Chris Jepson: The subjectivity of objectification

As a kid in the 1950s I’d hum the then popular Dean Martin tune, “The object of my affection can change my complexion from white to rosy red.” I couldn’t carry a note (still can’t) but I’d belt out those lyrics over and over with real gusto. Today’s column is about “the” object. I believe we are all objects in some context, that objectification is just part and parcel of the way we humans operate.

Human beings as objects. None of us like such an assessment, that we are reduced to objects of interest, attraction or, even, rejection. Objectification is often a superficial surface assessment of an individual’s physical attributes. Perhaps the most famous example is Christopher Marlowe’s speculative line concerning Helen of Troy, “Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships.” Is a woman’s beauty alone a sufficient catalyst for war?

The issue of objectification is of greater interest to women, particularly since the onset of mass advertising in the 20th century. Even a cursory reading of history, however, gives one the understanding that virtually every era had its idea of what constitutes beauty. It’s only relatively recently, historically speaking, that “thin” has been identified as the “preferred” female form. In the past, thin suggested poverty. Pale was in until Coco Chanel famously sunburned herself while yachting and, as a result, bronze skin became the vogue.

I’ve been doing research among my male friends to determine if there is a consensus of what constitutes physical beauty in a woman. The results are interesting.

True story follows. About 10 years ago I was sitting alone in a restaurant with a view of both the street and the interior of the establishment. I observed a woman exit her car and approach the restaurant. She was slender, stylish and staggeringly beautiful. Some human beings are so strikingly beautiful that you cannot long look at them, so stunning their appearance. She walked by my booth and I buried my face in the menu. Unbelievably she sat mere feet away. I looked-up just as she opened her mouth and the timbre of her voice and the choice of her words — sadly — caused her exterior beauty to evaporate in the cacophony of her “hick” twang and ignorance. I laughed at myself for being so susceptible to beauty. Lesson learned.

But that it were so. The American Psychological Association defines objectification as, “A person’s value comes only from his or her sexual appeal or behavior, to the exclusion of other characteristics.” The key word in this definition (to me) is “only.” Physical beauty is a roll of the genetic dice, of the gods smiling upon you, of luck. That said, within us all is an unspoken scale (however formed) by which we evaluate the relative attractiveness of our fellow human beings. She’s gorgeous. He’s sickly. She’s hot. He’s not. And so it goes.

I’ve read that our ancient male ancestors, when out on the savannah, could quickly assess from a distance the desirability of a female by the relative size of her waist.

I’ve said for years there are half a dozen people out there in Winter Park (or Jacksonville or Philadelphia, etc.) for each of us. However we determine who is “for” us, and subjectivity informs that decision. I call it the subjectivity of objectification. One size does not fit all. I respond favorably to wit and intelligence and generosity and if wrapped in beauty; who among us says no?