Elizabeth Bennet from Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” is, according to Caroline Bingley, “one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own; and with many men.” Her narration continues by saying that “it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.”

Never mind the fact that Miss Bingley constantly vyes for the attention of Mr. Darcy throughout the novel. Never mind the fact that Elizabeth steals Mr. Darcy’s heart by being herself and remaining protective of her sister. If there’s one thing you must take away from “Pride and Prejudice,” perhaps it’s this: The so-called “pick-me girl,” and a mocking thereof, has existed for at least 200 years.

I’ve been online long enough to remember when posts proclaiming “I’m not like other girls” were earnest, and I can just as well remember when these posts became the butt of the joke — but I cannot believe that in 2023 we are still having the same discussion about these types of girls that we were having years ago.

A girl who is “not like other girls,” also called an “NLOG,” refers to girls who see themselves as different and often superior to the rest of her gender. An NLOG may claim that makeup or fashion are “fake” or “too girly,” may hang out with only guys because “girls are too dramatic” or just put down something they regard as traditionally feminine and therefore unlikeable.

Here I must also make a distinction between an NLOG and a “pick-me.” “Pick-me,” or “PMAB,” originates from Twitter’s #TweetLikeAPickMe and describes the idea of “wifey” material. A “pick-me” demonstrates her traditional femininity and submissiveness and puts down other women in order to attract male attention. 

The “pick-me” stereotype and a sarcastic quotation of “I’m not like other girls” often go hand in hand, but there is a slight difference between the two. Just as a square is a rectangle but a rectangle is not a square, a “pick-me” is an NLOG but an NLOG is not inherently a pick-me. In order to reach the goal of being picked, a “pick-me” must differentiate herself from “other girls.” An NLOG, on the other hand, may not have this goal in mind — they may just simply feel different from other girls.

Here’s the thing: I was a bit of a “not like other girls” girl. I assume that probably every other girl I have known was one as well. This is because the reasoning for NLOG behavior is far more complicated than just the desire for male validation.

Do you remember walking through the toy aisles when you were younger? Do you remember the stark divide between pink and blue, between Barbies and baby dolls and Hot Wheels and Legos? Maybe you, like me, enjoyed the color pink or the Disney princesses or wearing pretty dresses, but you probably didn’t love that you could only choose those specific items. 

From an early age, us girls were given an often one-dimensional depiction of femininity and womanhood. Women were meant to look effortlessly flawless, never ugly but also never vain. Women were meant to be gentle and supportive, never aggressive or bossy. As we grew older, we were continually fed these stereotypical messages along with the contradictory ideas that overly feminine women were vapid or cruel. We were taught that there was a fine line between too much and too little femininity, and we had to figure out that balance on our own in order to be respected and “one of the good ones.”

This debacle really comes to a head when middle and high school come around. In a time where everyone is going through puberty and managing the steps from adolescence to adulthood, young girls — and young people in general — are also facing identity crises. As teenagers struggle to figure out who they are as individuals, there’s the added pressure of defining one’s gender identity in an individualistic and misogynistic society.

When I was in middle school and considered myself to be “not like other girls,” it wasn’t really for any sort of male validation, but more so the fact that I felt a true sense of difference. In a pretty conservative town, I was still coming to terms with my queer identity when there were few people that were open about their non-cishet identities. To me, “other girls” were the ones outing me before I was ready or calling bisexuality a grab for attention. Of course, I was like other girls — most girls — for feeling this insecurity about not fitting in one way or another in a time when a sense of belonging matters more than ever.

Though it began with good intentions, the criticism over the NLOG phenomenon is often flawed. For one, it ignores the pressure on women to fulfill a certain expectation of womanhood. While femininity has long been subject to male and female mockery, it’s just as true that refusing to conform in a distinctive way means facing equal or even greater scrutiny. At the end of the day, women are damned if they do and damned if they don’t.

Queer women, women of Color, disabled women and generally any women who are denied inclusion or have no interest in Western beauty ideals have been mocked for their own self expression for centuries. The NLOG narrative that women who aren’t traditionally feminine are the ones putting down those who are does not paint a full picture. Internalized misogyny is a two way street coming from both ends of the femininity spectrum, and we certainly don’t become better feminists when we start commenting on a teen girl’s TikTok that she’s “giving pick-me energy.”

We’ve known it for a while; there’s really no right way to be a woman. If I do my makeup, it’s to look more attractive for a man. If I don’t, I’m just trying to impress one by pretending I’m “one of the guys.” There’s no perfect way to be a woman because every action I take is immediately presumed to be done for male attention, not for myself.

It’s unfortunate that what was once a helpful criticism of the reductive roles laid out for women by a patriarchal society has now become fodder for ridiculing young women and girls — and what do we have to show for it when it only furthers the feeling of being ostracized? At a certain point, this call-out behavior is just as performative as the pick-me behavior being criticized.

When it comes down to it, the “other girl” and the NLOG are only stereotypes. Girls, women and people are multifaceted, and we are bound together by what we share in common and ought to celebrate the things that make us different. Dress as much or as little like a Barbie doll as you please. Spend hours on your makeup, or spend no time at all. Embrace the things that make you different, and find joy in connecting over what you share with others. Be as much like other girls as you wish, but don’t hold yourself back from being yourself for yourself.

Audra M. Woehle is an Opinion Columnist who writes about gender and sexuality in popular culture. She can be reached at awoehle@umich.edu.

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Being 12, for me, was the year of entering womanhood. There were the less exciting parts of growing up, of course, ranging from periods to shopping for bras to being catcalled. There were also the aspects, such as shaving, that felt like rites of passage. It was something every woman in my life just did, so it felt like the important and right thing to do.

The brand of feminism my peers and I grew up with is far different from what our parents grew up with. My parents grew up in the ’80s, at a time when feminists were treated as the butt of the joke. We grew up with a sort of pop culture feminism; commercials preaching “girl power” echoed through our living rooms and we could buy shirts and anything of the sort to announce our allegiance.

Feminism has become commercialized, individualized and liberalized from its more radical roots. Female empowerment is now often a marketing ploy and much of the political movement has lost traction in favor of a more agreeable feminism often called “choice feminism.”

On the surface, it appears difficult to argue against choice feminism. It encourages women to recognize the breadth of choices afforded to us by more than a century of political movement. Choice feminism states that seizing these decisions puts empowerment in the hands of women, as they are now able to make these decisions for themselves. Perhaps most importantly, this ideology brought a larger coalition to the movement. For women who were wary of the radical aspects of feminism, choice feminism provided them with both empowerment and the ability to make decisions that would have been viewed under a more critical eye in the past. Stay-at-home mothers, for instance, may be included in this grouping. Where homemakers might have felt cast aside or looked down upon by previous feminist movements, they now have an alliance accepting of their choices.

The issue with choice feminism is that binary options are often framed as equal. While two options may have their own separate pros and cons, a choice made by a feminist — or a woman — is not itself inherently feminist. Being granted the opportunity to decide your future or aspects of your identity is not an example of agency, but oftentimes reinforces the patriarchy and fails to recognize external factors of importance. The choice between working or homemaking, while one and the same for some, is not so equal for families facing economic disadvantages.

This inequality of choice is true of grooming practices, too. As Jaclyn Wong and Andrew Penner’s 2016 study demonstrates, there’s greater benefits to be found (namely, a higher income) for a woman who grooms to a standard of attractiveness compared to one who does not.

Choice feminism also seems to disregard social factors and their influence when it comes to making these sorts of decisions. While shaving one’s legs, for example, may not always be done with the intent to impress, this is an aesthetic shaped by the past century. Amid changing post-war fashion, clean-shaven legs and armpits became the new and long-lasting norm. Choices don’t happen in a vacuum; rather, they are born of some varying mix of our own free will as well as our circumstances.

Since the time I first started shaving, about seven years ago, my attitude toward my body hair has varied widely. I went from almost obsessively shaving my legs in middle school to vowing I would never shave again in the middle of high school to now only shaving when I feel like it.

There’s a lot of benefits to infrequent shaving. I save a decent amount of money and time, for one, and a bit of extra leg hair is always a bit helpful when trekking between classes in a bitter Michigan winter. It also wards off people who probably aren’t worth my time; if anyone’s so put off by something as natural as body hair, I don’t think we’d really get along.

At the same time, I still feel the occasional pressure to shave. When I know I’ll be wearing a skirt or a dress, I want my legs to look “nice”; it’s difficult to discern whether that urge is due to a societal ideal of what a woman should look like or whether it’s a result of my own aesthetic preferences.

I must also acknowledge the greater ease with which I can still be perceived as feminine while disregarding shaving. As someone white, thin and cisgender, I easily fit into Western standards of beauty. Sure, my leg hair might raise a few brows, but other aspects of myself, from my body itself to the clothes I wear, demonstrate a more “acceptable” womanhood. Other groups, from women of Color to butch women, face far more questioning than I do.

Choice feminism, in assuming that we have already done all the work of liberation, concludes that all choices made are equal — that these choices are an option everyone has, and not a means of survival or a way of obtaining some level of respect.

Even when taking the feminist aspect out of the equation, bodily autonomy is a vital right. The decision to shave or to do whatever women want with their body is their decision and their decision alone. Even for someone who is a feminist, they need not bear the weight of an entire movement on their shoulders every time they make these decisions.

But with all that being said, it’s also important to judge the implications of the decisions we make. This does not mean being judgmental of the choices others make, but rather using a critical lens to investigate why we ourselves make such decisions. Some may not shave for aesthetics at all, and instead for sensory reasons or for sports. Rejecting choice feminism and opting for a more political form of feminism simply means examining what our choices and their consequences — good, bad and neutral — may mean for a political movement aiming toward liberation for all.

On my own end, I’m still investigating what each of these decisions mean to me. I don’t see myself picking up shaving with the same voracity I had as a preteen, but I know I’ll still be dealing with the dilemma as long as it’s the norm. If there ever comes a time when I end up shaving regularly — or maybe even waxing — and it truly is hurting more than it helps, I hope the time, money and annoyance when I find I’ve missed another spot once again is punishment enough. At the end of the day, being a feminist means more than just making decisions for yourself — it also means making the personal political, even when it comes to the small, everyday decisions.

Audra M. Woehle is an Opinion Columnist who writes about gender and sexuality in popular culture. She can be reached at awoehle@umich.edu.

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If you don’t know who Pedro Pascal is, I’m convinced you live under a rock. If you do know him but you don’t absolutely love him, I’m convinced you have no heart. This is the way.

After two decades in the entertainment industry, Pascal is in his heyday. Between his role as a badass and protective father figure in both “The Last of Us” and “The Mandalorian,” Pascal’s press interviews and red carpets have been a draw for recent attention — particularly internet attention. Though fancams and thirst comments expressing love for a celebrity are certainly not new, they are intense for Pascal. 

When a collective thirst like this becomes as large as it is, it naturally falls into the hands of pop culture media. It’s common for media companies to collect these tweets and TikToks and put them before the eyes of the celebrities they’re dedicated to. Buzzfeed’s thirst tweet series where various (often male) celebrities read and react to lewd tweets stand as a prime example of this phenomenon. Pascal, perhaps fortunately, has not been featured in the series, but has nevertheless been faced head-on with these objectifying comments from fans.

This phenomenon doesn’t pertain to just Pascal; it is instead a recurring theme among many male celebrities, as evidenced by Buzzfeed’s years-long series. Really, this phenomenon is a cycle of sorts, starting with inside jokes among fans that turn into objectifying tweets that eventually make their way to pop culture media. This cycle increases in intensity at every phase, and it continues even as we all collectively move away from last month’s celebrity and onto the newest. 

This cycle begins with an inception. It can be as simple as being hot on screen. For Pascal, it began with the comments “Daddy is a state of mind” and “I’m your daddy” in Vanity Fair’s lie detector test interview. While relatively innocent, these comments spark inside jokes that can easily be spotted by any fan. Next thing you know, Pascal is widely known as “space daddy” across the internet. 

Though some fans may only lightly joke along, some take “daddy” a degree further, and from there, thirst tweets get their start. While these tweets and comments vary in their degrees of absurdity, they always become more “creative” the further you dive into them. In a way, it becomes a means of simultaneously complimenting the celebrity in question while also finding the most insane way to word it. 

Here, tweets develop from simply calling Pascal a “cool, slutty father” to describing in great detail how “BIBLICALLY gorgeous” he is (and that’s one of the more tame ones). Rarely do the people who write such a comment expect it to be seen by the celebrity it’s dedicated to, and rarely do they expect a reaction in videos that accumulate millions of views — but we all know that isn’t always the case. Buzzfeed knows it, too.

As each comment attempts to outdo the last in its gaudiness, the effect snowballs into something bigger and bigger until media companies take notice. While they aren’t the ones writing such tweets, entertainment media like ET or Buzzfeed take these comments and shove them into the celebrity’s face. From here, the cycle nears the end of its course at its most intense point; for Pascal, this means being asked about being the internet’s “daddy” for the nth time. From there, the celebrity’s press tour ends, and the internet moves on to find someone new to lust over.

I’ve watched the cycle cross different celebrities multiple times, and I always feel a host of emotions. Sometimes what could be considered a “thirst tweet” isn’t sexual at all and actually quite sweet. Instead of boiling down a celebrity’s appeal to physical attractiveness alone, it comments on impressive talent or good personality, and at the end of the day, it’s always nice to see a celebrity you like read a kind comment.

Given the nature of most thirst comments, though, I often feel more uncomfortable than warm-hearted as celebrities read these strange, objectifying tweets — even if they do take it in stride and joke along. In a twisted way, however, I also get a bit of satisfaction from the fact that it’s often male celebrities reading these — that they get a taste of what many women, famous or otherwise, face throughout most of their lives.

When it comes down to it, there’s a large gray area between the fun, harmless parts of fan culture and its weird, objectifying dark side. It’s easy enough to point to entertainment media who exhaust this cycle; it’s easy, profitable content for them. However, I’d be remiss to disregard the role fans may play in this vicious circle.

Fan culture itself is not the problem. Taking comfort in a show or movie or even a celebrity and connecting with others over your shared love is little cause for concern when they stay within healthy boundaries. Nevertheless, it’s important to recognize when that parasocial relationship goes a bridge too far and you’re getting a little too comfortable online. An appreciative comment is one thing, but it’s another thing entirely to objectify a stranger, no matter how much we may appreciate them and their work.

Entertainment media easily latches on to this thirsty content, but it’s the fans that ignite the flame that grows into a raging fire. At the risk of sounding like your middle school assembly on cyberbullying and internet use, I ask you to please remember that you have a digital footprint. For the love of Pedro Pascal: Think before you post.

Audra M. Woehle is an Opinion Columnist who writes about gender and sexuality in popular culture. She can be reached at awoehle@umich.edu.

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From “hussy,” “floozy,” “tramp” and “tart,” to “hoe,” “skank,” “whore” and “slut,” we certainly have no shortage of names to call a promiscuous woman. The word “whore” was first used in the 16th century to refer to a prostitute or harlot, while “slutte” was first used in the 15th century to describe a slovenly, untidy woman. From old Germanic dialects, to Old and Middle English to now, words like these have continued to develop in order to comment on and police womens’ sexual behavior.

While these terms have been created and continually used toward sexist ends, they have been similarly adopted by the group these words are most often directed at: women. This can, in some cases, take the form of women using the same misogynistic terms against other women. Even when used by women, these words and their connotations just can’t seem to be shaken, and thus, many have called to make the move to abandon them altogether. In the words of Tina Fey’s character Ms. Norbury from “Mean Girls,” “You all have got to stop calling each other sluts and whores. It just makes it ok for guys to call you sluts and whores.”

Beyond cruel intent, however, these words have been increasingly used as terms of endearment, as a means of reclamation. For some, using these terms around trusted friends is a way of taking away the strength of their sexist connotations. “Slut” has specifically been used to platform protests against sexual violence via the SlutWalks, which arose in response to a Toronto police officer’s advice “to avoid dressing as sluts.”

“Whore,” “slut” and all their synonyms are words with centuries of sexist, deprecating baggage. To overcome objectification and the expectation to be both appealing and pure, we can rewrite the definition of these words and turn them into compliments or a title of power. A slut is no longer a slovenly, untidy woman, but instead a woman who understands her power and holds the reins of her sexuality.

But, counter to these terms’ judgment of female sexuality are words that scrutinize a lack thereof. On the other side of the same sexist coin, terms like “prude” and “frigid” criticize a woman’s disinterest in or refusal of sex — but they remain largely abandoned by this movement of reclamation.

Compared to words connoting sexual promiscuity, words connoting little to no sexual experience, like “prude,” have taken on a less desirable meaning. To be sexually liberated means shirking the confines of a female sexuality and instead becoming an empowered woman. This empowered woman, unencumbered and even emboldened by shame, is in control of her sexuality in a way that can only be demonstrated by sexual prowess.

However, this creates a double standard of sexist slurs. At one end stands the weak and demure woman — the prude — who is out of touch with her power and sexuality. At the other end is the courageous, powerful slut who breaks free from her cage of sexual expectations by having as much sex as she wants. One could be forgiven for believing that the dichotomy between the slut and the prude is equal to that between the repressed and liberated woman, though that’s far from the actual case.

Historically, it was advantageous in some respects to ostensibly be a prude. From Aristotle to contemporary Catholicism, prudence has remained a cardinal virtue stressed particularly for young women. When taken to the extreme, a strong emphasis on prudence manifests in harmful teachings like purity culture. While prudence on its own is far from damaging in how it values caution and thoughtfulness, both perceived and active prudence are not fully protective measures. As evidenced by stories in the wake of the #MeToo movement, simply refusing sex is not always the most accessible way of eluding a dangerous situation of sexual assault.

Under the scrutinizing eyes of an objectifying society, women have always had to walk a fine line between saint and temptress. If reclaiming terms like “whore” and “slut” will truly reallocate power to women coming into their sexual identities, then we also must expand our vocabulary of sexual empowerment to include “prude,” too.

If a sexually empowered woman is in control of her sexuality, then it’s imperative to recognize that not having sex falls under such an umbrella. Sex may be refused for a myriad of reasons, ranging from asexuality to religious objections to simple disinterest. These reasons don’t add up to a repressed woman or a poor feminist, but instead a woman making informed decisions for herself. 

Whether a “whore” or a “prude,” whether “slutty” or “frigid,” it’s essential to recognize that these are only terms, and fluid ones at that, defining only one facet of the self. One may go from sex and sex and sex one week to little to no sexual interest the very next, and can you really put labels to that? With an expansion and reclamation of the word, being a prude doesn’t have to mean being modest or prim — it can mean knowing sex isn’t a sole means of empowerment through setting healthy boundaries for oneself.

Audra M. Woehle is an Opinion Columnist who writes about gender and sexuality in popular culture. She can be reached at awoehle@umich.edu.

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Even as we inch further away from the apex of the COVID-19 pandemic, the effects of isolation are ever present. While its toll on our physical health has been at the forefront of our minds, this pandemic’s most profound and lasting effects are on our mental health. 

Before COVID-19 hit, loneliness was already a problem that had been exacerbated by technology and social media. The solution to all of this? More sex, at least according to Magdalene J. Taylor, author of “Many Such Cases,” who explained her thinking in a recent op-ed for The New York Times. If you’ve ever wondered what George Michael’s 1987 song “I Want Your Sex” (parts one and two, of course) would look like as an op-ed, this would be it, right down to the lyrics “Sex is natural, sex is good; not everybody does it, but everybody should.”

Taylor’s assessment of the loneliness epidemic is no doubt correct that the solution is social connection, but misguided in tendering sex as the solution. The argument is flimsy, maintaining that people are lonely because they struggle to find sexual partners, and the resolution to this issue, she concludes, is to… have more sex? Akin to “If you’re depressed, just be happy,” sex is the logically inconsistent solution to a moral panic over sexlessness that Taylor amplifies then backtracks. 

What’s most telling about the piece, however, is the fact that sex is conflated with intimacy. While, yes, there can often be overlap between the two, they are certainly not synonymous: Sex can be either intimate or non-intimate, and intimacy itself can encompass a whole host of other ways of connection and is incredibly varied from individual to individual.

For one, sex is not an inherent good, but a neutral act with benefits and consequences. While the benefits of sex that Taylor points out, such as reducing stress and lowering blood pressure, are real, sex also comes with its own set of cons, such as STIs and, as various comments on the op-ed point out, unwanted pregnancies in a post-Roe America where even contraception is threatened. To argue as Taylor does — that “Sex is intrinsic to a society built on social connection” — is to fall into the naturalistic fallacy, to believe that what is natural is inherently good or right. 

As we know, sex is not always a meaningful connection for some, whether it’s a one-time feeling or related to one’s sexual orientation. Sex can even be a defense against emotional intimacy: Erotic transference is a phenomenon that occurs especially in therapeutic spaces, describing how patients often feel amorous attraction to their provider in resistance to the weight of bearing intimate fears and anxieties.

By intertwining sex and intimacy and speaking to a sexual naturalistic fallacy, Taylor’s piece becomes an example of the compulsory sexuality rampant in contemporary culture. Born from the term “compulsory heterosexuality,” referring to the assumption that a heterosexual relationship is the default, compulsory sexuality refers to the assumption that every person experiences sexual attraction and desire, that anyone uninterested in sex is missing out on something that is, as Taylor puts it, “one of humanity’s most essential pleasures.”

This idea that desire for sex is what normal people feel — and that sex is a supreme form of pleasure — devalues acts of intimacy that aren’t sex (as well as relationships that aren’t sexual.) It not only excludes people who are uninterested in sex as a means of connection, but limits the types of intimacy we can find in relationships of all kinds. With friends and family, intimacy can mean devoting time to similar interests or meaningful conversation. Even with partners, intimacy need not be limited to sex when it can span from the physical to the non-physical, from cuddling to quality time. To restrict intimacy to sex alone means dwindling all the possible connections you can discover.

There are solutions aplenty to our loneliness epidemic. With a loss of connection to local institutions due to the pandemic and other larger factors at play, many have lost connection to others as well as a sense of purpose. By focusing on rebuilding these institutions to create thriving communities, lonely individuals can find themselves with a whole host of options for social connection in their everyday lives.

At the individual level, don’t limit yourself to the possibilities of who might play a meaningful role in your life. Have safe, consensual sex if you’d like, regardless of whether or not you’re looking for romance or social connection. Find socialization in any way suited to you, whether that’s in a romantic, sexual, platonic, familial, or any other sort of setting — but don’t rely on sex alone to solve your loneliness. 

Audra Woehle is an Opinion Columnist who writes about gender and sexuality in popular culture. She can be reached at awoehle@umich.edu.

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While many have lived, died and gone on to be remembered for hundreds, if not thousands, of years, “celebrity” is really only an invention of the past century. More widespread forms of travel and communication created a new group of highly identifiable people, existing somewhere in between well-known locals and the most important people on the planet. 

Through radio, television, film and, most recently, social media, we interact — albeit most often one-sidedly — with the same personalities again and again. With this interaction comes interest, and with this interest often comes imagination. As fans, we may imagine what it would be like to meet our idols, and sometimes interest branches further into celebrity crushes and stan culture.

The lines between appreciation, love and obsession have always existed in a gray area, as has the line between fact and fiction when it comes to stories about real celebrities. The love interest opposite Anne Hathaway’s character in the upcoming book-to-film adaptation of “The Idea of You” is rumored to be inspired by musician Harry Styles, despite refutations from the book’s author, Robinne Lee. Likewise, observers draw connections between the romantic interest of “After” — a book and movie series by Anna Todd — and Styles. These connections are far less refutable considering “Hardin Scott,” the series’s romantic interest, originally went by the name “Harry Styles” in the original Wattpad fanfiction.

The “After” series, as well as real-person fiction and fanfiction, has received plenty of backlash, and for good reasons. Like puppets, the likenesses of celebrities such as Styles are used for stories that they don’t consent to. In the case of “After” and other stories like it, an imitation Styles is sexualized through smutty scenes and is, to many, an unsympathetic, toxic character.

At the same time, it’s worth questioning what should be considered “good” and “bad” — or rather “ethical” and “unethical” — real-person fiction. It may be easy to condemn fiction that closely resembles the life of its muse, but what about alternate universe tropes where a face and a name are the only connection between a real public personality and a sexy vampire? How about fanfiction focused on a portrayal of a real person, à la Austin Butler playing Elvis Presley in “Elvis” or Pedro Pascal as Javier Peña in “Narcos?” And what about historical figures? Is writing McLennon fanfiction problematic if John Lennon is dead and Paul McCartney very likely has no clue how to navigate Archive of Our Own or Fanfiction.net? Are alternate histories, such as the one portrayed in “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood,” technically real-person fiction if they alter the life of real people such as Sharon Tate? 

When it comes to consuming media created with any public persona in mind, it’s incredibly important to consider the effects the work may have on these real people. Styles has hardly acknowledged the “After” series publicly, but that doesn’t mean “After” and similar works that freely use his likeness haven’t harmed him or don’t cross a line. Though it is true that being a celebrity means becoming an image and giving up privacy in some way, admiration can easily veer into invasiveness. We also must consider that we now live in an age where anyone can quickly go viral against our own wishes.

As works like “After” continue to emerge from the little fanfiction corner of the internet into the larger consciousness of pop culture, legal safeguards should be drawn. While regular fanfiction faces the issue of copyright, real-person fiction brings into question grounds for defamation. Beyond the realm of just fanfiction, we’re now seeing real consequences of deepfake pornography that uses the likeness of real public personas. First with the internet and now with Artificial Intelligence, imagining scenarios featuring our idols will only become easier with time. 

Just as artists have the power to license their music to streaming services and just as revenge porn laws give power back to victims, we need a broad set of laws empowering the licensing of our own images and other characteristics that may be used in publicly consumed art. It’s no easy task to draw the line between what is protected speech and what belongs to an individual. As the wild west that is the internet becomes wilder with AI and new forms of sharing creative works, it’s only right that everyone has some ability to license their name, face and persona.

Real-person fanfiction is easy to tease and criticize, especially since this corner of the internet is headed mostly by young women, but criticisms like those against real-person fiction should really be applied to fan culture more broadly. Other problematic behaviors arise surrounding the issue of fanfiction, ranging from shipping real people to waiting outside a celebrity’s home to meet them. Because of the accessibility of celebrities, as well as the one-sided nature of our relationships with them, it’s difficult to conceptualize that they might see what we say and write about them. Even if the celebrities themselves don’t see these depictions, that doesn’t absolve any fan of the problematic nature of invasiveness. With all the online platforms on which to write, with the exponential evolution of technology headed our way and the mountains of creative possibilities at our fingertips, we can certainly be creative enough to leave real people — real strangers — out of it.

Audra Woehle is an Opinion Columnist who writes about gender and sexuality in popular culture. She can be reached at awoehle@umich.edu.

The post The ethics of real-person fiction appeared first on The Michigan Daily.

When a new period piece comes out of Hollywood, horror stories follow. Actresses time after time recount fainting spells and broken ribs from a garment that is frequently described as “torture”: the corset. As recently as last year, with the film “Corsage,” haunting stories of the corset have been recounted by lead actress, Vicky Krieps. In the film, Krieps said the corset she was required to wear for her role as Empress Elisabeth of Austria had an emotional toll on her. “It’s about sedating yourself,” she said. “As soon as I wore it, maybe two minutes later I got sad … When I took it off, five minutes later I started laughing and I realized something is happening to me that I cannot control and it comes from this corset.”

When hearing one of many stories about the “positively awful” experience in a corset, one may question the purpose of the clothing article beyond simple torture. In truth, the garment was used historically for both structure and shape of the body. Abby Cox, a dress historian on YouTube, explained the reasons why corsets were historically worn. “Bone support garments like stays and corsets were worn for a multitude of reasons, the main ones being chest support, back support, posture control and to achieve the fashionable shape,” she said. In an era where stays, the precursor to the corset, were a norm, a skilled artisan such as a tailor or staymaker crafted these garments specifically to fit the wearer, as was historically normal before ready-to-wear clothing. These structured garments were especially useful for the labor-intensive work that was required of many women in the past. 

In an interview with Bustle, Sarah Woodyard, a milliner at Colonial Williamsburg, said that there are benefits to wearing a stay. “That back support really helps me not have a sore back at the end of the day,” she said. She continued, saying she had “done eighteenth century laundry and cooking. And when you’re having to pick up heavy buckets of water, or bending and moving heavy objects (the support of the corset) is really helpful.”

By the end of the Enlightenment, corsets replaced stays as the primary support garment, but over its century-long lifetime, it would find many detractors among men. Given that fashion was one of the few realms run by and for women, it often drew the mocking ire of men. Even more ridiculous than the cartoons jesting the latest fashions are the drawings of deformed ribs drawn based on assumptions and likely no medical knowledge. Despite such mockery, women largely continued to wear corsets until World War I, when simpler and looser styles came into favor due to the limited availability of clothing materials.

Through time, in addition to its status as a supportive garment and historical artifact, the corset has evolved into a symbol of the patriarchy and feminine vanity in film and television. The imagery of the corset itself certainly aids in this: The stiff bones create a cage-like shape, and the laces tighten and confine the wearer. This tight shape, worn intimately close to the body and parted only by a thin chemise, forms the body into its most “attractive shape” — thus, the corset both sexualizes and confines the female body.

Even after World War I, when corsets were no longer en vogue and cartoons mocking the vanity of women and their fashion (mostly) ceased, the concept of the corset as a torture device continued. In “Gone with the Wind,” Scarlett O’Hara subjects herself to violent tight-lacing in order to attract a future husband. In “Titanic,” Rose is forcibly laced into her corset by her mother, a show of the larger imprisonment she faces by the expectations of her upper-class society. In “Pirates of the Caribbean,” Elizabeth Swann laments her lack of breathing while tight-laced into her own pair of stays.

As horror story after horror story is divulged and the corset becomes a greater and greater villain, an overarching narrative forms that this must have been what it was like to live as a woman of the past. When discussing her corset experience for “The Favourite,” Emma Stone said, “It’s historically accurate, but I couldn’t f—king breathe … Women existed in that for such a long time, which does give you a lot of sympathy for that time period.”

In reality, we don’t give the corseted women of these bygone eras enough credit. As they wore stays and corsets for centuries, women continued to work, sport and play in the clothing of their eras; Empress Elisabeth herself was an accomplished equestrian, not inhibited by the corset she was known to tight-lace. It’s not as if women were permitted strength and ability once they abandoned their corsets. Many women were always, in spite of oppression, accomplished and multifaceted; it’s only because of history’s propensity to overlook women that we often forget this.

Overlooking the capabilities of women of the past additionally serve to create a better view of our world now. Gender wage gaps and inequality in girls’ education still persist, but corsets are gone, and aren’t we all the better for it? But in the absence of corsets came girdles and bras, followed by Spanx and diet culture. Where we once found a focus on a fashionable shape, which could be achieved through a corset, bum roll, crinoline, bustle or the like, we now find a greater focus on size. In a time of ready-to-wear fashion, clothes are no longer made to fit the wearer, but instead are garments the wearer must fit into. For decades, an ideal weight as opposed to silhouette has often been the unachievable goal, serviced by diets, exercise and cosmetic surgery.

Though corsets no longer remain integral to our daily life, the fact that many modern actresses have such poor experiences wearing them is nothing to gloss over. Similar to the fashion of history, costuming in Hollywood is a female-dominated field — and likewise to how fashion was and is undervalued, costuming is similarly overlooked.

Beyond the script, the set, the acting and direction, costume is what contextualizes the actor or actress in their scene. Without a properly fitted corset and the time to adjust, it can be all the more difficult to portray a woman who’s worn a corset every day for most of her life when the person portraying her struggles for so much as a breath. We restrict ourselves with corsets for the sake of “historical accuracy,” when in all actuality, our conceptions of the corset restrict our idea of our past and present. Stays or not, corset or not, women have always been capable; putting down women of the past to prove ourselves now only limits our imagination for the possibilities of an enriched future.

Audra Woehle is an Opinion Columnist and can be reached at awoehle@umich.edu.

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In recent months, George R.R. Martin’s fictional world has returned to the silver screen and cultural zeitgeist with “House of the Dragon.” The new series has risen from the ashes of the eighth season of “Game of Thrones,” and with it has come a returned love for actor Matt Smith and his role as Daemon Targaryen in the show. Arrogant and skilled in combat, Daemon Targaryen is a far cry from the quirky doctor that Smith was known for during his time in “Doctor Who.” Now, the attention for his new, darker character has sparked various edits and fancams that plague my For You page. Take a look at these comments, and, beyond the heart-eye and drooling emojis for Daemon or Smith, you might find a similar phrase again and again along the lines of: “He’s not handsome, but attractive.”

Smith’s face is not likely to be deemed something classically handsome. Though teased for a lack of eyebrows, he often takes the jokes aimed at him in stride and instead lets his persona and acting abilities speak for themselves. Beauty is ultimately in the eye of the beholder, something subjective and varying from person to person, and for many, his kindness and charisma are a stronger magnet than any sharp jawline or piercing eyes could ever be. And this isn’t the first time women have prioritized a man’s personality over his physical appearance: There’s a distinguishable pattern of women being attracted to so-called “ugly” men, Smith being one of them.

Shortly following the end of the first season of “House of the Dragon,” TikTok’s attention was drawn to Strange Kevin, a man considered perhaps unhandsome but attractive in the eyes of many female viewers. Participating in a trend where a man smolders at the camera to demonstrate how they might attract a woman, Kevin’s short video captivated the attention of many women on the app, who often commented that this was the female gaze that’s rarely captured in the media — which is largely preoccupied with satisfying the male gaze. Coming from feminist film theory, the term “male gaze” describes the way women are often viewed in film and media as objects of desire from a male point of view. The “female gaze,” on the other hand, serves as a gender-swapped counterpart in which men are instead viewed through a female point of view and, as we see it gaining traction now, perhaps stands to counteract the long-established male gaze.

Larger criticism also accompanied the fawning over Kevin’s video: Beyond condemnation for past misogynistic content, the true lack of female gaze in his original TikTok was additionally pointed out. Criticism for the misogyny is much more easily understood and agreed with, while omission of the female perspective has sparked conversation that further distills the meaning of the “female gaze.” While true that some women consider Kevin to be attractive or say that Kevin is shown through a female point of view, the viral TikTok was created through Kevin’s own perspective of what he supposes women find attractive — which is still a product of the male gaze. While female audiences of Smith and Strange Kevin have similarly swooned over these two conventionally unattractive men, it’s at the level of creation where the female gaze — or lack thereof — lies. Whereas Kevin creates a supposition of the female gaze, it’s the often female fans creating edits, fancams and the like that position Smith as an attractive man.

Though Kevin’s aim at the female gaze was perhaps more accurate for some women, frustration or even just confusion has long circulated over why women find certain men attractive. Similar to Smith, men like Pete Davidson or Jack Harlow have been considered unattractive by some and attractive to others. For one reason or another, these men continue to get attention seemingly out of nowhere when all “attractive” men across film and television are tall, muscled men like Chris Evans’ Captain America or Henry Cavill’s Superman. But when it comes down to it, these characters were not crafted in consideration of the female gaze, but instead with a male ideal for the male body in mind. As explained by actor Richard Madden, these standards are hard to achieve through “a kind of barely eating, working-out-twice-a-day, no-carbing thing,” and are often unreflective of what heterosexual women generally look for. From these men considered perhaps “ugly” or those that have a “dad bod,” we can see a growing appreciation for a charming personality and are expanding our ideas of what’s considered to be attractive. Although the heterosexual female gaze is not singularly supplemental to the male gaze we’ve seen so much of, it provides just one of many gazes that diversifies media created now and into the future. 

While perhaps scarce in more popular media, the female gaze is certainly predominant in one space: fanfiction. Women make up a great majority of those who both read and write fanfiction, and with the medium’s frequent dip into romantic or sexual storylines, many fanfics take a female perspective in viewing male characters. For many of these fanfiction writers, writing a fan work means taking on the perspective of a celebrity or a favorite character from a piece of media and making them into the ideal partner. While comforting in thought, fanfiction is far from perfect when creating these ideal characters, as they often set unrealistic expectations for inevitably flawed romantic relationships in real life. I’ll be the first to admit that some peculiar romantic expectations still linger from years of reading too-good-to-be-true fanfiction. Even so, as opposed to casting aside fanfiction as something ridiculous or girly, there is something to be learned from the female gaze that is so prevalent in fanfiction.

In just a few years, great strides have been made to move away from the male gaze that’s been so heavily relied upon for years. This doesn’t mean, however, that the female gaze should be the replacement. As film, television, literature and the like continue to evolve, neither the male or female gaze should be prioritized, but instead with diversity in the gazes we view through. 

Audra Woehle is an Opinion Columnist & can be reached at awoehle@umich.edu.

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For nearly a decade, the Salvation Army on State Street has served as a treasure trove for some of my favorite wardrobe pieces. On Friday afternoons, I could often be found in that giant warehouse searching for five tags of the same color to save on finds that were already steals at just five or so dollars.

By the end of the 2010s, thrifting became more than just a means of buying new clothes for Gen Z — it became a trend. Thrifting offered inexpensive and unique finds while also allowing shoppers to avoid the poor ethics and environmental effects of fast fashion. This trend was popularized on the internet, with the rise of thrifting and thrift-flip vlogs, as well as increased use of online thrift sites like Depop and Poshmark.

Depop was a favorite of mine when it came to these sites, just as it was for many teenagers looking to buy affordable clothes ethically online. Aimed specifically at younger shoppers, the Explore page had banners for retro, streetwear, grunge, Y2K and every other style in between. Going into lockdown, window-shopping on Depop became an alternative to the in-person thrift shopping I was missing in the real world. More importantly, it provided many with a means of income in the wake of the COVID-19 outbreak.

In this period of increased thrifting popularity, the trend of thrifting also faced increased scrutiny, and soon thrifting and gentrification were inextricably linked.

The popularity of thrifting, especially among young women, often drew the ire of video essayists and journals alike. According to “Gentrification in Thrifting,” published in UCLA’s FEM newsmagazine, “Affluent shoppers often purchase excess inventory they found at low prices in thrift stores and resell it on websites such as Depop or Poshmark at substantially higher rates.” Due to this purchasing of clothing in bulk, blame often falls to the young women purchasing and selling these clothes online for the rise in prices and scarcity of clothing in stores like Goodwill or Salvation Army.

When it comes to these commentators’ critiques on thrifting, they often make generalizing statements on the shoppers and Depop store owners, calling them “rich white girls” who make easy money selling clothes others need. This is despite the fact that stores like Goodwill and Salvation Army only put about half of their donations on shelves, and half of that portion is sold. With the majority of these donations ending up repurposed, sent to other countries or in a landfill, these worries do not typically translate to a lack of clothing in thrift stores.

Many Depop store owners are also far from the rich capitalist overlords they’re made out to be. As Sora, a teenage Depop shop owner, explained to Vox, “Before I list a price, I factor in the 10 percent fee Depop takes, shipping costs and the time [it] takes to clean, style and package the garment.” 

Selling also takes more than thrifting a cheap item and marking it up before shipping it off to a buyer — it takes cleaning and sometimes repairing old pieces, presenting the fit and style of a piece in just four pictures, writing pithy and attention-grabbing descriptions to make the item more appealing and an understanding of selling in a way that almost mirrors social media, all while having to considering Depop’s 10% fee and shipping. 

While it’s certainly not extensive manual labor or a job that requires years of schooling, running a shop is still work and demands a literacy of not only trends and clothing but also of valuation and consumer psychology. At the end of the day, I’d rather know my purchases go to a fellow teen’s college fund or even just their coffee money as opposed to a big fast-fashion brand like SHEIN or Forever 21 — wouldn’t you?

With that being said, these commentators are right to point out the ethical issues of thrift stores and Depop. Goodwill has been known to pay its workers extremely low wages, and Salvation Army is known for its slew of harmful actions toward the LGBTQ+ community. Depop itself has faced its fair share of issues caused by dropshippers, sellers who forward orders to the actual suppliers and shippers, essentially acting as middlemen who buy cheaply-made goods overseas and sell them at a higher price online. 

In the wake of all this criticism, along with the return of in-person thrift stores, the popularity of online thrifting has seemed to dwindle as Depop’s number of active users and sellers, as well as its revenue, decreased from 2020 to 2021. On TikTok, thrifting hauls have seemingly been replaced with mass hauls of clothes from brands by the likes of SHEIN, a Chinese brand that quickly produces trendy clothes that are sold for cheap prices. While so many pieces at such affordable prices is an attractive deal, fast fashion often comes at the cost of those who make the clothes, as well as the environment. In addition, these cheaply made clothes are rarely made to last, and these bulk purchases made at the hands of TikTok influencers are more than one person can reasonably wear.

Fashion has always been my primary mode of creativity and self-expression, and I believe it’s something that should be accessible to everyone. However, I have found that if it’s new and well-made, it’s expensive, and if it’s not, ethics are likely risked in some form or another whether you shop from thrift stores, fast fashion brands or both. 

The price reflected to us may be about the same when buying a new top from SHEIN or the same slightly used one from Depop, but while purchases from Depop are likely going to individual teens’ rainy day funds, a buildup of excessive purchases from SHEIN goes to those at the top and comes at the cost of garment workers and the planet. You know the phrase: “There’s no ethical consumption under capitalism.” No one can be a perfect consumer, but when it comes to the small purchasing power we each hold, it’s important that we approach our purchases with thoughtfulness to what we need, how much we need of it and whom we purchase it from.

Audra Woehle is an Opinion Columnist & can be reached at awoehle@umich.edu.

The post The death of Depop appeared first on The Michigan Daily.

“I eat beef and salt and water — that’s it — and I never cheat. Ever. Not even a little bit. Nothing,” media personality Jordan Peterson proclaimed four years ago on the Joe Rogan Experience podcast. In the years that he and his daughter, Mikhaila Peterson, have followed this strict diet and made tall claims about its health benefits, many memes poking fun at the regimen’s intensity have surfaced. At the same time, many have followed in the footsteps of the Petersons, adopting a meat-heavy diet. This is as online influencers like the Liver King promote adopting a “primal” way of living by “dropping processed foods” and “incorporating whole foods” like liver, bone marrow and heart. 

As plant-based diets have increased in popularity over recent years, reactionary carnivorous and meat-heavy diets have risen, standing athwart the gastronomical habits of effete urban elites. Just as conservatives fume over the abandonment of traditional male fashion, claiming a dress-clad Harry Styles to be the downfall of Western civilization and calling for us to “bring back manly men,” a similar name-calling of “soy boys” has emerged to refer to men who prefer milk alternatives or, more generally, men who don’t uphold traditional conceptions of masculinity. 

This isn’t without some basis in reality. An all-American cheeseburger or perhaps a 16-ounce rare steak is a beacon of masculinity, of strength. After all, vegetarians, while considered more moral by omnivores, are also considered weaker, and women across Western societies are more likely to be vegan or vegetarian than men.

This association of meat and masculinity can be traced back to hunter-gatherer societies in which men filled the role of hunter. From then to now, meat continues to be a symbol of power and social status, as it’s a costly product that requires the domination of another animal. 

The connection between meat and masculinity has thus been carried from the past and onto the internet via Jordan Peterson or the Liver King, but even in our everyday lives, we can see how our diets affect our perception of gender.

LSA senior Riley Noble instructed this semester’s Honors minicourse on sustainable food, culture and the environment. When asked how this association between meat and masculinity is emphasized today, Noble said, “There’s been this not necessarily false but misinformed thing where the more meat we get, the more protein we get, which is just not necessarily true. I think culture as well — how men are portrayed in movies as big and strong and having to be the hero — plays a role in that and so I think a lot of men are really pushed to eat more and more meat because they think they’re going to fill the role of the big and strong guy.”

Through the media’s expectation for men to be strong, viewers are expected to follow in both appearance and behavior, to have the muscles obtained through eating meat and to demonstrate the ability to hunt and provide. According to Amy Calvert, eating meat as an activity “involves the establishment of a power structure with human-(male)-animals as dominant, nonhuman-(female/feminised)-animals as subordinate.” In the existing system, the feminine are the hunted subordinates and the masculine are hunting dominators; to not consume lots of meat means falling to the hunted, feminine side of this binary.

As more and more people adopt plant-based diets for the sake of the environment and health and as these dietary options become more affordable and accessible, breaking this association of masculinity and meat is crucial to making the individual changes that make up the greater whole of a healthier, more compassionate planet. Even for people who don’t see vegetarianism or veganism as a working part of their lifestyles, ending masculinity’s reliance on something as arbitrary as eating meat is a worthwhile endeavor. 

As Noble explained, “I just didn’t really think it was possible (to switch to a more plant-based diet) but after doing it I realized it was very easy and I think giving those examples of what you can eat as a vegetarian is very helpful . . . Grocery stores having options such as Impossible Meat or high protein meat alternatives is really important to help the shift for people because, yes, while I thought it was relatively easy, I also had those options in grocery stores.” The fortune of living now is that protein exists in many forms beyond meat; even if the aesthetics of an all-American burger or hot dog remain more appealing than lentils or tofu, they remain available in environmentally friendly, meat-free forms in grocery stores across the country.

Meat and masculinity are simply not one and the same, as illustrated by the rise in plant-based diets from professional athletes like NFL player Tom Brady or NBA player Chris Paul. To be healthy, we don’t need to strip down our diets to only beef, water and salt or return to an antiquated and “primal” way of life in order to feel secure in an identity. To base gender expression on what men eat, be it steak or soy, is regressive and undermines the good, important qualities we consider as traditionally masculine: strength and courage. In harnessing traits such as these to move past the regressive association between meat and masculinity, we also move past a hindrance that keeps us from a more sustainable world for all.

Audra Woehle is an Opinion Columnist & can be reached at awoehle@umich.edu.

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