The Naked News

Confession time. I'd like to say that when I'm working on art I've got music playing, preferably Debussy, and am sitting at the easel table in creative contemplation. The reality is this. I'm sitting cross-legged on the couch with the Montmarte art board across my lap and the TV on. Therefore I am familiar, to my endless shame, with Daytime Television. In my defence, I must say I don't watch soap operas or game shows. Usually it's the midday movie and then Duestche Welle or Al Jazeera news. Occasionally there's a foreign film on SBS but as I have to watch it to read the subtitles I get little or no work done. Having said this, I did watch Entertainment Tonight recently, rather it was on and I didn't bother changing channels. Normally I don't watch it. It's kind of a scary show in that such a big deal is made of such small beans. Also, I don't know half of the people they talk about with so much glee. But it was on and I left it on. I was doing background on this latest drawing, lots of meditative filling in, when the words, 'naked news' interrupted my reverie. What? I looked up. Yup, apparently somewhere (or everywhere) in the US one can get access to the news delivered by naked women. Let me say this again, the newsreaders are naked. They are not sitting behind a desk but are standing in full view, as it were, delivering the news. What the calibre of the news is, I have no idea. Probably the viewers have no idea either.

I'm not a prude. Nakedness is not something to be ashamed of. The human body is beautiful. Some of my best friends are naked beneath their clothes. It's a personal choice. But Naked News? Are we so sated with sensation that the only way to take an interest in what is going on in the world is to have information delivered by naked women? Ah, the women. "Hi Mom, got a job in journalism. On television. Broadcasting. Front desk. I'll be naked but at least I've got a toe (or some part of my anatomy) in the door!"

I was a little young to take part in the feminist movement but I watched the news, delivered by men in suits. Lots of men in suits. Barbara Walters is the only female broadcaster I can recall (save for weather *girls*). What was it all for? Women appear to be more sexualized than ever judging by music videos, ad campaigns and the Cult of Celebrity. Watched Mona Lisa Smile with Julia Roberts the other night (ok, I watch too much TV). It was set at Wellesley College in 1953/54 when women really were the second sex. Robert's character, an art history teacher, was trying to wake up her pupils to the possibility of their own potential. Yesterday I saw a commercial advertising one of those hand held mixers. The commercial could have come straight from 1953. The actress was wearing something that was so similar to a twin set and pearls that if it was different I can't remember how. Even her hair and makeup were straight from the 50's. And she smiled so smugly, with a tinge of sexual satiation, at her phallic shaped kitchen gadget. I nearly gagged.

Then the other side of me says step back and take a look. For every reaction there has to be a reaction. Women do have more equality than before, they have clawed their way into positions of influence, whether it's in politics, the boardroom or the 6 o'clock news. So what if they equally get as drunk and foul mouthed as their male counterparts, fight and vomit in public and have as many one night stands? For every upside there is a down side. You see, I want the best of both. I don't want to be patronised by men yet I love it when a man opens the door for me. Long gone are the days when men would rise from their chairs when a woman entered the room. I don't expect those days to return for the trade-off would be too great yet I missed those days by a whisker. I would have enjoyed tasting both worlds; a world where men, by virtue of their greater size and strength, took protective roles that didn't reflect badly on my intellect (or lack of). If a man wanted to pull my chair out for me at dinner, great. Offer his arm while we walked, marvellous. Race around to open the car door for me, not so good. Unless my arm was in a cast. But with those idyllic scenes come visions of having to seek approval and permission on how I led my life. Guess I'd rather puke in public and know that somewhere there is a sad game played between naked female newsreaders and sadder voyeurs. Who is the most pitiable, the women who get paid to bare all or the men who feel a sense of leering superiority over women they can never touch?