Here are all the reasons I hate the ad for WE, the new Women’s Entertainment channel, that appears to be showing constantly at all times no matter which cable channel I am watching:
First off, it features the nine billionth use of Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family” to telegraph funky female togetherness. Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled that the song allows the members of Sister Sledge (who are, incidentally, actually sisters) to dine out and pay the occasional gas bill twenty-one years after the song hit the charts. But if I have to hear it one more time—ever—I may have to jab a sharpened Popsicle stick directly into an eardrum, and possibly not one of my own. That goes for Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive,” too. I mean, enough. You’ve survived, already. Now shut up.
And anyway, it’s a lie. Women, as a class, aren’t a family. Just like men, some women like some other women, while absolutely hating the stinkin’ guts of others. I mean, good Lord, doesn’t anyone remember the gym shower scene in Carrie? (Playing “We are Family” in the background of that scene, now, that would have been a master stroke.) Demanding that all women fall into solidarity at the drop of an R&B hit is a little smug and cheap on WE’s part, particularly as what they’re supposed to fall in line for here is a cable channel.
(But that’s the way it’s always done in advertising, in case you haven’t noticed. Women are always joyously banding to celebrate some damned thing or another, whether it’s women’s cable programming or zit creams or feminine napkins. One of the commercials that ranks high up there on my all-time Hate List is a recent pantyliner commercial in which a carefully multi-ethnic quartet of attractive young women hug each other enthusiastically while simultaneously shouting the name of the pantyliner brand. Forgive me, but I doubt that the natural expulsion of reproductive detritus into winged cotton batting has ever brought any group of women together, and if it has, well, those women are icky.)
Moreover, if I were woman, I’d be sick and tired of the assumption that what I really wanted to do all the time was watch other women sit around on a pastel couch with throw pillows, drinking coffee from oversized mugs and talking to other women about women’s issues. I mean, hell. I’m a man, and just about the last thing I’d ever be doing is looking at some guys hanging out in a rumpus room, sitting on bar stools with their beers and talking about hot chicks and auto engines. Really, I’d rather die. Not just because it’s boring as Hell, but also because as much as I am a man (harumph, harumph), it’s not something that’s really worth thinking an awful lot about on a minute-to-minute basis. Yes, yes, I have a penis. Fine. Be that as it may, I have other stuff to do. I can’t imagine ever wanting to watch a show about men’s issues, much less an entire freakin’ network. This is why, not entirely coincidentally, I’ve never seen a single edition of ESPN SportsCenter.
Back to the WE ad. Once we get past the soul-jangling tones of “We Are Family,” we get a montage of female celebrities—Victoria Williams, Cindy Crawford, and Faye Dunaway (carefully multi-ethnic!)—all declaring some of their various attributes. “I’m an actress. I’m an athlete. I’m a friend,” one of them modestly declares, as the camera zooms in to examine her perfect pores. Then another comes in to announce her curriculum vitae. Then another. After two or three of these, what I really wanted was to see Steve Miller show up and declare “I’m a joker. I’m a smoker. I’m a midnight toker.” Purely as a matter of gender, it would be inappropriate, but it would sure feel right.
As I’ve previously alluded, I’m not a woman, but even as a man, there’s something condescending about these litanies of ability. The undertone behind the I’m all these things bullet points is that women still have to prove that they can do a whole bunch of things even though they’re women. While I’m not foolish enough to argue that women have achieved equality in all or even most things—women are still earning 80 cents to a man’s dollar simply because they don’t have testicles—I also don’t believe that women should feel compelled to qualify their successes through the prism of their gender. Any time you have to qualify your success, you implicitly diminish it.
(I just mentioned this point to my wife, who thinks I’m reading a little much into the litanies. But I’ll stick to my guns here. Any time you see someone listing off accomplishments in an ad, it’s because they’ve done so despite adversity—medical ads do this sort of thing all the time. I just don’t think being a woman should be the equivalent of a chronic malady.)
Also, it bugs me that all the women in the ad are strikingly attractive. It’s more proof that those who market to women consciously or unconsciously believe that women are swayed more by attractiveness than competence—which further calls into question the whole “I am. . .” thing. In her recital, Faye Dunaway declares “I’m a director.” After I was done rolling my eyes (she’s directed one cable movie in her whole life, and that for WE), I couldn’t help but wonder: What’s wrong with Betty Thomas? Or Penny Marshall? Or Mimi Leder? Each of these women are real directors, with $100 million grossing movies to their credit. I bet you one of them would have been happy to sign on as a spokesperson. They’re just not as good looking as Faye.
I’ve nothing against good-looking women. Some of my best friends are good-looking women. But they ought to mix things up. I’ll say it: I want to see an ugly woman as a spokeswoman for a women’s network. Ugly men are out there all the time—look at Larry King, for God’s sake. He looks like someone’s talking underwear. Why not give America a spokeswoman who ain’t much to look at but is competent as Hell? If accomplishments actually count for women, this ought to be a no-brainer.
In fact, I even have a suggestion: CNN’s Candy Crowley. Crowley is without a doubt the lumpiest newsperson on TV, and every time I see her, I give a little mental cheer. You don’t doubt she’s a damn fine reporter, because as stupidly obsessed with looks at TV reporting is, particularly with female correspondents, Crowley nevertheless gets airtime. Lots of of airtime (she’s CNN’s senior political correspondent). She’s got journalism awards up the wazoo, too. Give her her own hour on WE (or Lifetime, or Oxygen, or wherever), and I bet she’d do a hell of a job.
So why not make her—or someone like her—a spokesperson? Does anyone doubt she’s got the skills and accomplishments? Does WE’s braintrust actually believe that women—their merry band of sisters—are so hopelessly shallow that they couldn’t or wouldn’t accept a physically unattractive but otherwise qualified woman as a public face for their network?
Well, I know where I stand on that question. The whole problem with the WE ad is that from the music to the words out of the attractive spokeswomen’s mouths, it assumes far too little out of its audience. It panders rather than inspires. The individual components bug me personally, but the overall statement is one I find truly depressing for women. Think about it, women: This is supposed to be a network for you, and it can’t appeal to you any better than this. Isn’t that sad?