Nice Breasts Tour The Creation Museum

My friend John—a self-professed "atheistic, post-Mormon, freethinking-Quaker, pro-feminist, aspiring SF writer and some time religious studies grad student"—wrote a post about two atheists who went to the Creation Museum undercover.  One wore this shirt, the other this one (front, back).  The whole set's worth a look, as it's the most exhaustive documenting of the museum I've yet seen. 

Just as I was about to write a little something about the museum itself, however, I made the mistake of looking at the comments on the first picture of the shirt.  The first is:

nice breasts.   GOD.   nice breasts.

Who would spend their time trawling Flickr for photos and commenting on the appearances of strangers?  The "GOD" is doubly egregious, since the couple's clearly there to mock the Creation Museum.  Granted, I'd still have been off-put if it'd read:

nice breasts.  NATURAL SELECTION.  nice breasts.

That granted, I'm tempted to leave that comment, but I'm understandably gun-shy this week.  Would the context be clear?  Would I be commenting on the comment, or on the woman?  Would an additional comment be required, something like:

nice breasts.  ACQUIRED CHARACTERISTICS.  nice breasts.

I could start multiple fake accounts, such that the first comment would be left by "dArW1N lu\/3r," the second "lA/\/\aRc|< r00lz," but that'd be excessive.  The context would be clarified, but the time invested would've been better spent reading more Edith Wharton.  Which, I should add, is reason I find such an everyday slight so galling.  Consider: a few days before her wedding, Wharton was

seized with such a dread of the whole dark mystery, that I summoned up the courage to appeal to mother, & begged her, with a heart beating to suffocation, to tell me "what being married was like."  Her handsome face at once took on the look of icy disapproval which I most dreaded.  "I have never  heard such a ridiculous question!" she said impatiently; & I felt at once how vulgar she thought me.

But in the extremity of my need I persisted.  "I'm afraid, Mamma—I want to know what to know what will happen to me!"

The coldness of her expression deepened into disgust.  She was silent for a moment; then she said with an effort: "You've seen enough pictures and stataues in you life.  Haven't you noticed that men are—made differently from women?"

"Yes," I faltered blankly.

"Well, then—?"

I was silent, from sheer in ability to follow, & she brought out sharply: "Then for heaven's sake don't ask me any more silly questions.  You can't be as stupid as you pretend!"

The dreadful moment was over, & the only result was that I had been convicted of stupidity for not knowing what I had been expressly forbidden to ask about, or even to think of!

To lurch from that to the lewd remarks of random strangers is quite the fascinating ordeal.  I'm not so judgmental as Wharton's mother, but the impropriety of those remarks, the casual disregard of vestigial decorum, seems all the more offensive when you've had your head in another century. 

Comments

[Alex]

Most depressing Flickr set EVA.

I mean, really, Greek philosophers didn't believe in the afterlife? Some did, some didn't but to say they all didn't!!??!?!

This is really, really depressing. Sigh.

And HOW long is the "museum"?

[Rodney Herring]

The "GOD" is doubly egregious,

No chance the pervy commenter has at least a sense of humor?

[Vance Maverick]

I'm not so judgmental as Wharton's mother, but the impropriety of those remarks, the casual disregard of vestigial decorum, seems all the more offensive when you've had your head in another century.

It's certainly offensive. But don't you think that, below the exalted social and literary level of Edith Wharton's remembered New York, speech was just as bluntly offensive (semantically and lexically) as what you've quoted?

[SEK]

Too long, Alex, too long. I didn't get into the absurdities of the placards because, well, they're not worth refuting. If you believe those arguments, you're beyond hope.

Rodney (who I owe two emails, which I will get to a.s.a.p.), I'm doubting it. I looked at his profile and, well, he didn't seem the sarcastic type. Plus, his comments were unprovoked. Mine would have some context. His? Well, misogyny's a context.

Vance, I've no doubt that taboo language existed then as now, different in degrees but identical in offense ... but it's not so much the language as the directness of the address. Put another (stereotypical, oversimplified, anti-working-class) way: construction workers whistle and yell at women passing by. Now, maybe they did the same in the 1880s, only about the probable color and density of their third petticoat, whereas now they ask whether hairs peek from under thongs ... so the offense is equal in magnitude, but much galling in effect. Actually, I'm completely unsatisfied with that response. Give me a few minutes to think this through. Be right back.

[Vance Maverick]

Scott, I'm not confident enough to mount a full-scale assault here. Part of my point is that it's hard for us to make a good comparison, because the relationship of print culture to demotic culture has changed so much. But examples like Ulysses (and cultural historians will have many more telling ones) should make it clear that the side of the culture that didn't make it into print or polite discourse in the days of Wharton's marriage was every bit as scabrous as what we have now. (saying tritely -- Redheaded women buck like goats.) What we've lost is the seamless system of exclusion that kept the public culture narrow and clean.

(Now if that clean, narrow public culture was a large part of most people's experience, then we've lost an important and in some ways valuable part of the culture at large.)

[Luther Blissett]

I'll no doubt get in trouble for this, but what all the self righteous anti-boob-man comments on the Flickr site miss is the fact that people didn't wear things like tank-tops in public in the past precisely because they turned women into sex objects. The increasing exposure of skin and curves is a direct function of people's desire to turn themselves into sex objects.

So when someone says that we should admire the girl's "creativity" and not her boobs, I say, "If you show us yer boobs, we're going to admire them." (Personally, it takes more than a tight tank top to set off my boob radar, but hey, maybe that guy was boob-starved. But I was raised on Bettie Page pictures, so I have impossibly high boob standards.)

It's like *Casino Royale*. When we see the new James Bond's amazing bod, we're not supposed to suck it up and say, "What fine acting talents he has." We're supposed to say, "What a fucking gorgeous body!'

Which is to say: the woman's intention might not have been to show off her sweater bunnies, but she's certainly doing so, and in doing so, she's taking a place in a long tradition of exposing one's body for public consumption.

People today want the freedom to show off their bodies while forbidding others to enjoy the sight.

(I don't want to hear "It's summer." It's not significantly cooler to wear shorts than long trousers, or a tank top than a loose long-sleeved tunic. I used to wear Sta-Press and Ben Shermans in the Philadelphia summertime.)

[SEK]

Vance:

But examples like Ulysses (and cultural historians will have many more telling ones) should make it clear that the side of the culture that didn't make it into print or polite discourse in the days of Wharton's marriage was every bit as scabrous as what we have now.

Ulysses is a fine example, as are Wharton's novels. Wharton, as I've learned, destroyed 99 percent of her personal correspondence, going so far as requesting letters she sent returned to her upon the death of the recipient. She tightly controlled what people knew about her, the secrets she shared with lost loves, close friends, female intimates, &c. So such a thing certainly existed, only not nearly so openly. So when you say:

What we've lost is the seamless system of exclusion that kept the public culture narrow and clean.

I can't help but agree. There was—at least in the loftier range of society—a concerted effort to suppress all such talk. Not so among the working classes. In fact, one of the constants of London's autobiographical novels (Martin Eden, The Iron Heel, &c.), by which I mean, novels in which he retold his own coming-into-intelligence—one of the constants of these novels is the London proxy's first formal dinner. He offends at all turns, from the appearance of his working-class hands (about which London himself was notoriously vexed) to his uncouth conversations. London must learn the rules of these societies ... only he never does, instead playing for them the role of Jack London, which he invented by virtue of being one of America's first "celebrities."

What I mean by that is that whereas there had been newspapers covering the comings and goings of Wharton's class for a couple of decades, the coverage of London-qua-London was unprecedented: that people would care about this man with (comparatively) little money but no small sum of fame was exceptional. I'm drifting off point, however. All I mean to do is agree with your assessment of those higher registers and their system of exclusion and image management.

Luther:

How to respond, how to respond. Alright, when I took my introduction to literary theory as an undergraduate, the professor told us about his first trip to a fancy museum. It was with an art appreciation class, and when they hit the female nudes, people were understandably uncomfortable. It was a reproduction of a famous painting in which a white female lounges on a deep red couch, in front of an almost black background, so her figure was obviously to be appreciated. The teacher turned to the class:

"This is a great painting."

One of the professor's friends whispered, "Yes ... of boobs."

"It shows that we can appreciate the female form ..."

"It's boobs."

"... in the abstract, without carnal thoughts ..."

"Of boobs."

He told this story to hammer home the point that yes, when you appreciate any work of art, part of that appreciation is erotic. (This was an introduction psychoanalysis, if I remember correctly.) You cannot study the female form in the abstract—moreover, who would want to? Or the male form, or transgendered, or any form, for that matter? The erotic is a part of life, and it's appropriate to remark on it at times ... but for some, "at times" translates to "all the time, in any situation, appropriate or not." To appreciate the female form for yourself, in your own head, is one thing; to remark upon the breasts of a complete stranger, in a public forum, for all the world to see, is another entirely.

[Dan Collins]

This woman seems very happy with her acquired characteristics:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/6751443.stm

[SEK]

Unfortunately, Dan, those don't quite count. Plastic surgery may be much evolved, but doubt implants are now heritable ... at least, not in the same way. That's an interesting idea, though, for a science fiction novel: heritable body modifications. The changes wouldn't be cosmetic, but genetic. To find a set of gills in the "junk" DNA, bring that trait to the fore, have gilled children ...

[Dan Collins]

Yes, but--technically speaking--they are acquired characteristics (just not in the Lamarckian sense). There was a Talking Heads song off of Remain in Light that dealt with the concept of refashioning one's appearance through mental discipline, as well.

BTW, I was appalled, when I lived in Mexico City, to see how many beautiful young Mexican women where getting rhinoplasty to get incongruently Yanquified profiles. The Obamagirl apparently underwent augmentation, so I suppose the issue this time around won't be "authenticity."

[Karl Steel]

Luther: Codpieces? Bustles? Hennins?

Greek philosophers didn't believe in the afterlife

Pythagoras? Sheesh.