The Skinny on Body Image (as It Relates to Character)

I was, (cough) writing in the local, branded coffee shop this weekend. I go there for the people watch as much as for the coffee. While sipping the light froth from a "skinny" caramel macchiato, I warmed up the (brain) muscle by surfing the net... and accidentally crash-landed in the middle of a debate over a controversial campaign for soda pop. Pepsi's new ads featuring the "skinny can" have raised a collective eyebrow from the body image police. Apparently, there are people in the modern world whose perceived self-worth in relative to the circumference of a Pepsi can.

Call me crazy, but it sounds like a marketing coup. Who knew that, in the age of Red Bull and Vitamin Water, Pepsi Cola still wielded such infleunce?

Just when I had formed a solid opinion, which was not to have one, a young-ish couple entered the shop. They had a boy of about five in tow. 

Dad looked like Dads do. Sweat pants. Athletic shoes. Mom looked a little out of place. Dark skinny jeans. Tall motorcycle boots. Like maybe she was headed for the runway rather than the minivan. I nibbled my bagel, trying not to be oh-so-obvious as I watched this little family affair. What caught my eye was notsomuch her teetering about on nosebleed-high heels, but how uncomfortable she looked in them. 

I love jeans, and love wearing them, but... having lived through the 80s once already, skinny jeans are but one tiny piece of fashion history one wishes would not repeat. Not unlike leggings and the infamous mile-high poof, but that's another day's rant.

Now, before one judges me harshly, pause to consider that yes, I am old; but probably not as old as you might think. Watching this young mom tower above, barely able to hold her little boy's hand, I found her behavior more curious than alarming. I firmly believe that regardless of age or body mass, the best accessory is and always will be confidence.

For women, this creates an embarrassing double standard.  


Thankfully, as my body's changed, so, too, have my tastes. While my legs are still good enough to get away with skirts above my knees, these days I prefer them accompanied by opaque tights and/or tall boots. That said, shopping for "professional attire" has become quite the challenge. Some claim forty as "the new thirty." It's tough to maintain a youthful exuberance without appearing desperate to cling to paradise lost. The line between the two is terribly fine.


What has any of this rambling got to do with your movie?


Truly great films have the ability to show us something about ourselves. They capture the human condition. Every choice matters. Consider Citizen Kane. Here is a great example of how wardrobe choices can convey character. Roger Ebert gives his thoughts on on his all-time favorite classic on his web series, Ebert Presents. He describes the film as "...fresh, every time I see it." Listen to his commentary here. 

Welles was a master of shadow and light imagery. But he also has an uncanny ability to capture the mundane. As Ebert points out, the dinner scene he uses wardrobe and physical proximity to maximum effect, to highlight a relationship disintegrating over time.

When writing character, it's helpful to think about your character's body image. Which life stage your character is in. How they view themselves is as every bit as important as how your hero views the world. How you choose to show that is crucial.

Who can forget the line from Twelve Angry Men, when a juror, breaking down eyewitness, describes her as "...a woman wearing clothes of a woman ten years younger." That one line of dialogue encapsulates that character... so that we will know her instantly when we see her. 


The Bottom Line: Wardrobe screams character. 
How many pairs of shoes does your protagonist own? Whjat condition are they in right now?

Open your own closet. Take a peek. You'll be glad you did.

Threes

Today I mourn the loss of a very dear friend.

For what seems like as long as I can remember, I have prayed... for peace, for him, for comfort, for me. Today the Universe  sent me a reply. Framed in the three-story window of my hotel, I saw God’s face... smiling.


I noted not the window itself, but how it framed the world outside. Magic hour sunlight ignited fires of gold and crimson in the trees beyond. As if God himself had left the door to Heaven propped open, affording me a peek inside. God, the Master Designer of the ultimate Creation. Like a cinematographer, practicing his craft, He shines His light on what is to be seen immediately. And casts in shadow that which He chooses to reveal later. 

I thought about Adam in the garden. Of Life's three consistencies... Time. Love. Experience.  
Beginning. Middle. End.

My lizard brain tells me that to all things, there comes an end. There can be no beginning anew without. As a teen, I remember my mom at her mom's funeral. From my vantage point in the corner, surrounded by blue-hairs, toddlers, and a host of others whom I barely knew, I watched... as mom leaned over the casket. She kissed her mother good-bye. I felt confused. I went over to Mam and touched her hand. It was cold as Death.

I felt confused, and a little angry, even. If Mam's soul had flown to Heaven, as I had been raised to believe, then why kiss this lifeless body now? I was too young to understand grief.


That has since changed. I know now what I wish I didn't. Human beings are selfish creatures. And the Heart wants what it wants. 

It’s been less than twelve hours, yet already I want my friend back. I curse this new Future without him. 


Why do we wait until someone threatens to leave our lives forever before we find courage…enough to show and tell them what they mean to us? Surfing the 'net just now, I saw that The Huffington Post has a new blog, devoted entirely to divorce. An attempt to glorify? Or help others deal?

It is some comfort to know that I am not in this boat alone. Even the mighty TV don Tony Soprano, waxing poetic to his son, J.J., tipped his hat to heartbreak: “There’s an entire industry dedicated to lost love. It's called music.”


Music. Literature. Movies. And centuries of poetry… from Plato to Longfellow to Kanye.

"That that don't kill me, can only make me stronger... " ("Stronger", c. Kanye West)

The Bottom Line: Grief sucks.

I searched a million words for a nicer way to say it. There is none.  

Our spiritual background, or absence of, informs how we look at death. Which in turn, informs the way we live our lives. In the game of Life, there are no absolutes… only belief. (Or, sadly, the absence of it.) 

Want to avoid the new HuffPost blog? Easy. When you love someone, SHOW them. Just don’t wait too long.