The way she wore

I like the Obamas as much as the next (non-extremist-right-wing) person.  Barack seems like a decent guy on an amazing run on his own, without any underhanded jokes concerning his performance in comparison to Bush.  Michelle I like too.  She’s statuesque, Amazonian, incredibly photogenic and is just as accomplished as her husband. Now I realise that it’s Barack who’s the president, but I would have hoped that our definition and understanding of a First Lady would have evolved with the times.  

Now, I love clothes and fashion and I’m of the ilk that understands that clothing is a means of expression.  I wouldn’t go so high-falutin’ saying it’s art (hasn’t Any Warhol taught us anything?) but the constant obsession on Michella Obama’s clothing is odd. Disturbing.  Frustrating.  I’m not saying it’s completely wrong and unfounded.  The way costume is utilised in art is truly riveting (says the Art History major…).  Art works depict members of court as literally being moulded into their status and rank – the fact that the French liked a bit more cleavage in their dress than the more prudish Spanish with their massive stiff hooped skirts belies more than just colour and fabric preferences. The role of art history and theory in analysing dress is that they also consider the context and background.  With Michelle Obama, it seems like there’s such an intense focus on what she’s wearing that all her other accomplishes are disregarded.

It is fascinating to an extent to see that she’ll pull out that Junya Watanabe on her European tour, but sticks to Michael Kors stateside, just as how Jackie Kennedy diligently wore American clothes in favour of her beloved Parisian designers, all in the name of patriotism (and good press).

Complacency is the Anathema to Progress: An Open Letter to My Homeland

It is easy for me, as a second generation Filipino-Australian, to sit atop my high horse and dispense commentary on the political, social, and economic conditions of a country that I have little first hand experience with. And, it is easy for me to tell my kababayans to resist their first impulse to become nurses, which would make them eligible for skilled workers visas. Yet such is the situation in my homeland. However, I am self-aware enough to understand that whatever I may say is insulting to the people who are currently there, and work tirelessly to “fix” the current state of affairs. After all, this is merely the simplistic observation of an outsider.

And, yet, this — being an outsider — is something I feel I have always been.

I was — am — restless. When I was younger, I straddled two cultures that were often in conflict with one another; ever burdened by being a double-barrelled Australian: a ‘Fil-Oz’. This identity crisis manifested itself into my burgeoning wanderlust — as an Antipodean, so isolated from the world, it was inevitable. So, with Kerouacian aplomb, I attempted to find myself. It was a journey that took me to interesting locales in Europe, the beaches of Hawaii, the bustling streets of Shanghai, and (twice!) to the Philippines.

But it was not just fellow Australians I came across overseas. It’s self-explanatory as to who else I met when I say: It’s surreal to eat dinuguan in Barcelona, and to know that somewhere, out there in the world, at any one time, Wowowee is being watched by an overseas worker or migrant, reminding them of home. There is something quite fantastic about that, and yet so implicitly disheartening, too.

The Whores of War

Rape. It’s a great, feel-good topic of discussion, isn’t it? Sexual assault isn’t really considered dinner table conversation. While ‘Sex’ is everywhere, and talked about quite openly, sexual assault is that retarded cousin you go to school with but don’t acknowledge in the hallways. It’s embarrassing, a source of shame, and with it comes equal parts sympathy and revulsion. So much so that even victims of sexual assault don’t talk about it; and, sadly, in many cases, don’t report it either.

But how about incidents of sexual assault that everyone knows about but ignores? How about sexual assault as a policy of government? How about sexual assault used as a weapon of war?

Amnesty International report that rape is being used as a military strategy; and it was in Rwanda that acts of sexual violence against Tutsi women were legitimised by government backed, Hutu military leaders through organised propaganda. As a means in which to break the morale of their enemy and increase their own, loot their enemy’s prized possessions, taint the women’s standing in their villages and tribes thereby interrupting their social structures, and to spread AIDS and other STIs. These women were raped, in the most disgusting ways imaginable, solely because of their gender and ethnicity.

When these facts came to light, the world made like Helen Lovejoy and collectively gasped, flabbergasted by the indecency and the inhumanity of it all.  But this wasn’t the first instance of rape used in war. Rape and war have been linked since antiquity. Like most — if not all — cases of sexual assault, rape was used to exert dominance and power. This war is a silent one.

Courting ‘Joe Sixpack’

This was a feature written for one of my classes, on the importance of segmenting your audience in political strategy.

 

When presidential hopeful, John McCain, chose a little known Alaskan Governor to run for Office with him, no one expected the appeal that a “hockey mum” would have on the fickle voting public. Whilst Sarah Palin has drawn the ire of Democrats and supporters alike – being a transparent manoeuvre by the McCain camp that reeks of tokenism – the appointment has, nonetheless, boosted the momentum of McCain’s campaign. So, the question remains, why? Make no mistake that Palin is being used to compete for the voting bloc that Hillary Clinton’s failed bid has left in its wake.

 

It has long been held that political strategy focuses not only on public perception but also appealing to the ‘safe’ constituents – the voters who fall in to the same patterns of voting – and consolidating these likely voters. The task would remain, then, to source voters outside of these established voting groups. Barack Obama’s campaign focused on non-voters, with an aggressive initiative encouraging voter registration, managing to tap in to the youth market. In doing so he mobilised a completely new constituent of voters beyond regular voters, which would push him to victory in the primaries.

 

Historically, this is not the first time that a Democrat has done this to get to the White House. John F. Kennedy’s

Clothes maketh the (wo)man

So is it just me or can women just not win on the campaign trail? I mean. Seriously. On the one hand we have the Clinton-Is-Dowdy Club, who revel in eyebrow-raising comments on the former First Lady’s tentative steps towards the plunging neckline (I think she’s a chick after all). Then we have the latest furore over the $150,000 that the Republican Party shelled out on Palin’s wardrobe (She’s a very freaky girl).

Let me preface the impending rant by conceding that anyone spending that amount of money on clothes over such a short period of time is a bit crazy. Factor in the (almost satisfying) pictures of investment bankers considering hanging themselves with their neckties and (absolutely horrible) photos of Main Street-ers losing their houses in the face of the sup-prime crisis, and we have a particularly disturbing illustration of political hypocrisy.

The road we don’t think about travelling.

R.I.P. Britt Lapthorne

Obtuse (and lame) Robert Frost reference aside, the news coverage of Melbourne student, and backpacker, Britt Lapthorne’s disappearance in Dubrovnik, Croatia (and, recently, her death,) has driven home to many young travelers a chilling reality: it could have been me. It’s like a punch in the gut for those of us who can think of one moment (or several) overseas when the night could have gone one of two ways; the way that it did or the way that Britt’s did. My insides twist painfully when I recall one particular night in Italy where I could have dropped off the face of the earth and no one would have been the wiser.

Do the words global economic crisis not mean anything to you?

Australia has one of the world’s largest credit debts. And just working this weekend at my casual sales assistant job (I’m a uni student, there are worse jobs out there) I was slightly bemused that pretty much 90%+ of customers blithely used their credit cards without batting an eyelid.

Credit crunch - not actually a breakfast cereal.

 

Fair enough – while the world’s economy seems to be crumbling around us, here in Australia we seem to be gliding by in this sense of isolation. It’s something to note that where I work at least, our sales are not significantly down during the sale period. The words ‘Great Depression’ have been bandied about, but that’s probably a bit of a stretch. There is a lack of understanding about what’s happening, understandably. Being a senior undergraduate Commerce student has left me scratching my head and checking up the terminology, and current news articles have made it a bit of a fad to try to explain what’s been happening to the ordinary reader. I’ve been asked by friends and work colleagues (being the token finance student) to explain what interest rates are, I kid you not. Seriously, I really wish I was joking.

WWAD?

What Would Amy Do?

I have wit, I have charm, I have brains, I have legs that go all the way down to the floor.

So. Ok. I am a massive, unapologetic West Wing fan. To the extent that the end of the series made me curl up in foetal position and twitch for about four days. But this post isn’t about the time I stuck my own face on a picture of President Bartlet or my encyclopedic knowledge of the fabricated careers of the characters on the show. This is about my motto: WWAD?

Amy Gardner isn’t my favorite character on the show. I’m more of a C.J. woman myself. Plus, I was an avid Donna/Josh shipper (yeah. I said shipper. So what?). Her character sometimes seemed a bit too polished – a bit too unnatural. But for some reason, when I reach for a woman role-model, I keep coming back to Amy. Sort of like admiring that pimped up blue ride with wheels the size of a small elephant, while driving a volvo.