Of Bare Breasts and Burkas

A subject on "Real Time with Bill Maher" last Friday night (10/13/06) was whether or not Jack Straw, head of the House of Commons, should have announced that he doesn't want to talk to women in burkas anymore. "It's a visible statement of separation and difference," he told the press. When asked directly, he admitted he'd like those veils to be discarded altogether.

Maher, energetically anti-burka, called the garment a "symbol of intolerance," and chastised those who think they need to "tolerate that intolerance" in the name of tolerance. Mideast specialist Danielle Pletka, who didn't know how she personally felt about burkas, noted the disagreement among Muslim women, some of whom embrace their burkas and others of whom detest them. Lou Dobbs said that when American female journalists travel to Muslim lands, they abide by cultural laws and don scarfs; why shouldn't the women who wear burkas when they come to the US drop them off at the door? No one mentioned that they'd never heard of anyone asking a nun to take off her habit before having a chat. True, her face shows, but barely.

I found the whole conversation amusing. In fact, as an American woman of a certain age, who couldn't read Nora Ephron's "I Feel Bad About My Neck" fast enough, I've wanted a modified burka (face showing, body covered) of my own in recent days. I live in a culture that evaluates my every curve, wrinkle, and hair on my head; the size of my lips; the droop of the skin under my upper arms; the breadth of my thighs and hips; the ampleness of my breasts; literally every one of my physical attributes against an emaciated, youth-obsessed, plastic-surgery-altered, impossible standard of beauty. And that standard of beauty today demands a very high level of exhibitionism from women, as long as they have something to exhibit. And woe to those who don't. Just look at the new tv show "Ugly Betty," who is ugly because of glasses (of course), braces, a bit of acne, improperly coiffed hair, unmanicured fingers, a squat body, and a sub par, unrevealing wardrobe.

In reality, the demand to cover up and the demand to show skin have a single source: male dominance. In religious circles, that dominance demands hiding every ounce of female flesh lest it lead whole nations of men into temptation. In secular circles, that dominance encourages a show of every possible ounce of skin, short of nipples and vaginal lips.

It means cleavage, cleavage everywhere; skill at half-naked pole dancing (on a recent episode of tv's "Without a Trace," a sexy young FBI agent went undercover as a stripper, grabbing onto the pole as it that talent were inbred); a willingness to be a good sport and flash breasts and buttocks, anywhere, upon male request; and a "hip" openness to even the most vilely anti-woman porn, computer games, and music.

So which culture is doing better by us? Given what I have to go through every day, figuring out what to show and what to hide, how to hide what I want to hide, how to deal with the mysterious shame I feel at not measuring up, you can understand, perhaps, why a little veiling would have its appeal.

Alternately, I'd like to see women create religious and secular norms that will dictate men's physical appearance. Perhaps we could begin by refusing to talk to men in suits. We can get the fashionistas to make some changes--shorten, tighten, with cut-outs in strategic locations and revealing drapes--for our entertainment. As for the religious guys, we might require that they adopt the garb of Catholic cardinals, those pointy red caps and capes, since like nuns' habits and unlike burkas, they don't seem to bother anyone.

Or, maybe we can figure out what's really going on here that has nothing to do with breasts and burkas and everything to do with power.