Week Seven
The Moschino add pictures a black woman in leopard print pinned to the wall with other Moschino accessories in much the same way one would pin an insect in a butterfly collection. Along with the sense we're given that this woman is "cheap and chic" like Moschino products, the other most obvious effect of this image is its dehuminization of black women in general. Because, as Professor Bashore has said, advertisments attempt to sell everyone particular "right" ways of acting, thinking, and feeling, this image and others like it apply to all black women at once, not just the woman in the photo. This image tells black women (and everyone who sees it) that they are subhuman and animalistic, only worthy to be violently hunted and displayed for other's pleasure, and indeed the way she's pinned up suggests that she must be restrained or killed in order to be presentable to white civilization. The large afro and the way her skin has been digitally altered to look darker and glossier serve to further mark her out in a world of eruocentric beauty as "exotic" and exciting: worthy of male conquest. This image is a good example of how eurocentric beauty standards have a special effect on black women different from that of their white counterparts, as discussed by Riley in The Black Beauty Myth. Black women must engage in the diets and fanatic attention to appearance that white women must, but they must also maintain the stereotypes assigned to them specific to their race as white people expect (and often demand) to see them.
The Kenwood advertisement above all reinforces the proper and divergent roles of man and woman, husband and wife. The woman in the photo clearly embodies the perfect woman: white, married, beautiful, and scrupulous to her unpaid duties as a domestic houseservant of a the perfect, middle class, working man. This is made obvious in her conventional beauty, the wedding band clearly visible on her finger, the chef's hat perched on her blonde head, her innocent smile, and the way she leans in towards her husband, showing her willingness to pander and serve. Turning to examine the man, we see that his character and possible activities are far more ambiguous and left to the imagination than are his wife's; he has far more options open to him. He is dressed in a business suit, a symbol of power and wealth; he is clearly portrayed as "a man of the world." But he is faced away from his wife, leaning away from her, and we cannot see his hand where his wedding band might be. He gives the camera a knowing, self-confident smile. We know he is the god-like bestower of desirable goods (the Kenwood chef) to his childlike wife, but that he is not expected to engage in the dirty work of actually providing sustinance. The caption says: "The Chef does everything but cook - that's what wives are for." These words almost beg the question, "well, what IS he doing, then?" were we not supposed to assume from the start that he must be engaged in terribly important matters of business in the masculine public sphere and that the great role of men as creater of civilization and provider made possible the luxury his wife lives in.