Sweetness and Love.

Greetings, gentle readers.
So apparently, I'm a sweet guy. Within the space of a week, I've experienced three different women from three different areas of the universe express the belief that I am sweet. This was vaguely unsurprising at the Metro, where I've been such a long-term resident that all staff and most regulars are like an extended family, but when receiving such apparent compliments from women in England and Calgary as well, it starts to become part of a larger pattern being woven.
Obviously, "sweet" must be a euphemism for something far more insightful of the situation. "Harmless", perhaps, or even "some girl would be really lucky to have him... some OTHER girl." I have documentation of some of times the adjective has been applied to me - proof, if you will. So now, I'm getting eerily spooked by its use. During my recent trip to Calgary, we went to Moxie's for some nosh and bevvies, and I was actually approached separately by our server - a rather fetching lass named Leah - and told that I was a really sweet guy who demonstrated a consideration for other people that she'd never seen before. Normally, cause for me to blush. Instead, I found myself inwardly wincing at the word "sweet."
"Guys like you are a dying breed," she breathed as she left. I left my final comment unspoken as it popped into my head.
"That's because we don't reproduce."
Later that night, I found myself at Michaelangelo's, a rather dim hole-in-the-wall sort of place reminiscent of a tiny village pub with a startlingly large selection of international beverages. The barmaid, a rather fetching blonde girl with soft Gaelic features named Carrie, soon started a conversation and before long, we were deeply embroiled in a deep and thoughtful discussion of the psychology of the fashion industry. Carrie is apparently a stock model, who does generalized photo shoots and has recently had her face appear on the Rogers'/AT&T Ten Dollar Pay-As-You-Go card in Canada. She expressed concern about the egos and conflicts seemingly inherent in the fashion industry, and it's because of that discussion that we move to our first big digression:

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The Eye of the Beholder
Are fashion models really no more than ambulatory mannikins? Clothes hangers with human dimensions? If people really care about the clothes, what care they for the walking scaffolding that displays the fashion?
In the high-paced, high-pressure world of high fashion, it's all about surfaces and appearances. Clothing has slowly grown into a means of marketing ourselves. They have become the outward advertising which displays what we wish others to know about our individuality or lack thereof. In short, they are the superficial billboards that we use to display aspects of our inner selves. The advent of the multi-millionaire "supermodel" was prefaced by an explosion of interest in fashion as a vehicle of expression, and the influx of money and media exposure created celebrities of those who were used to market the clothes.
So what evolved is a systematic increase of emphasis on the external and the superficial, and a corresponding decrease in terms of perceived value of internal and authentic. In an era where models are perceived as spoilt prima donnae, the media tends to exaggerate any tales of naughty, haughty, arrogant, or petulant behaviour. Some people resent the likes of Naomi Campbell, Tyra Banks, Heidi Klum, etc. because they perceive them as being vacuous, talentless tarts who get paid big money to look pretty and glamorous.
I'm not going to launch into an expansive defence of models by droning on for paragraphs about what a hard and gruelling life it is to be a fashion model. My theory, though, may go some way towards creating a more balanced depiction of the dynamics at play in the world of professional pulchritude.
Essentially, if the clothes have come to be considered more significant and representative of identity and character, and if physical beauty is held in higher regard than integrity or intelligence, wit or wisdom, mettle or magnanimity, then the models who are shoved onto catwalks to market strips of cloth are like the Eastern European dolls which open to reveal smaller and smaller versions of themselves.
The clothing is the first thing that compacts and confines the ego of a model. There is attention being paid, and there are bank accounts being filled, but how much of that is down to hard work or aptitude? How many beautiful and talented women never make the huge payrolls because they weren't picked up by Karl Lagerfeld or Versace? So there's negative reinforcement, part one.
The second is the actual physical beauty. How much of that beauty can be directly attributed to the character and virtue of the model? How big a part did genetics or science play in the development of that beauty, and how much of a role did hard work and creativity play?
The third slap in the proverbial chops for a model's self esteem is the level of exposure that is afforded to them as celebrities. Every gaffe or misstep is magnified, and becomes a dagger of humiliation. Brooke Shields' now infamous quotation that "Smoking kills. If you're killed, you've lost a very important part of your life." is a perfect demonstration of how quickly someone can go from glamour queen to gibbering dunderhead.
When you get to the last doll of the set, it's a very small, lonely, and vulnerable one. Imagine a person who not only has glamour and elegance to thank for a living and a career, but who has entered into a world where the exterior is the only thing that merits esteem. Anyone used to basking in the warm glow of the affections of others would begin to feel a tad brittle when they begin to find that their personality and character are considered irrelevant and worthless. The love and care of others is only extended so long as their appearance is kept up.
The natural defence mechanism to protect this fragile inner self is to pre-empt any hostility. Insecurity breeds all sorts of silly behaviour, and modelling is a profession practically designed to produce insecurity.
Hence the temper tantrums, the sarky remarks, the arrogance and the all-around confrontational behaviour patterns demonstrated by the members of the modelling profession are not entirely unpredictable. They are people who live in fear and nagging self-doubt, and the last thing they need is for someone to tell them that they are nothing but a really attractive looking slab of meat, since that's what the little voice that only speaks in the quietest silences says to them.

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So anyway, during our conversation with Carrie, both Kelly and I were waiting for her to say the "s" word and just really cap off the whole evening. But we were pleasantly surprised to find that she dodged that particular adjective adroitly. So either my theory about "sweet" being some sort of euphemism had limited applicability, or was total bunk. Then again, I wasn't behaving particularly sweetly - I was in critical thinking mode.
And so now, I must needs close this particular episode of rifling through my cerebral cortex, and get back to the problems of the real world. Will be back soon to hammer out my thoughts on this week's European Champions' League Round of 16 knockout action. And ooo, will it ever be dramatic. Until then: chins up, heads high, eyes front and upper lip stiff everyone. Cheers,

-mARKUS

^+Justice for the 96+^