[BRIEF NOTE] Problematic Masculinities
Aug. 10th, 2005 02:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rfmcdonaldThis September, there was an interesting--if depressing--article in Xtra, Toronto's GLBT weekly, Michelle Mangan's "Starved for approval".
Body dysmorphia among gay and bisexual men, then, has its roots in a deep-seated sense of alterity that can't be challenged, but that tackled most unsuccessfully whether by eating disorders or by steroid use and compulsive gym attendance. Images exist, images can't be implemented, and so the cycle begins. Women may also be familiar with this cycle.
Recently, I've begun to wonder whether my heterosexual brethren might not be entering the same sort of cycle. In one TTC station, all of the images of physically near-impossible scantily-clad people were of men. It's some sort of comfort, perhaps, that the images of men are being as superexploited as women. That's a certain sort of gender equality. And yet.
[Toronto psychologist Miles] Cohen says gay men are more susceptible to eating disorders for a number of reasons. A large factor comes from growing up gay in a culture that is, despite many recent advances, less than accepting. "Gay men generally start out feeling badly about themselves. You grow up with a sense that you’re bad or this is wrong," he says. "There might be other issues as well. They could be overweight when they’re young and have a lot of teasing."
The combination of personal background, self-esteem issues and the need for acceptance in an image-focussed culture can quickly lead to body dissatisfaction. "When you try to come out in the gay community, you quickly learn there’s a lot of cultural pressure within the community to look a certain way. I think it’s much stronger in the gay community than in the heterosexual community," says Cohen.
"Because we’ve been so beat up by straight society, we can now do this to ourselves," says Robin, a 40-year-old gay man who has suffered from eating disorders for 14 years. He is not only critical of the way he looks, but of the men he dates as well. "I had a 250-pound boyfriend," he says. "I found it revolting."
At 5’9", Robin’s weight fluctuates between 112 and 122 pounds. "It’s a constant battle I have within myself," he says. "I hate myself. I’m full of shame. I don’t deserve to eat."
Robin says growing up in a society that was not as accepting of homos as it is now was difficult. His self-esteem was low, he often felt guilty. When he was 26, he dated someone who told him, "I don’t want to be with a big fat slob." Anorexia, bulimia and obsessive exercise have plagued him ever since.
It is a vicious, if not ironic, cycle. Robin works out to become muscular but because he feels he can never become as muscular and buff as he wants to be, he punishes himself with anorexia and bulimia. Thin and sickly, he is the epitome of what he strives to avoid.
Body dysmorphia among gay and bisexual men, then, has its roots in a deep-seated sense of alterity that can't be challenged, but that tackled most unsuccessfully whether by eating disorders or by steroid use and compulsive gym attendance. Images exist, images can't be implemented, and so the cycle begins. Women may also be familiar with this cycle.
Recently, I've begun to wonder whether my heterosexual brethren might not be entering the same sort of cycle. In one TTC station, all of the images of physically near-impossible scantily-clad people were of men. It's some sort of comfort, perhaps, that the images of men are being as superexploited as women. That's a certain sort of gender equality. And yet.
