Our belittling of (feminine) vanity
How a milk bath reorganized my thoughts on our collective disdain for trend, and how that ridicule often manifests as criticism toward women
When I was pregnant with Frankie, I hired a photographer to take milk bath portraits of me. If you’re not familiar with the trend you can quickly get caught up here. Over the past decade, pregnant mothers have been climbing into clawfoot tubs filled with milk and other opaque white liquids sprinkled with bright flowers. All that’s left is to close one’s eyes while you dreamily caress your baby bump, and boom, you’re the star of a John William Waterhouse painting.
I surprised myself more than anyone organizing this shoot. Before, during, and after the milk bath, I felt a mix of uneasy emotions. The words: vain, silly, dumb, and embarrassing all kind of floated to the top of my mind and hung around me for a few weeks. I only told my very close friends, my sister, and partner about the shoot, in the style millennials have perfected when they want to be self deprecating: in between a flurry of LOLs, OMGs, and WTF did I just do? “Blah! I’m so silly!”
The resulting photographs are really pretty, despite my discomfort through the whole thing. This is much to the credit of the talented photographer who made the experience as pleasant as could be. Although now, I have no clue what to do with these photos. Posting them online is of course far too private. Then there’s that pesky relationship I have with vanity and representing myself on social media. I rarely post selfies unless other people are in them. I briefly imagined myself a comedian, printing the milk bath portraits as the cover for our McCracken holiday card but then I realized I wouldn’t be getting around to it this year. So I left this funny little “out-of-character” mystery to dissipate, and over time I forgot about the photos completely, until last week.
I’ve been staring in a mirror a lot since I had Lasik done last Thursday. I’ve been flitting between shock and awe over both the gnarly procedure and the fact that my vision is now perfect. My bewilderment also comes from the fact that I voluntarily allowed a surgeon (who hilariously had a terrible cough that day) to cut open my eyes, shoot some lasers in there, and correct my vision to 20/15.
The recovery requires a lot of eye drops and a very sexy visor, which has foam pads perfectly arched to cover my eyebrows, to complete a very Bicentennial Man aesthetic. The combination of these novel things in my daily routine put me in front of a mirror every hour. My stark face, dark circles, and bloodshot eyes startled me. I’ve been so accustomed to waking up with glasses on, and, because I’m a woman who doesn’t follow critical beauty advice, I usually have some traces of makeup on from the day before. For the next two weeks I can’t touch makeup, so I’m telling everyone I’ve joined the ranks of the bold, barefaced Pamela Anderson.
My relationship with self-esteem and beauty is something I write about a lot, but it’s a fairly simple timeline that I don’t think is that singular in our North American (re: capitalist) culture. Awkward pre-teen with unplucked eyebrows finds makeup, finds beauty magazines, finds celebrity style guides. If it was the 90s, we pile on the eye and lipliner a little too much for a while, then there’s a correction when y2k comes around. Maybe a peach gloss, just mascara for nights out. Shortly after listening to Ani DiFranco and reading Simone de Beauvoir, some of us leave the makeup game forever, our “feminist partners” tell us we look better without makeup on. We obey again, noticing that with the rise of social media, selfies, and taking photos of our food, paying too much attention to appearance swirls in a cauldron of other unlikeable traits. Shallowness. Basic bitches. Influencers. Did you see that girl walk by that storefront and catch a glimpse of herself? How vain.
I keep coming back to this tightrope we have to walk as women. Be cool, but not crass. Be beautiful, effortlessly. Be wild, fun and free, but you better stay loyal. Look good without looking into a mirror. I sometimes enjoy thinking of the mythological women who indulged in themselves, albeit at the expense of our heroes (or more gravely, the starving public). But still, Charlize Theron as Queen Ravenna bathing in yes, milk! Wanting eternal youth? Evil. Cleopatra’s baths of milk and honey? Over the top. I assume Marie Antoinette had milk with her cake, but I cannot confirm if she bathed in it. Still, villains? Or, women in true liberated nature? (That last line is harder to swallow with Antoinette). We mock evil stepmothers who get lost in mirrors, but it’s not like their young counterparts are unattractive. Elsa, Moana, and Raya might be high-kicking “girl-power” all the way through the story arc, but each one of them still has long lashes over doe-eyes, flowing hair and tiny waists. The heroes are still the fairest of them all. When our heroes are victorious, the old witches turn into dust, and it made me realize (like the popular meme), as I approach 40, I am more aligned with the Evil Queens desires for youth than I’d like to admit. (I think you could replace “milk baths” with “Botox” in this newsletter and the effect would be quite similar).
So yes, the idea of capturing myself at a moment of motherhood, in a very feminine way, feels at odds with my conflicting stances on vanity. The desire/shame conundrum takes hold. I want to do this thing for myself/I want to be seen as selfless. Is the added layer of fantasy-like art direction lending inauthenticity to the brutal reality of child bearing? If I myself have had a harrowing experience breastfeeding, why in the actual hell would I climb into a tub filled with, of all things, milk?
I’m an Ali Wong superfan. I laughed until I cried at her jokes exposing the reality of motherhood. It’s true, if your only exposure to motherhood is through Instagram, you might think breastfeeding is rainbows, kittens, and Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. But, judgement works both ways and I can’t help but feel like we’ve swung back towards the mentality of the high school bully, eager to point out the posers. (Theoretically brainstorming here: If 65% of people I know agree that the family-portrait Christmas card is basic, self-involved, or vain, and yet 65% of them still make them every year, the venn diagram basically concludes, “fuck it! I’m taking milk bath portraits even though I think it’s a little cheugy.”) Our attempt to be authentic purveyors of counter-culture is an exhausting persona to inhabit. Perhaps, and I’m saying this from experience, a lonely one that needs a bit of weeding (and seed sowing!).
In today’s world, I believe that true desire has been so infected with shame it’s hard for us to know what we really want. Or at least the fear of admitting those wants has stunted our true selves. This is most evident in relationships that grow apart over time, and how much we villainize generations that aren’t our own. Or simply, how we (I) reach for my phone to take a photo as quickly as humanly possible, as if embarrassed by the “vain” act of god-forbid, wanting to take a photo.
Am I glossing over my motherhood experience in taking these milk bath photos? Or am I permitted to paint myself an image of ethereal fantasy that I inhabited even for just a moment during that time of my life.
I suppose I need to make this clear: I do not want my face to be wallpapered everywhere. I don’t want to go to my kid’s recital or a concert, and watch it through a sea of screens. I don’t want to fall into my proverbial reflection, and forget the world around me. (Also, as a photographer and smartphone-addicted millennial, I am constantly keeping an eye on the studies which revolve around excessive photo taking and memory retention.)
My reflections (had to) on vanity aren’t so much centered on the awful way companies profit off our desire for youth. Instead I’m more interested in the actions we take after a long, hard look in a mirror. There’s a lot of philosophy written about vanity and how the judgement of others sparks (well-intentioned) action, as Dr. Nat Rutherford explains in this video. He distills some of philosopher Adam Smith on the subject with these lines: “Seeing yourself through the eyes of others is to subject yourself to the judgement of humanity, its our vanity that makes us accountable to other people… to want not only praise, but praiseworthiness.”
So, what does a life look like when you’re avoiding the mirror? Batting compliments away like the good modest mice we’re taught to be? And who’s holding us accountable anyways? The “public at large”? If I’ve learned anything, no one is even watching us do the things we think we’re being caught doing. Lately, as a new-ish parent who feels largely out of control, under-slept, and tossed aside, I am starting to enjoy finding power in small acts of vanity. I re-organize and renovate our little corner of the world. I fill vases with flowers and take photos of them so they last longer. I pay for lasers to be shot into my eyes so I don’t need glasses anymore.
When did gazing into a mirror turn from curiosity, philosophical intrigue, and otherworldly conjuring into an ugly, depthless quirk? As I soak my healing eyes with another dose of antibiotics, I see myself aging and transforming before my eyes. The marvel of my new sight and my reflection is worth staring at for a little longer. I’m not sure I need to climb into another milk bath anytime soon, but if I do, I won’t be so dithering about it. Maybe I’ll share them, or maybe I’ll let them sit in a closed album until my death. Maybe my daughters will discover them together, laughing and crying at the strange 2020 trend, in awe of the woman I might have been all those years ago.
"The problem is not the mirror but the way in which the gaze of the other has been internalized." - Simone de Beauvoir, Second Sex
"I'm writing you a love song,
But I don't know how to say it,
In a way that's not so self-deprecating,
I can be anything, but I can't be anything,
I can't be someone else,
I'm my own worst enemy." - Ani DiFranco, Untouchable Face
This Echo was partly inspired by these podcasts, books, and videos:
Beautiful photo, Coco, and a terrific rumination. You win!
Your old fan (circa Sarah Perry) xox Alice