Gay-bashers assault Quentin Crisp (John Hurt) in the 1980 film "The Naked Civil Servant"
"Why can't men on Wall Street and in Washington flatter themselves
with eye shadow in shades of, say, paterfamilias peach, takeover
teal, or million-man mauve?" asked Katherine Stern, junior
fellow of Harvard's Society of Fellows, in a recent talk at the Center for
Literary and Cultural Studies. "Men fashion the world around them;
women are expected to be content to fashion themselves," she answered.
"But this familiar feminist critique of artifice has been half-blind.
I would like to turn the cosmetics question around and ask, How has it affected
men to be debarred from this art of the body?"
Surprisingly, Stern says, virtually nothing has been written about men's
exclusion from beauty culture, or what that tells us about the other side
of cosmetics-not their oppressiveness, but the psychic freedoms that men
are being denied. Her forthcoming book, Men in Makeup, will address
this scholarly lacuna. For Stern, the aesthetics of femininity and effeminacy
are not only interchangeable, but unexpectedly heroic: "Persons of
that type, no matter what their gender, have this adventurousness, this
courageousness in relationship to self-transformation. Usually we think
of femininity as weak or dependent, but there's significant risktaking involved
in being feminine or effeminate."
It may be hard to find a necktied broker risking blush, gloss, and the latest
eyeliner on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, but Stern identifies
"the man in makeup" as a familiar figure in the Decadent literature
of the fin de siècle, including that of Oscar Wilde, Max Beerbohm,
and Arthur Symons. But whether the character is a pierrot, a dandy, a vain
young man, or a vain old one, Stern observes that once he undergoes feminine
artifice, he quickly declines-often into a "fatal swoon." In The
Portrait of Dorian Gray, the most famous death-in-makeup story, Wilde's
hero lives a "nightmare of feminine body-consciousness," as Stern
puts it, and dies a narcissistic suicide. The death-in-makeup narrative
also appears in the twentieth century, in works ranging from Thomas Mann's
Death in Venice to contemporary films such as Mascara and
Blue Velvet.
"What causes the male aesthete's encounter with feminine artifice to
end in death?" Stern asks. "Is it homophobia, misogyny, decadent
cliché?" While these have been sufficient cause for most critics,
Stern wants to determine why "something that was not dangerous
or deadly for women, was dangerous and deadly for men."
Her research has unearthed centuries of anticosmetic tracts: the self-decorating
impulse allegedly arises out of vanity, shame, and the will to deceive the
self or others, and has long been associated with death and decay. "Behind
all this is the very old idea that people decorate themselves to prostitute
themselves," Stern explains. Another ancient idea is that to decorate
your body is to desecrate an image created by God. For Stern, what is most
intriguing about such proscriptions is that, for the most part, "Men
actually live within those taboos. Women live with them as well, but they
constantly break them."
Stern, whose background is in comparative literature, hopes to provide a
broader definition of femininity/effeminacy and masculinity-one not limited
by biological gender. "We can see femininity as that aspect of being
human which has to do with going through change," she says, "and
masculinity as resistance to change." The downside is that "masculinity
ends up being this very narrow median on a continuum where everything extreme
in any direction is feminine," Stern says. "Feminity is self-expanding,
but masculinity is always policing itself. I'm suggesting that no one can
ever be consistently masculine."
The seventeenth- and eighteenth-century man, with his passion for decorative
black velvet face patches and rouge, or hair powders in blue, pink, and
lavender, had a more capacious definition of masculinity. But despite this
period of culturally-sanctioned cosmetic use by men, makeup has never lost
its feminine status and become gender-neutral or masculine in any Greco-Roman
or Judeo-Christian culture. However, Stern claims that outside those traditions-especially
in cultures where makeup has a magical value-cosmetics are considered masculine.
The makers of the recent wave of films about men in drag-from The Birdcage
and To Wong Foo... to Priscilla, Queen of the Desert-are banking
on this magic. "Making fun of men in drag has been going on for centuries,"
Stern claims. "But what's happening now is that there's actually a
good feeling about men in drag. They're being used in films to create a
sense of well-being in the audience."
This sea change may be due to the advent of what Stern calls the "feminine
postmodern," explaining that feminine characteristics that were formerly
denigrated are now accepted as universally human. For example, she asserts
that "with cosmetic surgery and all the new technologies for making
the body exactly what you want it to be, the culture is becoming more feminized.
There's more and more pressure on men-commercially and in the media-to enter
into this cosmetic cult." That can be quite a threat, she notes, yet
"this comic celebration of men in drag-seeing that masculine heroes
like Patrick Swayze [in To Wong Foo...] can put on a dress and look
good-reassures men that they're going to be able to encounter this
future." In fact, according to Stern, "The image of a man in drag
is, in a way, an image of the future of masculinity."