debbie m. price

Power statement lost in magazine photos of 'postfeminist' era

I go to the mailbox and there is Sharon Stone among the bills, buck naked from the waist up, her hands covering a pair of breasts that bring to mind fried eggs.

She is pale as milk and just as cold and I can't decide whether the pose is meant to evoke a Rubens painting or photographer Annie Leibovitz's idea of a stone goddess. Stone's face has all the life of Laura Palmer on a slab and is just about as appealing.

This woman, the accompanying article says, is supposed to be Hollywood's new glamour queen. I look at the picture again and can't help the question.

Why would she do that?

There aren't many glamour queens who would bare their breasts on the cover of a national magazine if said breasts could be held in the palms of their hands. (In Texas, the silicone suffragettes march for the freedom to grow — even if it kills them.)

Of course, this is Vanity Fair and the cover of Vanity Fair is to pack actresses what Shell pest strips are to flies. Their publicists say "cover shot" and they start ripping their clothes off. They can't help themselves.

Demi Moore? Which of her lines do you remember, the ones from Ghost or the ones — pregnant or painted — on Vanity Fair ?

Would I be writing about Sharon Stone if she weren't showing her naughties? Probably not.

Which answers the first and easiest question.

Why do it?

A bare breast always attracts a certain kind of attention. Men drool and prissy feminists tsk tsk. And columnists with nothing better to do on a Wednesday write about it.

But there is a larger issue here than Sharon Stone getting nekkid on the newsstand.

A trend is developing and you need a whole new vocabulary to decipher its meaning.

Vanity Fair says that Sharon Stone's "uniquely macho feminism" has earned her the respect of "powerful women" in this, the "postfeminist era." Writer Kevin Sessums dots his article about Stone with references to "postfeminism" — referring to the sexually confused, loudmouth Camille Paglia as a "postfeminist bitch on heels."

Don't ask me what postfeminism is. Our electronic library references it only once in a New York Times story that merely says "writers confuse people with the term postfeminist."

My friend Ann, our resident feminist, says she thinks it's just another way of saying "backlash," a word that could use some relief.

Post anything implies the death of the original, so postfeminism cannot be good news for the women's movement.

In this postfeminist era — whatever that is — are we talking about stabbing men with ice picks and wearing short skirts without panties a la Stone's Catherine Tramell in Basic Instinct ?

Is this what "powerful women" respect?

Sessums expends many words on Stone's talent and nerve and smarts, but it's her bra size that leads the article and her breasts that they put on the cover.

Feminists burned their bras and so now, postfeminists bare their breasts?

The March issue of Mirabella magazine, which bills itself as "the only publication that showcases what really matters to witty, sophisticated, intelligent women like you," teases a fashion piece.

"Real Power," the cover says. "Now that we've got it, how do we dress for it?"

Inside there is a photo spread on Armani suits for the power lunch. Only thing, if the woman takes off her jacket, we're talking about naked lunch.

The suit coats are open — "board meeting, TV appearance" — to reveal bare skin from the neck to the navel. Women are "dressing in the public eye," and this — the magazine for witty, sophisticated, intelligent women says — is the way to do it.

Dress in the public eye like that in Fort Worth and you'll get arrested.

Of course, everyone knows that this is just Hollywood and Madison Avenue doing what Hollywood and Madison Avenue do. No real woman takes it seriously — or does she?

Mirabella promises that its fashion feature is the first in an occasional series on "women and image."

So what is the magazine trying to say?

Women are so powerful that they can bare their bazooms in the boardroom and slap any guy who leers with a sexual harassment suit?

We can have it both ways? We can complain about being admired for our tits instead of our talent and then put those selfsame tits on the cover of a national magazine?

I don't think so.

But I know one thing.

You won't see Lee Iacocca grabbing his crotch on the cover of Fortune magazine.

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