So I have been going to the gym at totally random hours lately and managed to catch a muted episode of VIP, Pamela Anderson's latest career endeavor, for the first time ever. Although the garbled lyrics of Gibby Haynes (Butthole Surfers) deeply contrasted the titillating drama of VIP, I managed to figure out the general temperature of the set in most scenes sans subtitles, and while I missed a lot of the dialogue, it was irrepressibly hard to miss the main points Pamela was unabashedly making.
Although I was initially unsure of why only the actresses were
dressed so scantily on what could have only been yet another
undocumented, never-before precedented, ho-hum sub-zero California
day, it didn't take long for the show's cocksure imagery of manifest
feminism to embody me, too---along with the millions of others---and
take effect.
Just as the creators of VIP had surely visualized their show would induce, my head suddenly became engorged with this thrilling sensation of power and my being experienced an unyielding, instinctual urge to conquer and overcome all over this society we live in.
It was then that I saw the error of my closed-feminist ways.
How rhetorical that I would view Pamela Lee as a leading perpetrator of sexism, lookism, and female objectification in our corrupt society and not see her for what she really is, a leading avenger of female society. Having never before even seen an episode of VIP, I had already assumed that the show would be comprised of the same intolerable bullshit glamorized on her former series, the multi-climactic, indiscreetly loin-soothing, Baywatch.
Now I am left only to beseechingly question my own feminism, for nary a thought did occur---until that cathartic moment that day on the treadmill---that perhaps VIP, a show chock full of half-naked women on nonexistent grisly California days, was actually shoving a quintessential truth of female superiority right down men's throats!
Women have a stronger threshold for pain, and as far as this feminist is concerned, VIP was really pushing it by focusing so much on this basic female attribute. Eyes open and pride in check, I viewed on. I cannot even begin to describe how not only commendable but plain damned neato it is the way VIP boldly eschews female stereotypes by not only featuring only dainty women as bodyguards, but dresses them in the likes of red vinyl hip-huggers and bright yellow halter tops as well, to even further disseminate the oppressive, outdated stereotype that career women cannot also be viewed as sexually appealing. And I especially admire the way Pamela has apparently insisted that all the other leading actors not dress as revealing as her and instead has opted to personally absorb the stigmatic brunt of all misguided sexual thoughts, feelings, and desires evoked by the power she largely projects, which can only be quite the burden on her. It takes a self-assured woman to exhibit her strengths with such sheer voracity, but Pamela, no-holds barred in both attitude and camisole, undoubtedly pulls it off with ease.
Of more persuasion to this girl-next-door is the observation that all the other prominent female characters have at least one significant sexual handicap (i.e.: the manly, non-button nose, short hair, real breasts, brown eyes, etc.). This can only be attributed to the headstrong producers of VIP, who are continually striving to provide us viewers with a real show, depicting real women, as real bodyguards.
It is without question that Pamela Anderson redefines the mold, reshapes our standards, and redirects our visions, and it now troubles me when I hear others, namely women, talking about how much Pamela sucks or how awesome it is that she's consistently negated. As a feminist, I should think everyone would find it of most dire inspiration to have such influential, huge models as Pamela Anderson, a political figure for all to study as she continues to procure feminism the hard way in today's society. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that entire groups of women combined can still only aspire to her, a woman who outwardly remains abreast of what truly matters in this world and who fears not the likely consequences of such an enormous, perilous, infrastructure.
Cheers to Pamela Anderson, icon of feminism! Pamela candidly refuses to conceal her struggle from the limelight and instead chooses, in perhaps her ballsiest decision yet, to not only be up front about it, but to actually flaunt it! In an ideal world, objectified women should indeed rally regarding her support and men should watch the women they love come to her ideology also. Alas, if only all of society could just thank her as I, with fervent thunder, deem appropriate: for utterly risking the safety of her future to expose the falsehoods that oppress us today!
