Monday, October 29, 2012

GQ Bullcrap.

Today I read my month-old GQ Magazine while eating Chex Mix (while is what any self-appreciating, self-proclaimed feminist scholar would do after a long day) and was thoroughly pleased at my abbreviated journey through momentary "man world". At least middle- to upper-class, well-dressed, works-out-at-least-twice-a-week man world. Then...I reached the last story. It was considerably well-written; yes, I actually read GQ magazine for the literary material. However, this damned picture pissed me off--enough that I felt a blog post was needed (obviously). The article was entitled "The Blind Faith of the One-Eyed Matador," a disturbing piece about a Spanish matador, Juan Jose Padilla, who'd lost a eye and part of his jawbone to a bull named Marques. In between the gory details of Marques dismissively trampling Padilla and the five-hour surgery it took to save the matador's life, the author paints a picture of how Padilla heroically learned his family all over again and entered the bullfighting ring five months later. But this picture had me open-mouthed in disbelief. The photo, which depicts Padilla and his family in the foyer of their home, ironically with a taxidermied bull head mounted on the wall. The problem I have is that Padilla and son stand in the foreground of the photo, standing proud and strong. In the background is Padilla's wife, Lidia, and daughter, who's name isn't even mentioned. The two women are standing and seated, respectively, and are both very severe. To make matters worse than the women clearly just being part of background focus, is how the article described Lidia: supportive of her matador husband, "passionate and devoutly Catholic." To add insult to injury, passionate was put in quotes, which is, of course, just a politically correct way of saying she gives it up whenever he wants. The article also goes on to attribute Lidia as "Juan Jose's girl," which sounds remarkably close to making her a possession. I totally understand the piece is about the Cyclops-esque matador, not about his poor little wife, Gentleman's Quarterly. Next time just cut out the subtlety and have her in an apron, cooking dinner while simultaneously sewing sequins on his suit.

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