Cleavage and Its Discontents

Every so often, someone likes to belittle me. I’ll share an example. Some of my satirical tweets appeared on TV a couple of years ago. Others found their way into newspapers. Of course, my little accolades set off alerts in every mom’s basement in North America.

The trolls came out to do their thing.

They linked my success to my anatomy. Right before musing about why their tweets didn’t get more attention.

“Maybe I need a pushup bra,” one of them whined.

And here I was, thinking eyebrows were the new boobs.

Tweets are a strange thing to get upset about. Some people — including women — like to equate even your most trivial wins with anything other than your brain. Tits just give losers an easy excuse.

We live in a world that still separates body and mind, needs and desires, sex and intellect. Some of us still think sex somehow taints or corrupts everything.

Our troubled attitudes toward sex in modern civilization cause a lot of problems like this one. Even people who claim to be liberated and open-minded still cast their share of judgment. We live in a world that still separates body and mind, needs and desires, sex and intellect. Some of us still think sex somehow taints or corrupts everything.

So if anything even reminds us of sex at all — like a woman’s cleavage — we don’t want it anywhere near our “intellectual” activities.

Or so we pretend.

Only a fool would deny that looks, personality, or a nice smile have some bearing on success. That said, let’s not forget all the super attractive people who destroyed their careers. All the one hit wonders. All the Lindsay Lohans and Robert Pattinsons of the world.

You might think women use their boobs to advance their careers. If so, you’ve been watching too much TV. This idea comes straight from Hollywood cliches — the corporate femme fatale who uses her feminine charm to seduce her bosses and sleep her way up the ranks.

I’m sure that’s happened once or twice. Some women do try that angle. I’ve never seen it work very well.

Boobs can allegedly save you from a speeding ticket. I’ve also heard addressing a cop as “officer” instead of “sir” makes a big difference. So does not rolling your eyes or swearing under your breath.

A hundred little things contribute to someone’s good fortune. When you add up all of a person’s advantages and disadvantages, I seriously doubt boobs or dimples or a sexy wink makes much of a difference.

In grad school, I remember hearing ever so much gossip about this or that woman who was sleeping with this or that professor, or this or that editor of this or that journal.

As if a girl could screw her way into a tenure-track job.

Not likely.

We’re talking assistant editor, tops. Maybe one poem in The New Yorker. Even when that happens, I’m always mildly surprised at how much scorn people heap on the girl. Only recently have we started showing attention to guys who enable that kind of behavior.

This may shock you, but women don’t always dress sexy to attract attention. Usually, they just want to feel sexy. They want to look their best, for themselves.

Most of us realize — cleavage and a fake smile don’t get you very far. Just as often, it’s a liability.

My friends tell horror stories about accidental cleavage during job interviews. We talk about ways to hide boobs in academic profile pictures. How to look nice, but not too nice.

Nothing sucks more than finding a shirt you like, and then immediately wondering when and where it’s appropriate. That happens a lot. Especially if you like scoop and square necks.

This may shock you, but women don’t always dress sexy to attract attention. Usually, they just want to feel sexy.

They want to feel bad ass.

They want to look their best, for their own sake. Anything else comes as a pleasant side effect. And sometimes not so pleasant.

Personally, I’d prefer if none of my favorite shirts revealed any cleavage. I’d also like world peace, and a winning lottery ticket.

People assume women only face backlash when they flagrantly violate the most basic laws of decency. As if women were showing up to work in bikinis. For the record, I’ve been slut shamed for bearing my shoulders. The exact word was “desperate,” I think.

Personally, I’d prefer if none of my favorite shirts revealed any cleavage. I’d also like world peace, and a winning lottery ticket.

Until then, I’m left with two options:

A. Buy clothes I don’t like, so I can avoid the accusation of using my boobs to get attention.

B. Wear a bib all the time.

You can’t ignore other people’s opinions. But you can stop overthinking them. In fact, you have to. There’s simply too many critics waiting to poke holes in your life.

In grad school, a woman asked to see my application for a research grant we’d both applied for. I happened to have a copy.

She read it right in front of me. “Okay,” she said and handed it back. “I guess you deserved to win.”

The disappointment in her voice said everything.

The moment you start telling people they won something because of their tits, or their teeth, or their cuff links, you’ve reached a real low point.

A year later, my first article publication met with similar skepticism. A friend of mine asked to read the published version and then sent back a critique. Which is kind of a douchey thing to do.

In case you were wondering.

We pretended to engage in intellectual debate about the flaws in my use of theory. Things got weird when he kept asking if I somehow knew the editors, or ever met them in person. Finally, I sat him down and showed him highlighted passages from my sources.

It didn’t help.

The truth was that he didn’t want a discussion. Tits not withstanding, he wanted to prove that my article didn’t merit publication. That I’d somehow seduced my way into the journal.

Trust me, jealousy comes to visit my house often enough. The way my friend felt toward me, I’ve felt toward others. The difference? I’ve never acted on those feelings. I’ve scrutinized my successful peers. Wondered what they have that I lack. In my most pathetic moments, I still fall asleep hoping that tomorrow I’ll wake up a millionaire. But even I know that the moment you start telling people they won something because of their tits, or their teeth, or their cuff links, you’ve reached a real low point.