HAS E
I
B
R
BA
WON
THE
?
R
A
W
Zoe Coyle
I
was at a lavish cocktail party recently and
looked about me with a realization that
made my features contort like I’d been
flicked between the eyes. The women,
nearly all of them, were dressed for sex. Not
for style, glamour, creativity, comfort. Not for
humor or dignity, and certainly not to encourage
intellectual engagement. I was surrounded by
vertical sex dolls.
The event was a fundraiser, and the men were
all dressed in traditional suits. Why is it in the
wild it’s the male birds that wear the beautiful
feathers? And once they’ve found a mate they
pop them away. Not we humans! My husband
laughed at my confusion and said, “I guess this is
what the set of a porn shoot would look like.”
The women’s outfits at this party were tight
and small, breasts and thighs exposed, gowns
slashed at the back and front, flesh was unnaturally browned, lashes Miss Piggy-heavy.
Hair was wind-machine tousled, eyebrows frozen
with Botox, mouths glistening with so much lip