What Not to Watch
Lately, I’ve felt a lot dumber than usual. I don’t claim to be particularly brilliant, but usually I can muster enough mental energy to pass for someone with actual thoughts, or rather thoughts that extend into some sort of sphere of respected intelligence. Therefore, I know that my cognitive abilities are seriously malfunctioning when I take immense pleasure in discovering that What Not to Wear will be on for the next four hours on a Sunday afternoon. My usual response is to pump my fist in the air a la lil’ Mac Culkin when he’s home alone and kicking burglar ass. Yeeesss!
I’ve found solace within the snarky company of Clinton and Stacy, hosts of TLC’s makeover program intended to make less-fashionable folk feel incredibly ugly, lazy, and all-around pathetic for not knowing how to wear a wide-leg trouser or a fitted jacket in order to de-emphasize those very, very prominent “problem areas”. Ick, their sartorial rules have been so thoroughly inculcated into my brain.
I don’t even approve of their sense of style, which is corporate-oriented, conservative and based entirely around neutral pieces from overpriced swindlers that operate as high-end boutiques and department stores. I vehemently disagree with every aesthetic decision made on the show and yet the idea of a What Not to Wear marathon makes me giddy and lightheaded. So, then what explains this grotesque fascination?
I wish that, after parsing my strange attachment to this program, I could say it has to do with schadenfreude or my latent anxieties about change or evolving. But the truth is I embrace change but sympathize with the sad sacks on this show who are uncomfortable in their own skin but comfortable in stained sweatpants and shrunken baby-tees. I want to defend them against Clinton and Stacy’s nasty repartee and fashion know-how and salvage all their fashion blunders from the TLC garbage pit of humilation. I want to do this because deep down, or rather on the surface, I am Clinton or Stacy. I’d prefer to be Clinton as he seems slightly more benevolent than his Cruella-esque sidekick.
I might not be a fan of the walking short or consider a “pretty cami” to be the foundation of one’s look, but I do love shopping. I love buying pretty, stylish items. I love combining these items and making outfits. I love color and texture and shoes and accessories. I believe in the possibilities offered by one’s appearance and I think this is at the root at both my self-loathing and my love for this show. I use the show to punish myself for my superficial desires. Instead of buying a shiny new pair of spring heels, I’ll watch Stacy sink her derisive fangs into someone’s modest wardrobe and rip it and its owner to shreds. Instead of lusting after some outrageously priced designer frock, I’ll watch Clinton mock a harried single mother for her footwear choices.
What Not to Wear is self-flaggelation for the fashion-savvy.
Here’s C & S talking about something “important”: Necklines and collars