"Men Seldom Make Passes, At Girls Who Wear Glasses"

The makeover reality show (reality makeover show?) Plain Jane is something that flew under my radar a little bit when I first caught the opening episode earlier this year. There were several things about it that bugged me, but I wasn't able to fully articulate them until now, when I managed to sit through two or three episodes of the second season (who keeps renewing all the shit shows anyway?).

To put things in context ; each week, British fashion expert and self-professed "fairy godmother"Louise Roe takes one average-looking, socially awkward young woman in her early twenties, and gives her a head-to-toe, inside-to-outside makeover. At the end of the show, the no-longer-so-Plain Jane is put into heels and a tight dress, and sent tottering down a dramatic staircase to confess her love to the guy she's been secretly pining over for years.


1. Being a "plain" girl is bad.

First of all, here's just one example of what this show considers to be an unattractive woman.

Right.

These girls, to me, look and are perfectly fine. Sure, they could all use some polish here and there, but the show takes it several steps further. The girls are made out to be walking fashion disasters, completely socially inept, and general failures at being women at all. It's patronising and insulting, and for a show meant to be empowering and feel-good, it does exactly what everything else in mainstream media already does for women ; it emphasizes a certain beauty ideal and constantly reminds you of how inadequate you are until and unless you change the way you look so drastically that cute boys will finally want to actually speak to you, let alone have voluntary sexy timez with you.

Second of all, it's really striking to note how there really isn't a male equivalent for the term Plain Jane. It seems to be in a category of derogatory words apparently created exclusively for women (slut, spinster, bitter old cat lady) that somehow don't apply to men. As my Gender & Sexuality lecturer is all too fond of saying ; "That is really something you need to think about".


2. Being a true woman means you need to like makeup, cute shoes, and doing your hair.

No plaid shirts, sweats, ponytails or comfortable shoes for you, young lady. Nope. Because what will people (read : your super cute crush) think?? Not at all - you must be an expert at slathering three different kinds of foundation on your face, you must sashay down sidewalks like a goddess in strappy high heels, you must have impeccable hair. Do you enjoy playing football, eating pizza with your fingers, conducting scientific experiments, and reading lots of books? Well aren't you the tomboy. All that will have to change, or at least be tucked away long enough for your crush to not notice. Plain Jane is here to help you embrace your womanity and turn you into A REAL GIRL dammit.


3. Flirting is the most important life skill you will ever learn.

Or at least, that's what the people over at Plain Jane will have you know. There is a segment of the show devoted to teaching our Jane how to flirt properly ; how to be coy, how to giggle, how to keep the conversation "light and fun". She is usually set up at a restaurant or a park, with a string of fine young gentlemen she is meant to impress within a certain time limit. Which leads me very nicely into :


4. Electrocution is TOTALLY ACCEPTABLE in the noble mission of imparting the art of flirtation to sad, lonely, desperate plain women.

I'm not even kidding. The girls on this show are fitted with a device that will administer a mild electric shock (but still an electric shock) if they do anything wrong during their crash course in Flirting 101. The fairy godmother hostess Louise Roe ensconces herself nearby, out of sight, armed with a hidden camera and advice from an expert in body language or psychology, and presses the electrocution button at any sign of bad flirtation behaviour. These transgressions include everything from laughing too loudly (how unladylike), being "goofy" or "dorky" (oh god forbid) or asking the guy what he does for a living and whether he enjoys it (so unsexy).


5. It is completely appropriate to stalk your crush when Louise Roe makes you do it.

Here's the thing ; the crush in question is usually someone the girl already knows, and is pretty good friends with. So the unrequited loving is not a case of admiring the dude from a tortured, pining distance, while he goes on with his life without a clue that our Plain Jane even exists. He knows her, and clearly likes her enough to be her friend and hang out and stuff.

Which makes it that much creepier when Louise Roe insists that "I simply must have a look at this crush of yours!" and immediately employs all sorts of inappropriate fairy godmother ninja moves, like stalking him at the park from inside a large black SUV with tinted windows. Or skulking around shelves at the campus library, trying to get a glimpse of him through stacks of dusty books. The crush is oblivious, and carries on drinking his coffee or perusing his astrophysics textbook or tossing his Frisbee around (this is not a euphemism for...anything). And as our Plain Jane candidate gets ever more nervous and flustered, Louise Roe is all like "Why are you freaking out?" and I'm like BECAUSE YOU'RE MAKING HER ACT LIKE EVERY BAD GUY IN EVERY SPY MOVIE EVER. And also like Edward Cullen.


6. Going skydiving (once) will give you self-confidence.

Plain Jane isn't all about external beauty. Nope. Once per episode it tries really hard to pretend that it also cares about other things, like how our Jane might be afraid of taking risks, resists change, finds it difficult being spontaneous, or is afraid of snails. The prescribed cure is usually one round of some sort of extreme activity which involves jumping out of a plane in mid-air, or variations thereof. And voila! Self-esteem!

Okay.

The only good thing I can say about this stage of the makeover is that it's the closest the show ever comes to acknowledging the women's own personality or interests. The rest of the time, Plain Jane is just too busy glamming these girls up to really care.


7. Getting the guy at the end.

And therein lies my biggest problem with this show - the ultimate prize, the final goal, the greatest incentive to go through with the entire makeover process, is the promise of True Love at the end of it all. Louise Roe can yammer on all she wants about how it's not just about the guy; the fact is that the show is packaged that way. Every stage of the makeover is somehow designed with "What will Ty/Benny/Matt/etc. think?" in mind. It's real life packaged as a romantic comedy - awkward geeky girl in glasses, handsome and seemingly unattainable love interest, makeover montage with the help of an impossibly glamorous fashion fairy, all sorts of slapstick shenanigans courtesy of our heroine's inherent clumsiness/social awkwardness, culminating in a romantic fantasy of transforming into a beautiful, stylish, confident and desirable woman who will finally clinch the affections of the long-time crush.


The one redeeming quality of this show is most definitely the Plain Jane girls themselves. All of them seem sweet, genuine, goofy, funny, smart, and the kind of people I wouldn't mind hanging out with at all. None of them come across as fame-hungry young things jonesing for their 15 minutes in the spotlight. They seem to really want the help they've asked for, and there is not a whiff of pretentiousness to be found anywhere. And in a reality TV climate so full of rich, entitled, vapid, stupid people becoming famous for no reason at all, this is refreshing indeed.

Here's an entire episode of Plain Jane condensed down into three and a half minutes, so you can experience it for yourselves, and also witness Louise Roe's incredibly frightening, spindly, insect limbs of evil.

It's Just A Life Story, So There's No Climax/ No More New Territory, So Put Away The IMAX

I turn 21 in a couple of days, and I'm still waiting to see if it's going to feel particularly milestone-y. I know for a fact that it will not be a night of drunken debauchery ; I will be in classes from 8am to 6pm, followed by a pizza dinner with the family back home. But who knows, if I'm feeling really wild, I might toss in an all-night Supernatural marathon. I'm such a crazy kid, you guys!

"These are the best years of your life, appreciate them while you still can" is something I've been hearing a lot lately, and though I understand the sentiment, I hope like hell it isn't true. Sure, I see where the philosophy comes from ; we are technically adults, but without any actual adult responsibilities just yet. Not much responsibility beyond getting to classes on time, remembering to feed yourself, and writing an essay or two. And maybe showering twice a week. This is when we're meant to make mistakes, try insane new things, learn to do all the chores we never bothered doing properly at home (and somehow still get it all wrong), and stay up till six in the morning reading slash fan fiction just because we bloody well can.

But here's the thing - I sincerely do not want my university years to be the best times I will ever have. I'm having fun, but if my life is really going to peak by the time I'm 24? That's just depressing. If all goes well, I have decades and decades of time left, and there are plenty of things to see and do and experience and learn as I get older. Seriously (certain) adults, stop insinuating that every year of my life, post-graduation, is going to be some long downhill slog into the realms of existential despair, regret, bitterness and resentment. I'm still trying to get used to the fact that there is no longer the need to say "____teen" when telling anyone how old I am.



Let me just add that as I was discussing these matters of life and growing up with Sue Fyenn some weeks ago, this Okkervil River song (containing the lyrics which make up the title of this post) immediately started playing on the good old shuffle playlist. Way to get me down. iTunes is such a troll sometimes.


Rugbying Update :Today was the final of the rugby World Cup, and New Zealand won, just like I wanted them to. It's only the second time they have clinched the trophy in nearly 25 years, and a well-deserved victory it was.


CONFETTI! FLAMES! EVERYONE GET IN MY BED!

New Zealand, I congratulate you on this tremendous achievement. I congratulate you on your discipline, persistence, sportsmanship, heart, athleticism and courage. I also congratulate you on having the highest concentration of players I really want to bone, out of any rugby team on the planet. Especially Dan Carter.



Um dude, seriously. Get off that bench, take the rest of your clothes off, call your extremely sexually attractive friends over, and bring the exotic oils. It's fun time, mofo.

I should also mention that their opponents, France, put up a highly commendable fight (and actually probably deserved to win on the day) and also introduced to me Francois Trinh-Duc. He is very pretty, in that really French way, if you know what I mean. He is very good at kicking rugby balls, and sometimes also running with the ball. He is extra good at looking pretty while running and/or kicking a rugby ball.


That's Francois on the right. I don't know who those two guys in the other frame are, or if they are on the French rugby team, but they are tres chic and I like their man-bags and their fashionable nonchalance.

Francois is also of Vietnamese heritage, which is something the ESPN commentators kept mentioning throughout the game. It's all nice and interesting, but after a while I just got the impression that ESPN thought we were obligated to love the guy on principle, because HE IS ASIAN AND EXOTIC JUST LIKE US. I facepalm at you, ESPN. Also, I do like Francoise Trinh-Duc, but not because of his ethnic heritage ; I like him because he is so goddamned pretty, 25% South-East Asian blood or not. So there.

A Guide To The 2011 Rugby World Cup : For N00bs, by a N00b.

I initially thought it would not be ideal to have two sports-related posts so close together, but as the Rugby World Cup is moving on to the business end of the tournament (quarter-final fixtures await us this weekend, and I am actually quite excited about it), I thought now would be a good time to share some of the knowledge I have gathered over the last two weekends or so of incessant rugbying. Sit back and prepare to be enlightened.

1. Basic rules of rugbying.

Rugby rules are insanely complicated, detailed and full of technicalities, so I'm just sticking with the very basic principles of the game which I've managed to pick up so far.

Players


15 players from each team take to the pitch, with substitutions taking place as needed, with little or no fuss. But because everyone is so bloody huge, it looks like there are about 70 of them running around, and it is very scary. There are also extremely weird playing positions like scrum half, loose head prop and someone called a hooker. Don't worry, his job is just to hook balls during scrums. Which actually sounds a lot dirtier than it is.


Passing
These guys must then pass the rugby ball to each other, while either totally avoiding tackles or trying to survive attempts to crush them to death (sometimes by their own team mates), and try to score by carrying said ball over their opponent's goal line. But here's the catch ; they're not allowed to pass forwards - only backwards, or to another player on a level position. Occassionally kicking the ball forwards, however, is acceptable. It took me a while to understand why these idiots didn't just throw the damned ball straight in front and make everyone's lives easier.


Tackling



It's pretty much a free-for-all brawl, where anything and everything except attacking above the neck is allowed. So this means scratching, punching, elbowing, kicking, grabbing, pulling, nipple-twisting, pummelling, choking (well okay maybe not that), and lying on top of someone until they let you have the ball, is totally legit. I don't even understand how the referee manages to call out a foul or a penalty in the midst of this testosterone-fuelled stampede, because to my n00b eyes, everyone on that pitch is trying to kill everyone else. Blood is common, injuries are aplenty, which naturally leads to heroic, manly displays of "I will ignore this waterfall of blood cascading down my nose/this very possibly broken ankle/these intestines spilling out my stomach/etc. and play on for my COUNTRY". And I won't lie ; sometimes...sometimes...it's kind of hot.


Scoring
Carrying the ball over the opponent's goal line and "grounding" it, is called a "try" (or what the Americans refer to as a "TOUCHDOWWWNN!") and is worth 3 points. Or was it 2? Maybe 5. I don't remember. Once a team has scored a try, they are then given the chance to "convert" the try to gain additional points.


This conversion comes in the form of a free and open shot at goal, a task usually undertaken by the team's designated kicker. The kicker, whose primary job it is to kick the ball a lot (as you can imagine) also has the least physical role on a rugby pitch, which means he is typically much smaller and leaner than everyone else, and not bulked up to caveman-esque proportions. As a rule he is also the best-looking guy on the field. I really like kickers. As you can imagine.


This exquisite specimen you see here is Irish kicker Ronan O'Gara. He kicks rugby balls for Ireland, and looks delicious the whole time he's doing it.


Scrums


I am still not entirely sure what a scrum is all about, but it involves a certain number of players from each team all crouching together and bending over each other, and then attempting to physically bulldoze the other guys away from the ball and as far across the field as possible before everyone collapses on each other and the punching and pulling and flailing starts. I'm sure there is a point to all this.


Mauls
Again, I'm not too sure what a maul is. And I don't think I really want to see one. I can assure you that it is probably extremely violent, though.


2. Rugby jerseys
Even the n00biest of you would have noticed that rugby players don extremely tight, body-hugging clothes. I assume it serves some practical purpose, like making it harder for an opponent to grab a fistful of your shirt and pull you down or whatever. Or, you know,making it easier for people like me to objectify rubgy player asses.



3. Sonny Bill Williams




This is Sonny Bill Williams. He has lots of tattoos, plays for New Zealand, and is supermegafoxyawesomehot. You're welcome.



Oh Sonny. You had me at ripped shirt.

For the record, New Zealand probably has the most attractive team still left in the competition. Meet Dan Carter, for example.


I know. You're welcome.




4. Rugby players are really nice.
Rugby players, for all their barbaric violence, are actually an extremely refined lot, with a great sense of respect for authority, especially when compared to football players. You won't hear any swearing directed at match officials (only "Yes sir"s, "No sir"s and "I apologize, sir"s). They are generally calm, approachable, even-tempered, and only rarely allow frustration or anger to get the best of them. Faking injuries to gain penalties or other benefits is pretty much unheard of - if you're injured in a rugby game, it had better mean you're swimming in a pool of your own blood, preferably with a limb or two dangling out of the sockets.



When these guys shake hands with opposing players, there is eye contact and a real sense of mutual respect. Their post-game interview answers are well-thought out, considerate, soft-spoken and articulate. They actually acknowledge the supporters, regardless of the game's result (and to give credit where it is due, the rugby crowd is also an extremely lovely, affable, friendly lot). Despite the black eyes, cut lips, missing teeth, ripped shirts and saliva-drenched mouth guards, I just get the impression that these guys all go back to their team changing rooms and drink jasmine tea from china cups with their pinky fingers sticking out. So precious.


5. The Haka
Most of the Pacific Island national teams (Tonga, Samoa) have the tradition of performing tribal war dances to intimidate their opponents before every match. It has become sort of a cultural institution within international rugby, and it's easily one of my favourite things about this year's tournament. The only remaining team that still performs the Haka is New Zealand (it is also 37% of the reason why I'm backing them to win ; the other 42% is because of the ridiculously sexy all black outfits, and the remaining 21% is for Sonny Bill Williams. Mmmm Sonny Bill Williams).



Call it cheesy, outdated or irrelevant. You cannot deny the badassery. Especially since these guys legitimately do kick asses left and right, so they've pretty much earned the right to do all the goddamned dancing they want.


6. The teams.
Eight teams remain, and I will be extending my long-distance moral support to the Irish, the Kiwis, and maybe England (it's a bit of a stretch though). Australia, South Africa, France, Wales and Argentina make up the rest of the final eight, and what little knowledge I have of rugby tells me that the Aussies and South Africans are utter powerhouse legends in the sport, and the odds favour them heavily.
But New Zealand should totally win because they are so hot - I mean so talented, so talented.


I'm actually enjoying the sport of rugby a great deal more than I ever thought I would, and I find myself already wondering what I'll be doing with myself when the tournament is over.



edit : On another note, let us all mourn the groin injury of New Zealand flyhalf Dan Carter, which has effectively ruled him out of the rest of the tournament. Say goodbye to these pecs (and other parts) for the next four years, you guys.


It's not fair. He gets bruised, battered and pummelled for a living and he is still that pretty?