Big Girls Don't Cry
In the entertainment industry, unless you are a particularly gifted talent (or a man), your body is your traded commodity. Let's face it, Jessica Alba wouldn't be working in Hollywood if her lips were less lush, or her hips less alluring. You don't see Kathy Bates commanding the salary of her more sylphlike peers. Jennifer Aniston didn't land the plum roles until she whittled 30lbs off her already small frame, much like Tina Fey got no airtime on SNL until she slimmed down. Fey even wrote this into an arc on 30 Rock, addressing the fact that there are no average sized women on television, only super-svelte or the Snapple lady.
Discussing the weight gain of the Girlie Show star, Jenna, network exec, Jack Donaghy, commands, "She has to lose 30lbs or gain 60. Anything in between has no place on television."
I come out of the entertainment industry, so I know what the specs are and I know how conformity is valued as a commodity, and how one step off the mark can send you sprawling over the edge of a cliff as a hundred girls more willing to do the crunches and miss the meals elbow you aside for their own shot at stardom. Is it fair? Is it right? It's business. I mean, good lord, Britney Spears' comeback was based solely, and I do mean solely, on the state of her abs. Who cares about her state of mind? She looks hot again.
I'll show you my age as well as my size (I wear a 14): Remember Designing Women? Remember that Linda Bloodworth Thompson wrote an episode specifically to deal with Delta Burke's unprecedented weight gain? Remember its title? They Shoot Fat Women, Don't They. Yes, Virginia, they do shoot fat women. You know who else they shoot? Average sized women. And very thin women. And perfectly sized women. Since you can't win, you might as well be the size you want to be.
BUT. I work in corporate America. My job has specs. If I do not meet those specs, or if I make sudden, drastic, distracting changes to the way I deliver my work I will be under great scrutiny. I have been there. I have been in both places.
I have had a producer tutting over my upper arm size, and I have had a boss tutting over inconsistency. Both of them were right because both of them were trying to sell a product and make a profit, and my part of the machine was breaking down. I didn't get hired as an actress so that I could afford bigger pizzas. I got hired as an actress when I fit a specific list of characteristics. And when I couldn't wear white bike shorts without looking like I was smuggling cottage cheese, I couldn't do my job. I got hired as a model when my measurements fit the dress. When I could not wear the dress, I could not do my job. (I wasn't Beverly Johnson, demanding that they split it down the back, you know.)
So while I feel for Jennifer Love Hewitt, and Jessica Simpson, and Delta Burke, and Karolina Kurkova, and Tyra Banks, and every other woman in the public eye who has, or ever will have her hips judged by the masses, I recognize that these women made their names with their hips, thighs, breasts, lips, abs, butts and all-around beauty. Do they deserve a shredding in the press? No. Should they remember that they are filling a role and are getting paid to look a certain way, and shouldn't be surprised when the well dries up because they no longer fill that role? Yes.
Jewel Staite, who worked on one of my favorite Joss Whedon shows and on one of my husband's favorite Sci-Fi shows, discussed this in one of her Myspace blogs, and I'll have to look up the link later. Someone asked her about her size and she answered with much duh. She said that it was her job to look a certain way, so she made sure she looked that way. She gets paid a nice salary to do those crunches. Tiny Jenna Fischer has said similar things about conforming to a Hollywood standard. (Why does it seem like the actresses who can really act are the ones who get it, but not necessarily the ones who... Never mind.)
So what am I saying? I'm saying, Jessica, honey, you look good to me, but if you want to keep looking good to the people who have kept you in your extensions and hellishly-expensive-but-still-ugly pants, you're going to have to drop a few pounds. Choose whichever one makes you happy, the workouts, wooden food, and wonderful salary based on your dazzling Daisy Dukes, or the cheesecake and a far reduced earning power to go along with your Bermuda shorts. I'm with you either way. My Bermuda shorts and I feel your pain, and we have your back.
