In a case of double-standard hypocrisy which will surprise no one, last week a Calvin Klein advert featuring FKA twigs — originally released last April — was banned by the Advertising Standards Authority after all of two (two!) complaints. In the image the singer is pictured naked, but for a denim shirt caressing her perfectly honed hourglass figure, suggestively falling off her. So far, so Calvin Klein. The brand has been making blue jeans borderline X-rated since Brooke Shields was 15.
The crassness of the ruling — pictures featuring Kendall Jenner from the campaign were not banned, and here one has to consider potential racist bias too — felt even more acute given that it was announced days after Jeremy Allen White had gone viral prancing around a rooftop in his tighty-white Calvins.
KA twigs posted to her own Instagram defending her image. “I do not see the ‘stereotypical sexual object’ that they have labelled me. I see a beautiful strong woman of colour whose incredible body has overcome more pain than you can imagine.”
A man, of course, can simply be hot and naked. A woman with her kit off in an advert must be strong, empowered, in control. And then she must be told that even if she felt these things, even if it was in her power and ownership to create such an image, that she is wrong. She is but a plaything, a sexual object for men and anyone to project onto.
And yet a part of me thinks, why can’t you all put some bloody clothes on? My six-year-old daughter will laugh hysterically at these adverts and howl, “You can see their pants!” But really, I’d love to stand at a bus stop and not have to explain why we can see her knickers, or indeed lack of.
I often think that other women are as much to blame for the infantilisation and narrow-lane of acceptable womanhood as any retro-fitted low-minded man. Given the total objectification of women, it would be nice for us all to be cleverer than needing sex to sell a pair of jeans or a denim shirt or pants. Show your bodies for art, sure. But why bother to flog some jeans?
I know perfectly intelligent, freethinking women who still put themselves on a diet every May; who plump and tighten, freeze and preen, and truss themselves up to fit an entirely homogenised vision of what a woman should look like. For as many women who shared the lauded America Ferrera feminism 101 speech, a million more covered themselves in polyester pink, pouted into a camera and added #barbiecore to their social media posts.
It is a hardened soul indeed who can buck the patriarchy and ditch the labour and expectations of female beauty that are imposed upon us all. When I can’t be bothered to put on make-up it is always other women who remark that I look tired, or ask if I am OK. Does anyone ask a man without concealer if he’s OK?
But, did Jeremy Allen White have to sit in a day’s worth of junket interviews to be quizzed on the contents of his fridge, and precise exercise routine? Did he worry about being judged for his next role; did he consider that this might relegate him to Only Fans fodder; did he feel the need to voice how strong, empowered and beautiful he felt? Oh no wait, that was a different sex.
