Feminism, WOW! (part 2)

Part 1 Recap:

Women who wrestle face a specific problem, when it comes to representation: "the male gaze". Typically, "the male gaze" refers to the theory that mainstream media is presented through the perspective of a heterosexual male. In wrestling, the "gaze" also extends to other factors - such as nationality - but, for now, our focus is on gender identity.

Click here for part one.

Part 2: Suffragette City

Because the typical wrestling fan is believed to be male, and therefore the typical wrestler is believed to me male too, women have always been designated as a "special attraction" i.e. different from the norm. The male gaze exists in media for a business reason; those who are believed to be most likely to spend their money on a product will be targeted, by attempting to present to them things that are believed to conform to their beliefs and values. Similarities and differences are highlighted and exploited, and little is ever challenged.

Now, as a business model, you might argue that this is a logical approach; you attract the majority, in an attempt to earn the most. However, the typical gaze of a wrestling show is so very limited that monetary justification is not a strong counter position. Members of the audience might even turn away by the handling of intergender relations.

If you are a woman in wrestling you have one of four roles to fulfil:

1. The Diva - The object of sexual desire. Plays up to her looks
2. The Prude - The opposite of the Diva, in that she scorns the objectification of women.
3. The Subvert - The woman in the masculine role. Typically taken up by the more muscular women.
4. The Wrestler - Gender neutral. Just a wrestler.

Having been trained with women, wrestled a few, and even dated one or two, I've heard one phrase repeated: "I'm not a girl, I'm a wrestler!" This is usually shouted at timid male trainees who have a hard time overcoming the perceived social stigma of bodyslamming a woman. It's also a very telling phrase.

In the above four roles, only two can be said to be explicitly female - the Diva and the Prude. The Subvert plays the role of a man - she's considered interesting because she's subverting the gender roles and not acting as a woman should. And the Wrestler is not assigned a sexual identity - the importance is placed on the moves performed, which carry no gender bias. Only the Diva and the Prude are overtly feminine roles, and what do they have in common? Sex. Or, more specifically, objectification and sexual desire - one is for and one is against.

This is why some women do not want to be identified as such, within wrestling; because the woman in wrestling is only ever presented as a sexual object. Perhaps it's a greater commentary on how men are believed to perceive women - the Madonna and the harlot - but doesn't that make men sound like a Freudian nightmare?

I've always taken to the belief that the best wrestling shows - the true supershows - are the ones that have something for everyone. Normally, this is considered as choices in wrestling styles, but what of wrestling philosophies? I'm of no doubt that some men can only relate to women in sexual terms, but why does an entire show have to be targeted at them? Give them one or two matches, then show me something in a perspective I've never seen before. Maybe I won't even enjoy that perspective, but, you know what? I'm not the biggest fan of Lucha, either.

Feminism, WOW! (Part 1)

I don't think women's wrestling should exist.

(Interesting remark, let's see where this goes.)

Whenever you talk sexual politics you're in constant danger of appearing as either:
a.) a preachy, left wing, arsehole
or,
b.) a preachy, right wing, arsehole

Right now, I probably appear to be the latter of the two. But I'll do my best to win the feminists back over (hi mum!), as well as make a coherent argument.

Anyone reading this will be predisposed to think one way or another about gender roles. If you're hardline one way or another in your beliefs, then I don't think anything I can say will talk you around; if you tutted at that opening statement, and have only read this far out of spite, or some other misplaced ill will, then this post not for you; if you were roused to a cheer at what you believed to be open misogyny, then this post is also not for you. This post is for simple consideration.

Now that that's out of the way, let's return to the opening line and condense it. Focus on the term "women's wrestling" and really think what that means. Intrinsically, it's sexist. Why? Because of the need to include the modifier "women". When men wrestle it's called "wrestling", when women wrestle it's called "women's wrestling". So? Well, by needing to qualify that it is indeed women wrestling, and not feel that same need to do so when men wrestle, there's the implication that the wrestler is a role to be taken up by a man.

Consider the term "male nurse" - it's the same idea. The norm is that "she is a nurse, and he is a male nurse". The implication is that a nurse is job for a woman, and when a man takes up this position it is a break from the norm.

To allow the label of "women's wrestling" to continue, is to preserve the idea that women are, at best, a special attraction i.e. they're not normal wrestlers.

Some promoters boast of having an all women wrestling show, as if this is truly better than the usual cards which limit themselves to one "women's match". Both types of show just prolong the separation of male and female wrestlers, by the continued import of the idea that the gender divide is vast. Men and women are different - clearly. But the difference is only as significant as the difference between weight divisions. Lightweights are not considered to have any more or less claim to being a wrestler than the heavyweights (most of the time, I concede).

The problem is "the male gaze", which is the idea that entertainment is presented to the audience through the perspective of the heterosexual male. Straight men are the main demographic targeted in most forms of media, and wrestling is certainly no exception to this. The "gaze" of a wrestling show presents a vision of a world which attempts to pander to the wants and values of its audience - or the majority of it, at least. Difference is exploited and made apparent, for the sake of entertainment. And being a woman is different to the majority of a wrestling crowd.

What You See & What You Get

There's a classic example, given in philosophy, of the difference between what is perceived and what is true. It's a fairly easy to understand thought experiment, so feel free to follow along at home:

If I was to take a completely straight stick in my hand and look at it, then my sense of sight would inform me of the even nature of the stick's geometry. But once half submerged in water, the refraction of the light creates the appearance of a bent stick.

All this example is highlighting is that our senses can be fooled, and because of this, we should weary of placing all our faith in our perceptions.

There's an obsession of the body in wrestling. It's only natural, considering that the matches are a form of physical expression, but there's this almost unnatural obsession of the ideal body in wrestling. I'm not the first to point this out, but the bodybuilder physique is often considered the ideal aesthetic, and has been for some years. I understand why - the development of the muscles to a comic book proportion is an achievement, and, if nothing else, fascinating - but there's no variation in qualification of what is a good body for wrestling. Bigger is always better.

This isn't a disaffirmation of the bodybuilder as a wrestler, nor as an athlete. Big muscles are an accessory, like a fancy robe to walk to the ring in, or a mask - they're interesting to look at. But if you want to see the best bodies for wrestling, google some images of Cael Sanderson, Aleksandr Karelin, or Marcelo Garcia. All of these men compete in different weight classes, in different sports - freestyle wrestling, greco-roman wrestling, and submission grappling, respectively - yet none conform to the ideal body aesthetic.

The idea that bigger is better is preserved by society, and does not actually originate from the wrestling community. Take the masculine symbols of cinema: violence, phallic imagery, and muscles. The more violence, the bigger the guns, the bigger the muscles, the better. Which is why I'm not here to condemn or even ponder the continuing worship of muscle-bound wrestlers. I actually want to talk about the other form of physique driven obsession - self-obsession.

I think that if you took a cross section of wrestlers, and ran them through some psychiatric tests, then you'd discover alot of them would be suffering from body dysmorphia. Yes, there is a steroid problem in wrestling, but there are also anorexics, and bulemics, and people who simply believe there is a defect in their image and don't know what to do. They all just want to build muscle and loose the fat.

I've sat in changing rooms and seen people spend their entire night flexing in the mirror, doing some exercise, and then returning to the mirror for more flexing. People like this are the ones who become obsessed with getting bigger, put all manner of things I can't spell into their body, and will fervently deny chemical based accusations; others who "just can't get in shape", will go for a day or two, at a time, without a meal; there are people who throw up immediately after eating, because they want abs; and I know someone who came close to killing themselves with diuretics.

Wrestlers believe in the ideal body. It's a necessity to them, not an accessory.

I'm not in the habit of naming and shaming, so I won't begin here. But, I will share with you a story of a not so sympathetic encounter with an image obsessed wrestler:

I have blogged previously that I am a former chubby lad and this story takes place at a time when I was a couple stone heavier than I am now. So, imagine a short, ginger boy, with a little more to love than the average person [massive arse].

It's yet another show, on just another weekend, arriving with a few of the usual suspects of North West English wrestling, and we "do the rounds" i.e. shaking hands and saying hi to everyone who's already there.

A short while later, I've changed into my trunks and boots. I'm awaiting the start of the show, when a wrestler, who've I yet to say introduce myself to, walks up, takes a quick glace at me, and announces "Jesus, you need a tan!" And when I say announces, I mean he deliberately says it loud enough to catch everyone's attention - he even looks around to see if he got a good laugh out of anyone. I'll be honest, I was expecting a handshake and a "pleased to meet you". But I'm used to this type of person, so I respond, simply "why?" He looks a little taken aback, gives it some thought, and - again - announces "cause you're supposed to have one, aren't ya?"

That is the kind of reasoning that reverberates through wrestling. There is a right way and there is a wrong way for people to look. And the pressure to conform is not always implicit.

To Be Someone Must Be A Wonderful Thing

Mass recognition is not good in itself. To argue against celebrity, most people point to the string of reality stars that've appeared in the pop culture over the last few years. These television generated personalities appear to have no notable talent, add nothing positive to society, and are the entertainment equivalent of junk food. However, this is the most obvious target of anti-celebrity attacks. A simpler one - that I'm surprised more people don't mention - is the fact that criminals often become celebrities: Jack the Ripper is close to a modern myth, Charles Manson is a recognisable caricature, and Myra Hindley's image has been reproduced for exhibitions.

All that being said, I actually don't believe fame is bad in itself, either. Jack the Ripper wasn't a bad person because he became famous, it's because he had a habit of killing people. Celebrity is merely a state of affairs, and, the majority of the time, a simple product of good advertising. Celebrity is simple acknowledgement, and nothing more.

It's often believed that you're either going to be a star in wrestling ("superstar" is a copyrighted term), or you're going to be a purist. To put it another way: are you going to be concerned with being famous, or being a good wrestler? If you're going to have the most appeal, then you can't wrestle a style that is esoteric. The mainstream wants easily understood entertainment. This births the romantic notion of appealing to the "real" wrestling fans - the minority of people who'll applaud and become invested in even the most minor of details.

I'm not sorry to dispel this idea, but there is no "real" wrestling fan, just as there is no fake wrestling fan. The closest you'll ever reach to a true fan of the work are the people who've done the work - the people who've been on the mats and swapped sit-outs and switches. The "real" wrestling fan is the wrestler. (I'm fanatical about wrestling, that's why I do it.)

It's the uninitiated that buy the tickets, sit in the seats, and cheer and boo.

You are not automatically a bad wrestler by appealing to the audience. You are not automatically a good wrestler by being unappealing to the mainstream. Business and art are not mutually exclusive, they're independent. And people get bogged down in being different for the sake of being different, to see this sometimes.

Invisible Friends

There's an amazing amount of hubris in wrestling. And by hubris I mean ancient Greek, Oedipus Rex level hybris. There are people who believe that the show begins and ends with themselves. For awhile, I thought that people like this were putting on an outward act of arrogance, in an attempt to get other people to believe them. But it wasn't long before I realised that "oh no, they really believe it, don't they?" It's these people whom I want to mind-jack. It's a mentality that's fascinating - in the same way that documentaries about serial killers are.

In abstract, these type of people are, at best, quaint, comic figures; in person, they're an endurance test.

I actually try to avoid talking about this type of person, most of the time. The simple reason is that they crave attention, and have little misgivings if it's positive or negative - the important thing is that they are being discussed.

Why bring it up here, then? Is this the point in my life where I burn the small bridges that I have in British wrestling? No (I will do that in good time). The important thing to point out is that you - yes, you - are not the sole reason that the show was as good as it was.

This weekend gone, I was reminded how much I owe to people that nobody else notices.

I can't remember where I heard it first, but I've heard it repeated quite a few times: "the sign of a good referee, is that you don't notice he's there". This is true of everyone whose job doesn't involve wearing spandex.

There are so many little things to be done, on even the smallest of shows. If these things are done correctly, then nobody will be thanked for a job well done; if something fucks up, then somebody will not hear the end of it. The best example I can think of, is music. Music, for me, is when the match begins and ends. It acts as your introduction and also signals that the referee did, indeed, count three. I hate it when something as simple as music messes up. It makes me want to grab the sound guy, shake him about, and shout "YOU HAD ONE JOB! ONE JOB!"

I've yet to assault any music men, but I've also yet to thank any of them, too. I'm not even sure how they'd react if I did approached them and said "thank you for playing my music correctly". If anything, they'd probably assume I was making fun. So let this be my unspoken nod to everyone who continues to do their job correctly, and type the pleasure, the privilege is mine.

Ideas Man

One of the biggest joys I've had in wrestling, was when another wrestler asked "how did you think that up?" Referencing a maneuver which had me jumping over the top rope, into the ring, catching the back of my fallen opponent, rolling through, and landing in a sleeper hold, with both hooks (or "feet," as they're more widely named) in position. The only thing I could say in response, when asked, was that I'd been taught how to flip an opponent over when you already have control of their back, and that I could visualise it working from a flip into the ring, too. It just made sense.

That being said though, I'm not a real believer in originality. At least, not complete originality. In my - admittedly, somewhat limited - experience, everything worth doing has been done. I mean this fundamentally. Fundamentally, every story is a retelling of the same structure; every hero and villain is a new face on an old archetype; every love song says the same bloody thing. I don't think this is deliberate in every case, either. There're examples of myths, which are all from separate civilisations, which have no known link to one another, that tell parallel stories. All the way to modern day, these stories are retold: the story of Moses follows the same structure as the origin story of Superman,  as well as Harry Potter. (Not joking.) Yes, when we get to specifics, they're universes apart, but fundamentally, they're all the same.

People put such a prize in originality, but never even examine if it's truly possible.

In modern media, people are said to "pay homage" to their favourite works, when there's an explicite allusion to it in their own work. It's gotten to a point now, where the word homage is spoken with a tongue in the cheek, or a roll of the eyes. I've taken to calling it "stealing like an artist" (a phrase I have, indeed, stolen). I don't romanticise the borrowing of ideas. They're taking ideas they like, and putting them in their own voice. And there's nothing wrong with saying it in you're own voice - that's what self expression is.

For example, there came a time when I thought I needed a change in look. (The specifics of why are unimportant.) So, rather than the typical trunks and boots, associated with the technical style of professional wrestling, I opted to take a more modern approach. I designed some Vale Tudo esque shorts, and laced up my amatuer wrestling shoes, for something I thought looked a little more unique - to everyone else, that is.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

The majority of the look - as you can see - is taken from the Sambo submission wizard, Volk Han. And it gave me a grin, knowing I was parading around in gear that was so explicitly similar. I was showing off my stolen wears, in public, and getting away with it.

I could create a list so numberous, that any respect you may have had for me crumbles away. But if it did, ask why is it that originality has such a weight to it? All I have to give is myself, and I am a subject of my experiences.

One idea I had for a match came from a comic I read; an idea for another, came from a film; a few times, I've used a single line, in a song I like, to anchor my line of reasoning, when I've had to talk on a microphone. All of these things have an origin which is external to me, but they've helped me do or say what I needed to, and I did so in my own voice. The key, is that I expressed myself.

Mr Popularity

There's an internal debate I have, regarding popularity and art: if something is more popular, is it better art? I don't mean, by this, is popularity the only aesthetic quality to draw conclusions from. What I mean is, can popularity be considered one of numberous factors, when judging art? Some days I answer yes, and some days, no.

The argument is often presented in wrestling that the more popular a wrestler is, the better that wrestler must be. I think it's better typified in film, though. For example, the films of Michael Bay are not generally considered to have well developed, deep characters, or plot. But, his films have the appeal of grand spectacle, and have made hundreds of millions of dollars. Now, let's look at another director, in Park Chan-wook. There's a decent chance that you've never heard of this South Korean director. In terms of worldwide recognition, you're going to find more people who've seen Transformers, than Oldboy - there's a high probability that you'll find more people who've seen Transformers, than've even heard of Chan-wook's work.

So, what has this director, whom I'm assuming you've never heard of, made? Plenty, but I'll focus on the above-mentioned film, Oldboy. (We'll go by IMDb information, as we're discussing mass appeal.) Considered one of the top hundred movies made; the highest rated Korean language film; was nominated, and awarded, numerous honours - including recognition at the Cannes film festival; highly praised by Quentin Tarantino; it's worldwide box office gross was a little under fifteen-million dollars. Compare that to the latest Transformers [Dark of the Moon] gross, which was over a thousand million (an American billion) dollars.

As products to be marketed to consumers, there's no comparison. As an expression human existence, there's no comparison.

I am firm in my belief that not all art is for all people. Just because you can't follow Ulysses, doesn't mean it's a bad book (and there's my pretentiousness quota met).

If you've read these ramblings before, you'll realise I have a certain opinion on critics. Now, allow me to express my opinions on audience: sometimes, it's their fault - "it's you, not me."

I'll just let that sit with you.

Taken that in yet? (If not, reread the above.)

Good.

However - allow me to let you in on the parradox - I also assume the audience was never "bad".

Yes, I believe that there are bad audiences, whilst, at the same time, believing that there is no such thing. Why? Because, challenging others never generates self-improvement. But, in believing that it's sometimes the audience's "fault", you remove yourself from blame and it helps with the formation of ideas:

In the cognitive gestation period, the audience is a mere abstract; it's up to them to get "it", and how could they not? You trust in them, and inhibitions fade. When that idea falls flat, you search for everything you could've done differently.

Maybe art isn't for everyone, but can art ever be good in itself?

The idea of art which is good for itself, is something that never sits quite right with me. (Not the most logical of prepositions, I grant you.) I suppose I have a problem with the concept of art which has no audience. There is always a listener for the speaker, even if all you're doing is talking to yourself.

Which leads me back to my intial problem: is popularity a factor when appointing aesthetic value? Not really. This and that is for someone, but the eventual immensity, or modesty, of those someone's doesn't make it any better. At least, that's how I feel today.

Just jump

I remember, before I even started training, I wanted to do the diving headbutt. The gymnastic moves look the coolest, and that's why they're so popular and prominent in modern wrestling. I always imagined it took a true acrobat's balance to springboard; the tope suicida looked ridiculously dangerous; the frog splash was in abundance; the diving headbutt was the way to go, for me. I'm sure I accumulated hours of air time, in my younger years, jumping from the couch onto a pile of stacked pillows, in the living room. Periodically, a parent would peak in a wonder what their son was doing to make such a racket. Inevitably, I would be shouted at, and my antics curbed until the next weekend, where watching the latest episode of Raw would send me right back to the armrest. I'd stand, arms outstretched, ready to swandive, with no promise of a gold medal - an underachieving daredevil.

No one ever taught me how to do a diving headbutt. I always assumed I could do it (the arrogance of youth). So, when the time came for a crash mat to be present in the training ring, I climbed the ropes, with little hesitation, dived off, and landed squarely on, what was essentially, a big blue pillow. We moved the target around the ring, and I easily aimed the jump each time. The furthest I could hit was the middle of the twenty-foot, training ring - which I thought wasn't bad for little, unacrobatic me.

Eventually, of course, we had to take the mat away. The opponent was the target, not the softest part of the ring. The test was if I could still commit to that landing. Armed with nothing but hubris and the knowledge that you had to bring you arms in, to protect your sternum, as you hit, I climbed the ropes and jumped. WHAM! That wasn't so bad - prefered the mat being there, I'm not going to lie, but it wasn't as bad as I was expecting. All it had required was a good jump.

Sometime later - now armed with the diving headbutt, as well as hubris - I asked another person at training how to springboard. The entirety of the instruction I recieved was to push with my arms and jump with my legs. ("That's it?! That's all there is to it?") I honestly don't know what else I was expecting - maybe some secret handshake you did with the ropes, in order to get them to agree to holding you up in the air. But that was, actually, all the instruction I needed. There is an invisible sense of balance and timing involved in the movement, but it's subjective, and only refines through repetition. Just jump.

When my courage had built up enough, I asked about the tope suicida ("the suicide dive" is not an encouraging name, after all). "Get some momentum and jump." Again, that was it. That was all there was, and is, to it.

The phrase "just jump" is still somewhat of a joke, amongst a few of us who trained together: if the subtleties of a specific move escape you, just jump, it'll work itself out. It's actually not that bad a piece of advice, if I'm honest. Sometimes you need that attitude to succeed, even in inconsequential situations.

The Perfect 10

It's often stated that we all love an underdog - and we do - but there's no cliche in place to describe the amazement, or awe, we feel from the perfect record. Underdogs don't score the perfect ten, geniuses do. Dan Gable won an Olympic gold, in freestyle wrestling, without conceding a single point the entire time; Cael Sanderson is undefeated in college wrestling; Dock Ellis (baseball, sorry grapple fans) threw a no-hitter, whilst under the influence of LSD; Rickson Gracie never loses, ever.

Yesterday was the first time I've ever lost in a grappling competition - ruining any future hope I might've had at building that perfect record. I didn't loose out on a major championship, nor was my future welfare, in anyway, compromised, but, for some reason, it really got to me. After the match, I put Kurt Cobain to shame. And it's at a time like that you want to blame everyone else: "if so-and-so would've stopped talking to me beforehand, I could've focused more"; "that person being there made me too tense"; "that girl's my bad luck charm, I never do well with her here". The truth of the matter, though, is that I made mistakes and the other guy was good enough to capitalise on them. That's all. I would've really liked to have blamed someone else, or luck, but I don't believe in luck, or fate, or destiny; the only people you can count on, is yourself and your opponent (and maybe the ref).

The worst part was realising how stupid my approach was, later. I had a few other matches, after the loss, to settle on who'd win the bronze. It's a ridiculous mentality, but I'm a "first or last" sort of guy - there's first place, and there's last place, and nothing inbetween. So, I approached these other matches thinking "what's the point?" Which meant I was loose and limber, seeing the openings, and going to work, properly. I won the bronze. And all I could think of was how tense I'd been approaching the other matches. I hadn't switched off and relaxed. ("Be like water, my friend.") It was a learning experience - which is, really, what competing is supposed to be - but that doesn't make that smudge on my record any more tolerable, right now.

One of the people I beat, on the way to the bronze, blamed the mats for his loss: if he hadn't tripped on the mats, then there's no way I would have submitted him. He was nice enough to find me and tell me this, in a very matter of fact sort of way, after the match. Some people can't accept the loss, and some people can; thankfully, I'm the latter.

P.S.
I actually had an entirely different post half written, before writing this, but putting that up felt like ignoring what I really wanted to talk about. Somedays you need to put your hands up and shout "I fucked up!"