? Anything that reveals skin is automatically skin-revealing. A burqa reveals the eyes! Gasp! How undignified of these women to walk around with skin-revealing clothes.

The point is that the writer assumes a person who wears skimpy clothing is simply raring to have herself ravished by male eyes. Men will talk behind her back, make awful cat calls and possibly even harass her. 

The thing, though, is that experience has taught me many many times that even a potato sack cannot save you from cat calls. You can look like Maria Clara and men will hoot and make lewd remarks, like it or not.

Know why?

Because these men (not all men, of course) are animals. They live to hoot and shout and harass. They like it. They do it not because they find you pretty or sexy. They do it because fuck everything else, they can. That’s as simple as it gets. 

Enough of this “you were wearing skimpy, whorish clothing, hence you were victimised” talk.

True. You dress like a slut, I’ll assume you’re a slut.

But even sluts have the right to say no. 

No one is asking for it. No one deserves sexual innuendoes, or harassment, or rape. 

As judgmental as I may be, I’d be the first to back sluts up on this one. 

I don’t know when it started, exactly.

Maybe it’s been around for years.

I notice this mostly in Asian films and television shows, although I suppose the spate of Judd Apatow movies falls into this trope. 

I’m talking about the rise of the loveable loser.

Not the bumbling but well-meaning and divertingly charming nerd characters currently cornered by the Cera-Eisenberg Cartel. I’m talking about characters so stupid you’d think their parents were The Three Stooges and lobotomy.

I first noticed this in Sailor Moon. Yes, the cartoon. I never finished the show, actually. I was far too old for it by the time the fucking Sailor Stars came around. The point, though, is that of all the Sailor People with their mystical powers and magic tricks and bouncy hair, it was stupid, bumbling and definitely unappealing Usagi who was the leader. 

Think back to all the recent shows you’ve seen, especially the ones from East Asia. It Started with a Kiss is particularly notorious. Stupid girl somehow manages to bumble her way into Genius Guy’s life. 

All it takes is pluck.

Seriously, it used to be that loveable losers were just that. Losers. Yeah, they’re okay, I guess, but only as sidekicks. This is why Duckie lost the girl. Andrew McCarthy has perfect hair and a nice smile, and though he doesn’t have a Smiths moping montage, he does make up for it with his puppy dog eyes. 

But our television is filled with Duckies now. Filled with girls who don’t have brains or beauty, but loads and loads of pluck.

I’ve also noticed that local shows tend to cast the villain as “sophisticated”. You like art? Que horror. You’re positively Rickmanian.

The bida is always someone who’s clumsy, unwieldy, prone to falling and embarrassing herself in front of — preferably — huge crowds. The kontrabida is someone who is so boring she actually finds time to read and visit museums. You bastard.

It might be a reflection of our need to turn every poor person into a variation of Robin Padilla’s movie characters. It’s a desire to make the good guys “just like us”, I suppose, since we can’t all be sophisticated and perfectly coiffed at all times like Cherie Gil can. If we can’t be them, let’s bash them.

But think back. Remember those years long before, when the heroine was not just brave, but also beautiful and graceful? Sharon Cuneta, Vilma Santos? Vilma, even when playing a whore, loses none of her natural charm and dignity. 

And then there’s Sarah Geronimo, who falls flat on her face a few times in her movies, just so we can laugh, warm the cockles of our collective heart and think back to how we are just like her.*

*We are so fucking not.  

A lot of people in this country like to say that they’re nationalistic.

When you ask them if they’d rather be patriotic, you get a scoff, something of a smirk, and a condescending “well isn’t that the same thing?”

No sweetheart, it definitely isn’t.

Benedict Anderson in his “Imagine Communities” defined the concept of “nation” as a community based on shared history, tradition or race, among other possible factors that may influence a sense of belonging.

It is not a legal entity, in the same way that a country is.

Its boundaries are flexible and impossible to define, possibly spanning continents.

It is — most important of all — imagined.

This is why Koreans will continue to believe that they are one nation, despite the fact that the Korean War is technically just suspended but officially still on-going. This is why Koreans will leave no stone unturned working to re-establish the peninsula as one country, antics of Kim Jong Il notwithstanding.

Jolly well and good, seemingly, but what happens when the basis for this shared community is weak and fleeting?

Therein lies the rub.

For everyone in this country is Bisaya first, Tsinoy first, Ilokano first. Everyone in this country is Atenista first, Lasalista first, Tomasino first. We are Kapamilya first, Kapuso first, Kapatid first.

The problem with our nationalism is that it lies squarely on reasons so very tenuous that the briefest challenge can render it asunder.

Internationally recognized achievements seem to be the bar upon which we currently peg our nationalist fervor. Manny Pacquiao, Charice Pempengco, as well as random successful people who may or may not have 0.0001 chance of Filipino blood inspire loud cries of “Proud to be Pinoy” with their every achievement.

Ah, but the flip side exists.

The moment some poor Pinoy sap commits something shameful, these “Proud” Filipinos disappear in the blink of an eye. Kabayan? We’re having none of that.

I cannot tell you how many “thank god I have a *insert foreign country here* passport” status updates appeared in Facebook after the hostage-taking clusterfuck at the Quirino Grandstand.

But apart from this, I suppose there is another basis for our nationalism: the so-called victim mentality.

We are a poor country, hence we are often trampled and tread upon. Boohoo.

Our default response to the (then) impending execution of three convicted drug couriers: maawa kayo. Have mercy.

Ignore the law. Ignore their crimes. They are Filipinos, they are poor and they are deserving of pity.

Essentially: we are deserving of pity.

This constant notion of victim-hood rears its head every so often, with disparaging remarks from foreign television shows, comedians, writers etc garnering incensed responses and calls for boycotts, protests, and congressional inquiry.

But none of these help us become better citizens striving for the improvement of our country.

Nationalism, though imagined, can be useful. It allows people to find unity and strength in their community, giving them the inspiration to work together for mutual betterment.

Our nationalism consists of incendiary tweets, blog posts, protests, rallies and demands for public apology. We then congratulate ourselves, basking in our nationalistic fervor, not realizing that all we’ve done is raise a ruckus over things that are honestly fucking pointless.

Our nationalism does not inspire us to be law-abiding citizens, or helpful members of society. It distracts us from our true responsibilities as people of this country. It allows us to congratulate ourselves every time some kind of online protest goes viral, or when our drama hits the news and foreigners are forced to offer us a halfhearted apology to soothe our wounded amor propio.

It prevents us from going further, from recognizing that superficial acts to prove one’s nationalism are little more than cute little pieces in a circle-jerk of sisyphean proportions.

You want to wear clothes with the Philippine map or the famous three-stars-and-a-sun emblem on them? You want to protest every perceived slight against us? You wear some baller band to show off your nationalism?

Fine.

But please, do not expect us to believe that you are a better Filipino for it.