Esquire magazine is self-defined by a few simple things: “Beautiful Women, Men’s Fashion, Best Music and Drink Recipes.”
OK, so I, being an 18-year-old female college freshman, have little to no interest in this publication and clearly am not a part of its intended audience.
However, something published by the magazine struck me instantly as both laughable and unsettling.
For the first time, Esquire has announced a “Woman Of The Year.” Considering the above description of the magazine, I can expect this woman to be, well, aesthetically pleasing. Call me crazy, but I’d also expect her to be somewhat accomplished: an award-winning actress, perhaps. Runner-up Jennifer Lawrence seemed fitting enough.
However, J. Law did not prevail. Winner of the title with weirdly important connotations was Emily Ratajkowski.
To clarify, that’s the “Blurred Lines” girl, which is how Time magazine referred to her. She’s known for prancing past Pharrell and Robin Thicke in minimal to no clothing, depending on if you opted for the PG or not-so-PG version of the “Blurred Lines” music video.
I’m not completely blind to the fact that Esquire’s readers are likely more interested in a woman’s looks opposed to anything else she may have done.
Knowing the poll’s result to be solely based on consumer votes breeds an understanding of the outcome. Additionally, I recognize that Ratajkowski is gorgeous enough to make me feel like a sloth and probably has bigger goals than walking around topless in heels.
What gets me is that these men likely paid no mind to anything other than her provocative strut through the “Blurred Lines” music video.
When Miley Cyrus re-enacted Ratajkowski’s role in the video at the MTV Video Music Awards not too long ago, the hate was never-ending. But at least Miley has some talent and a little more prominence — arguably more noteworthy prominence.
Esquire is a men’s magazine for seemingly typical male interests. I understand this: it’s meant for entertainment, not social reform.
But I just can’t help but see this — giving such a grandiose title to someone whose voice I’ve yet to hear and whose skin I’ve seen far too much of — as a step in the wrong direction.
For fear of marginalizing all men, I’ll note that Esquire is likely geared more toward the Barney Stinsons of the world and doesn’t represent the opinions of all, or even most gentlemen.
Hopefully in the future we’ll be able to recognize Esquire’s chosen “Woman Of The Year” by name and accomplishments rather than just her body.
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