Cindy Crawford - Branching out or Caving In?
Jordana Willner
Originally published San Francisco Chronicle
Sunday, January 16, 2000
Strutting the catwalk and pouting at the camera were fun for awhile, but supermodel Cindy Crawford knew that, like all good things, her youthful beauty would be temporary. Looks fade, and, being a shrewd self-promoter, she wisely repackaged herself as a fitness icon, author, actress, and journalist, until ABC News' ``Good Morning America'' finally hired her as a regular contributor. That much is clear.
What is less apparent is whether Crawford, the female phenomenon behind a legendary Playboy spread and infinite glamour shots, videos, and fashion shows, has advanced her career or leapt into the past by following the path of countless women before her: into the kitchen. That's right. With the birth of her first child comes the birth of Crawford's newest television niche: domestic goddess. Swap the bikini for an apron and train the camera on the famous mole, Cindy Crawford is now teaching the world to cook, date, and groom.
Should we applaud her business acumen or fret over another irreparable setback for feminism? True, no one ever accused a supermodel -- that great American symbol of unnatural thinness and objectified sexuality -- of being a feminist. But Crawford, with a straight-forward style and an eye on bigger returns than mere beauty, was more than your average starlet.
A one-woman business who hawks one versatile product – herself, it's hard to believe she would enter a new venture that didn't promise to advance her celebrity and income. More likely, she, like Martha Stewart, recognizes there is money to be made and power to be gleaned by exploiting traditionally female arenas for profit. Who could forget Stewart's delicious stock market triumph last year that left the WWF in the trading floor dust the day both went public?
Similarly, many women, from Madonna's sale of erotica, to Hillary Rodham Clinton's high ratings for marital loyalty, to Naomi Wolf's $15,000-a-month fashion consulting for Vice President Al Gore, are cashing in by selling the very items and issues people seem to want from women. And whether male or female, manipulating stereotypes and expectations for profit is perhaps as free and equal as you can get.
That is, if women freely choose these endeavors. But noting Crawford's onscreen awkwardness and stilted voice-overs, the operant question is whether she is a pioneer profiting from the traditional pigeon holes of women, or a symbol that, despite supposed progress, women's choices remain limited. As the adoring camera lingers on her nervous narratives, there's little doubt that ABC News, like Crawford herself, is banking on her looks. But if everyone is making money, does matter that she looks like a shell-shocked wind-up doll -- as long as she did her own winding?
Years ago, Madonna defended one of her more sexually explicit videos by saying it was empowering rather than exploitative because, though she was tied to a wall, she had chained herself. Despite the deceptively submissive pose, Madonna claimed power in the situation, because she freely chose to portray herself in a subordinate position. Madonna place herself in an earning role, profiting, like Crawford, from the money consumers spend on her image. And if Crawford, like Madonna, sees her new role as a conscious career choice aimed at advancing her own cause, it's hard to argue that it is anything but deliberate and astute. Both women exploit powerful niches for which they are uniquely qualified, and that seems like good modern business sense to me.
Trouble is, power and business sense may not be the most important traits in a modern working woman. Sex sells, but behind it lurks the danger of trapping women inside limiting stereotypes. While we've come far enough that women like Crawford can proactively choose a profitable kitchen gig, it remains unclear whether women have earned the freedom and security to advance only themselves with their professional choices, or whether we face a mutual responsibility to advance collective goals and universal access. Sexuality, femininity, and traditionalism often appear to help women in professional and social situations, but history teaches that unchallenged female roles remain subordinate, weak, and dangerously dependent. Supermodels doing kitchen segments won't change this.
Perhaps, despite years of airbrushed images and sultry poses, Cindy Crawford has done much to promote the idea of strong, self-driven women who carve a niche and enjoy a bountiful return. But she may also have contributed to damaging stereotypes and assumptions that result in everything from teenage anorexia to the mistaken belief that, with so much money and power, women face no remaining obstacles to equality. Earning power and screen time may seem influential and progressive. But time will tell if Crawford symbolizes a new era of unprecedented access, or whether she simply represents irresponsible and greedy maneuvers that may ultimately do more harm than good. Until then, let's just hope she turns out to be a decent cook.
--Jordana Willner wrote a monthly "Next Generation" column for the San Francisco Chronicle in 1999, 2000, and 2001
Originally published San Francisco Chronicle
Sunday, January 16, 2000
Strutting the catwalk and pouting at the camera were fun for awhile, but supermodel Cindy Crawford knew that, like all good things, her youthful beauty would be temporary. Looks fade, and, being a shrewd self-promoter, she wisely repackaged herself as a fitness icon, author, actress, and journalist, until ABC News' ``Good Morning America'' finally hired her as a regular contributor. That much is clear.
What is less apparent is whether Crawford, the female phenomenon behind a legendary Playboy spread and infinite glamour shots, videos, and fashion shows, has advanced her career or leapt into the past by following the path of countless women before her: into the kitchen. That's right. With the birth of her first child comes the birth of Crawford's newest television niche: domestic goddess. Swap the bikini for an apron and train the camera on the famous mole, Cindy Crawford is now teaching the world to cook, date, and groom.
Should we applaud her business acumen or fret over another irreparable setback for feminism? True, no one ever accused a supermodel -- that great American symbol of unnatural thinness and objectified sexuality -- of being a feminist. But Crawford, with a straight-forward style and an eye on bigger returns than mere beauty, was more than your average starlet.
A one-woman business who hawks one versatile product – herself, it's hard to believe she would enter a new venture that didn't promise to advance her celebrity and income. More likely, she, like Martha Stewart, recognizes there is money to be made and power to be gleaned by exploiting traditionally female arenas for profit. Who could forget Stewart's delicious stock market triumph last year that left the WWF in the trading floor dust the day both went public?
Similarly, many women, from Madonna's sale of erotica, to Hillary Rodham Clinton's high ratings for marital loyalty, to Naomi Wolf's $15,000-a-month fashion consulting for Vice President Al Gore, are cashing in by selling the very items and issues people seem to want from women. And whether male or female, manipulating stereotypes and expectations for profit is perhaps as free and equal as you can get.
That is, if women freely choose these endeavors. But noting Crawford's onscreen awkwardness and stilted voice-overs, the operant question is whether she is a pioneer profiting from the traditional pigeon holes of women, or a symbol that, despite supposed progress, women's choices remain limited. As the adoring camera lingers on her nervous narratives, there's little doubt that ABC News, like Crawford herself, is banking on her looks. But if everyone is making money, does matter that she looks like a shell-shocked wind-up doll -- as long as she did her own winding?
Years ago, Madonna defended one of her more sexually explicit videos by saying it was empowering rather than exploitative because, though she was tied to a wall, she had chained herself. Despite the deceptively submissive pose, Madonna claimed power in the situation, because she freely chose to portray herself in a subordinate position. Madonna place herself in an earning role, profiting, like Crawford, from the money consumers spend on her image. And if Crawford, like Madonna, sees her new role as a conscious career choice aimed at advancing her own cause, it's hard to argue that it is anything but deliberate and astute. Both women exploit powerful niches for which they are uniquely qualified, and that seems like good modern business sense to me.
Trouble is, power and business sense may not be the most important traits in a modern working woman. Sex sells, but behind it lurks the danger of trapping women inside limiting stereotypes. While we've come far enough that women like Crawford can proactively choose a profitable kitchen gig, it remains unclear whether women have earned the freedom and security to advance only themselves with their professional choices, or whether we face a mutual responsibility to advance collective goals and universal access. Sexuality, femininity, and traditionalism often appear to help women in professional and social situations, but history teaches that unchallenged female roles remain subordinate, weak, and dangerously dependent. Supermodels doing kitchen segments won't change this.
Perhaps, despite years of airbrushed images and sultry poses, Cindy Crawford has done much to promote the idea of strong, self-driven women who carve a niche and enjoy a bountiful return. But she may also have contributed to damaging stereotypes and assumptions that result in everything from teenage anorexia to the mistaken belief that, with so much money and power, women face no remaining obstacles to equality. Earning power and screen time may seem influential and progressive. But time will tell if Crawford symbolizes a new era of unprecedented access, or whether she simply represents irresponsible and greedy maneuvers that may ultimately do more harm than good. Until then, let's just hope she turns out to be a decent cook.
--Jordana Willner wrote a monthly "Next Generation" column for the San Francisco Chronicle in 1999, 2000, and 2001
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