Behold the New Year’s Eve fleshcapade in London and other cities across England, as laddettes stumble their way through the evening in a half (or quarter)-dressed stupor. (Note: pictures lifted from here, in the Daily Mail). Used to be, only hookers gussied themselves up in whore’s uniforms. For these sexual capitalist exploiters of lonely or bored men, dressing like this made sense: it (a) readily identified a woman as a purveyor of sex for money, and (b) coaxed a fellow’s mind into thinking about having a romp in the hay by bombarding it with sexual signals so clear and so loud only the blind and stone deaf couldn’t see or hear them. Used to be, other women, “good” girls, who realized that a portion of their value pivoted around virtue, didn’t want to be mistaken for a slut, whose value as a wife was steeply diminished. Yes, they wanted to signal their beauty, but they didn’t want their comeliness to overshadow the other qualities that made her attractive to a potential husband. Not today. “Pretty”, as this authorcalls it, is dead. Enter hotness”:
Young women today do not seem to aspire to pretty, they prefer to be regarded as hot. Hotness is something altogether different. When women want to be hot instead of pretty, they must view themselves in a certain way and consequently men view them differently as well. Pretty is cherished. Hotness, on the other hand, is a commodity. Its value is temporary and must be used. It is a consumable. The merits of hotness over pretty is easy enough to understand, they made an entire musical about it. Who can forget how pretty Olivia Newton John was at the beginning of Grease. Beautiful and innocent. But her desire to be desired leads her to throw away all that is valuable in herself in the vain hopes of getting the attention of a boy. In the process, she destroys her innocence and thus destroys the pretty. What we are left with is hotness. Hotness is a consumable. A consumable that consumes as it is consumed but brings no warmth. Most girls don’t want to be pretty anymore even if they understand what it is. It is ironic that 40 years of women’s liberation has succeeded only in turning women into a commodity. Something to be used up and thrown out.
What happened in Manchester over New Year’s Eve, and repeated in several other cities across England and doubtless here in the States, is what you get when an entire generation of young women, when asked “what else you got?”, look at the empty cupboard of their life, only to realize they had little else to offer. So they double and triple-down on the only attribute of value they have left, cheapening all in a sexual signalling arms race to the bottom. I find it ironic that the greatest SMP advantage to be had is accrued by women who don’t offer themselves up for sale in the sexual meat market, but instead cultivate those eternal qualities of faith, virtue, chastity, fidelity, thrift, industry, integrity, a nurturing nature, and contentment. Sexuality is merely part of the package, not the whole thing, and it is certainly not packaged and traded upon in hopes of attracting the attention of that hot guy who yourself find hot. I found humorous truthiness in thiscomment over at Hot Air:
For me, hot is what happens after pretty strips off. martin.hale on January 1, 2012 at 10:31 AM
Yup. Note the order here: Pretty first, then removal of modesty-enhancing clothing, then comes hot. Something else, too. Hotness is more than signalling. It’s a state of mind. It’s an environment, it’s surroundings, it is a climate of trust and safety and intimacy. It’s not simply just dressing like a streetwalker. For the latter is rude, off-putting, disrespectful, and transparent in its naked attempt to manipulate. In the end, if your response to “what else you got?” is to strip off most of your clothes and parade around in a bid for male and female attention, you’re in the sort of predicament that no amount of flesh-baring will help.
About the author: EW is a well-trained monkey charged with operating heavier-than-air machinery. His interests outside of being an opinionated rabble-rouser are hunting, working out, motorcycling, spending time with his family, and flying. He is a father to three, a husband to one, and is a sometime contributor here at Spearhead. More of his intolerable drivel is available at the blog The Elusive Wapiti.