Mariah Burton Nelson: I Won. I'm Sorry

"Think of yourself as an athlete. I guarantee you it will change the way you walk, the way you work, and the decisions you make about leadership, teamwork, and success."- MBN

I Won. I'm Sorry
© Mariah Burton Nelson
Self Magazine, March 1998

How can you win, if you're female? —MBN

When Sylvia Plath’s husband, Ted Hughes, published his first book of poems, Sylvia wrote to her mother: “I am so happy that HIS book is accepted FIRST. It will make it so much easier for me when mine is accepted...”

After Sylvia killed herself, her mother published a collection of Sylvia’s letters. In her explanatory notes, Aurelia Plath commented that from the time she was very young, Sylvia “catered to the male of any age so as to bolster his sense of superiority.” In seventh grade, Aurelia Plath noted, Sylvia was pleased to finish second in a spelling contest. “It was nicer, she felt, to have a boy first.”

How many women still collude in the myth of male superiority, believing it’s “nicer” when boys and men finish first? How many of us achieve but only in a lesser, smaller, feminine way, a manner consciously or unconsciously designed to be as nonthreatening as possible?

Since I’m tall, women often talk to me about height. Short women tell me, “I’ve always wanted to be tall -- but not as tall as you!” I find this amusing, but also curious. Why not? Why not be six-two?

Tall women tell me that they won’t wear heels because they don’t want to appear taller than their husbands or boyfriends, even by an inch. What are these women telling me -- and their male companions? Why do women regulate their height in relation to men’s height? Why is it still rare to see a woman who is taller than her husband?

Women want to be tall enough to feel elegant and attractive, like models. They want to feel respected and looked up to. But they don’t want to be so tall that their height threatens men. They want to win -- to achieve, to reach new heights -- but without exceeding male heights.

How can you win, if you’re female? Can you just do it? No. You have to play the femininity game. Femininity by definition is not large, not imposing, not competitive. Feminine women are not ruthless, not aggressive, not victorious. It’s not feminine to have a killer instinct, to want with all your heart and soul to win -- neither tennis matches nor elected office nor feminist victories such as abortion rights. It’s not feminine to know exactly what you want, then go for it.

Femininity is about appearing beautiful and vulnerable and small. It’s about winning male approval.

One downhill skier who asked not to be identified told me the following story: “I love male approval. Most women skiers do. We talk about it often. There's only one thing more satisfying than one of the top male skiers saying, ‘Wow, you are a great skier. You rip. You're awesome.’

“But it's so fun leaving 99 percent of the world's guys in the dust -- oops,” she laughs. “I try not to gloat. I’ve learned something: If I kick guys’ butts and lord it over them, they don’t like me. If, however, I kick guys’ butts then act ‘like a girl,’ there is no problem. And I do mean girl, not woman. Nonthreatening.

Femininity is also about accommodating men, allowing them to feel bigger than and stronger than and superior to women; not emasculated by them.

Femininity is unhealthy, obviously. It would be unhealthy for men to act passive, dainty, obsessed with their physical appearance, and dedicated to bolstering the sense of superiority in the other gender, so it’s unhealthy for women too. These days, some women are redefining femininity as strong, as athletic, as however a female happens to be, so that “feminine” becomes synonymous with “female.” Other women reject both feminine and masculine terms and stereotypes, selecting from the entire range of human behaviors instead of limiting themselves to the “gender-appropriate” ones. These women smile only when they’re happy, act angry when they’re angry, dress how they want to. They cling to their self-respect and dignity like a life raft.

But most female winners play the femininity game to some extent, using femininity as a defense, a shield against accusations such as bitch, man-hater, lesbian. Feminine behavior and attire mitigate against the affront of female victory, soften the hard edges of winning. Women who want to win without losing male approval temper their victories with beauty, with softness, with smallness, with smiles.

In the fifties, at each of the Amateur Athletic Union’s women’s basketball championships, one of the players was crowned a Beauty Queen. (This still happens at Russian women’s ice hockey tournaments.) Athletes in the All-American Girls Baseball League of the forties and fifties slid into base wearing skirts. In 1979, professional basketball players with the California Dreams were sent to John Robert Powers’ charm school. Ed Temple, the legendary coach of the Tennessee State Tigerbelles, the team that produced Wilma Rudolph, Wyomia Tyus, Willye White, Madeline Manning, and countless other champions, enforced a dress code and stressed that his athletes should be “young ladies first, track girls second.”

Makeup, jewelry, dress, and demeanor were often dictated by the male coaches and owners in these leagues, but to some extent the players played along, understanding the tradeoff: in order to be “allowed” to compete, they had to demonstrate that they were, despite their “masculine” strivings,” real (“feminine”) women.

Today, both men and women wear earrings, notes Felshin, “but the media is still selling heterosexism and ‘feminine’ beauty. And if you listen carefully, in almost every interview” female athletes still express apologetic behavior through feminine dress, behavior, and values.

Florence-Griffith Joyner, Gail Devers, and other track stars of this modern era dedicate considerable attention to portraying a feminine appearance. Basketball star Lisa Leslie has received more attention for being a model than for leading the Americans to Olympic victory. Steffi Graf posed in bikinis for the 1997 Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. In a Sears commercial, Olympic basketball players apply lipstick, paint their toenails, rock babies, lounge in bed, and pose and dance in their underwear. Lisa Leslie, says “Everybody’s allowed to be themselves. Me, for example, I’m very feminine.”

In an Avon commercial, Jackie Joyner Kersee is shown running on a beach while the camera lingers on her buttocks and breasts. She tells us that she can bench-press 150 pounds and brags that she can jump farther than “all but 128 men.” Then she says: “And I have red toenails.” Words flash on the screen: “Just another Avon lady.”
Graf, Mary Pierce, Monica Seles, and Mary Jo Fernandez have all played in dresses. They are “so much more comfortable” than skirts, Fernandez explained. “You don’t have to worry about the shirt coming up or the skirt being too tight. It’s cooler, and it’s so feminine.”

“When I put on a dress I feel different -- more feminine, more elegant, more ladylike -- and that’s nice,” added Australia’s Nicole Bradtke: “We’re in a sport where we’re throwing ourselves around, so it’s a real asset to the game to be able to look pretty at the same time.”

Athletes have become gorgeous, flirtatious, elegant, angelic, darling -- and the skating commentators’ favorite term: “vulnerable.” Some think this is good news: proof that femininity and sports are compatible. “There doesn’t have to be such a complete division between “You’re beautiful and sexy” and “you’re athletic and strong,” says Linda Hanley, a pro beach volleyball player who also appeared in a bikini in the 1997 Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.

Athletes and advertisers reassure viewers that women who compete are still willing to play the femininity game, to be Cheerleaders. Don’t worry about us, the commercials imply. We’re winners but we’ll still look pretty for you. We’re acting in ways that only men used to act but we’ll still act how you want women to act. We’re not threatening. We’re not lesbians. We’re not ugly, not bad marriage material. We’re strong but feminine. Linguists note that the word “but” negates the part of the sentence that precedes it.

There are some recent recent examples of the media emphasizing female power in an unambiguous way. “Women Muscle In,” the New York Times Magazine proclaimed in a headline. The Washington Post wrote, “At Olympics, Women Show Their Strength.” And a new genre of commercials protests that female athletes are NOT cheerleaders, and don’t have to be. Olympic and pro basketball star Dawn Staley says in a Nike commercial that she plays basketball “for the competitiveness” of it. “I need some place to release it. It just builds up, and sports is a great outlet for it. I started out playing with the guys. I wasn’t always accepted. You get criticized, like: ‘You need to be in the kitchen. Go put on a skirt.’ I just got mad and angry and went out to show them that I belong here as much as they do.”

Other commercials tell us that women can compete like conquerors. A Nike ad called “Wolves” shows girls leaping and spiking volleyballs while a voice says, “They are not sisters. They are not classmates. They are not friends. They are not even the girls’ team. They are a pack of wolves. Tend to your sheep.” Though the athletes look serious, the message sounds absurd. When I show this commercial to audiences, they laugh. Still, the images do depict the power of the volleyball players: their intensity, their ability to pound the ball almost through the floor. The script gives the players (and viewers) permission not to be ladylike, not to worry about whether their toenails are red.

But in an American Basketball League commercial, the Philadelphia Rage’s female basketball players are playing rough; their bodies collide. Maurice Chevalier sings, “Thank heaven for little girls.” The tag line: “Thank heaven, they’re on our side.”

Doesn’t all this talk about girls and ladies simply focus our attention on femaleness, femininity, and ladylike behavior? The lady issue is always there in the equation: something to redefine, to rebel against. It’s always present, like sneakers, so every time you hear the word athlete you also hear the word lady -- or feminine, or unfeminine. It reminds me of a beer magazine ad from the eighties that featured a photo of Olympic track star Valerie Brisco-Hooks. “Funny, she doesn’t look like the weaker sex,” said the print. You could see her impressive muscles. Clearly the intent of the ad was to contrast an old stereotype with the reality of female strength and ability. But Brisco-Hooks was seated, her legs twisted pretzel style, arms covering her chest. But in that position, Brisco-Hooks didn’t look very strong or able. In the line, “Funny, she doesn’t look like the weaker sex,” the most eye-catching words are funny, look, weaker, and sex. Looking at the pretzel that is Valerie, you begin to think that she looks funny. You think about weakness. And you think about sex.

When she was young, Nancy Kerrigan wanted to play ice hockey with her older brothers. Her mother told her, “You’re a girl. Do girl things.”

Figure skating is a girl thing. Athletes in sequins and “sheer illusion sleeves” glide and dance, their tiny skirts flapping in the breeze. They achieve, but without touching or pushing anyone else. They win, but without visible signs of sweat. They compete, but not directly. Their success is measured not by confrontation with an opponent, nor even by a clock or a scoreboard. Rather, they are judged as beauty contestants are judged: by a panel of people who interpret the success of the routines. Prettiness is mandatory. Petite and groomed and gracious, figure skaters -- like cheerleaders, gymnasts, and aerobic dancers -- camouflage their competitiveness with niceness and prettiness until it no longer seems male or aggressive or unseemly.

The most popular sport for high school and college women is basketball. More than a million fans shelled out an average of $15 per ticket in 1997, the inaugural summer of the Women’s National Basketball Association. But the most televised women’s sport is figure skating. In 1995 revenue from skating shows and competitions topped six hundred million dollars. In the seven months between October 1996 and March 1997, ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox, ESPN, TBS, and USA dedicated 162.5 hours of programming to figure skating, half of it in prime time. Kerrigan earns up to three hundred thousand dollars for a single performance.

Nearly 75 percent of the viewers of televised skating are women. The average age is between twenty-five and forty-five years old, with a household income of more than fifty thousand dollars. What are these women watching? What are they seeing? What’s the appeal?

Like golf, tennis, and gymnastics, figure skating is an individual sport favored by white people from the upper classes. The skaters wear cosmetics, frozen smiles, and revealing dresses. Behind the scenes they lift weights and sweat like any serious athlete but figure skating seems more dance than sport, more grace than guts, more art than athleticism. Figure skating allows women to compete like Champions while dressed like Cheerleaders.

In women’s figure skating, smiling is part of “artistic expression.” In the final round, if the competitors are of equal merit, artistry weighs more heavily than technique. Midori Ito, the best jumper in the history of women’s skating, explained a weak showing at the 1995 world championships this way: “I wasn’t 100 percent satisfied... I probably wasn’t smiling enough.”

The media portray female figure skaters as “little girl dancers” or “fairy tale princesses” (NBC commentator John Tesh); as “elegant” (Dick Button), as “little angels” (Peggy Fleming); as “ice beauties” and “ladies who lutz” (People Magazine). Commentators frame skaters as small, young, and decorative creatures, not superwomen but fairy-tale figments of someone’s imagination.

After Kerrigan was assaulted by a member of Tonya Harding’s entourage, she was featured on a Sports Illustrated cover crying “Why me?” When she recovered to win a silver medal at the Olympics that year, she became “America’s sweetheart” and rich to boot. But the princess turned pumpkin shortly after midnight, as soon as the ball was over and she stopped smiling and started speaking. Growing impatient during the Olympic medal ceremony while everyone waited for Baiul, Kerrigan grumbled, “Oh, give me a break, she’s just going to cry out there again. What’s the difference?”

What were Kerrigan’s crimes? She felt too old to cavort with cartoon characters. Isn’t she? She expressed anger and disappointment -- even bitterness and bad sportsmanship -- about losing the gold. But wasn’t she supposed to want to win? What happens to baseball players who, disappointed about a loss, hit each other or spit on umpires? What happens to basketball players and football players and hockey players who fight? Men can’t tumble from a princess palace because we don’t expect them to be princesses in the first place, only athletes.

Americans fell out of love with Kerrigan not because they couldn’t adore an athlete who lacked grace in defeat, but because they couldn’t adore a female athlete who lacked grace in defeat.

Female politicians, lawyers, and businesswomen of all ethnic groups also play the femininity game. Like tennis players in short dresses, working women seem to believe it’s an asset to look pretty (but not too pretty) while throwing themselves around. The female apologetic is alive and well in corporate board rooms, where women say “I’m sorry, maybe someone else already stated this idea, but...” and smile while they say it.

When Newt Gingrich’s mother revealed on television that Newt had referred to Hillary Clinton as a bitch, how did Hillary respond? She donned a pink suit and met with female reporters to ask how she could “soften her image.” She seemed to think that her competitiveness was the problem and femininity the solution.

So if you want to be a winner and you’re female, you’ll feel pressured to play by special, female rules. Like men, you’ll have to be smart and industrious, but in addition you’ll have to be “like women”: kind, nurturing, accommodating, nonthreatening, placating, pretty, and small. You’ll have to smile. And not act angry. And wear skirts. Nail polish and makeup help, too.

-- Excerpted from Embracing Victory: Life Lessons in Competition and Compassion, William Morrow 1998.
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To contact Mariah about her presentations, call 703/276-8323 or write to her at Mariah@MariahBurtonNelson.com

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