THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, December 18, 1994 TAG: 9412150094
SECTION: HAMPTON ROADS WOMAN PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: YOUR TURN
SOURCE: BY PAT HUBBARD, SPECIAL TO HRW
LENGTH: Medium: 76 lines
I'M READY for a revolt! At a recent meeting of an AARP group, our special guest speaker was an ``image consultant.''
She was, I'm sure, a very nice lady, and she did have some good ideas about selecting clothing. She told us who would look good in what colors and how men must wear the latest ties with scarves in the pocket of their suit. ``Even though the scarf and tie come from the manufacturer as a matched set,'' she said, ``you must not wear them together. You must buy a contrasting colored scarf to match the tie.'' We asked why they were sold that way if you didn't wear them together. She didn't know.
We asked why the styles changed each year and why we couldn't just keep our clothes because the style would surely come back in a couple years. She looked directly at us, pointed her intimidating finger and said, ``You may not like change, but that's the rule and that is the way it is!'' My Irish blood began to simmer.
Who made this rule? How come they have the authority to make rules for me? I'm sure her retail trainers taught her to use those tactics, to be ``in charge'' to ``guide'' the customer to the right path. I thought her answer was no answer.
Since my teen years, I've been revolting at the things I thought ridiculous. I remember telling my dear unsuspecting mother, ``If God wanted us to wear makeup, he would have painted our faces, but he didn't.'' I refused to wear it, except for lipstick, and still don't today.
My teenaged friends swallowed the ruses that the media and big corporate guys fed us. Only by wearing name brand clothing would you be recognized as a person. Were they telling me I was nonexistent? I pinched myself and it hurt, so I knew I was real.
My trick was to buy less-expensive look-alikes, and everyone accepted me as legitimate until I said I bought them from J.C. Penney.
I resented that because I knew I was still the caring person I'd been before I bought my clothes. I pitied these people because they had become their clothes.
What amazes me is that even today, the lie continues to grow with more force, not only in the clothing industry, but into all facets of our lives.
There are all kinds of ``you shoulds'' and ``should nots'' pulling our strings every day in the name of political correctness. I want to know who says so? Step forward and identify yourself if you dare. Are you there?
Some control freak has coined this new phrase ``political correctness.'' What the heck is that? My brand new Webster's New Ideal Dictionary does not even list political correctness, but, it says correctness is ``conforming to an approved or conventional standard, agreeing with fact, logic or known truth.'' Political is ``relating to government or politics,'' and politics is ``characterized by shrewdness in promoting a policy.'' What does that say to you? Did it say government? Whoa!
I just found out that my husband who was in a wheelchair for eight years was not disabled. He was physically challenged. I guess I have to send his disability money back and exchange it for physically challenged. . . oh, forget it!
I feel as though I should put in a camouflage suit and helmet because I am a real rebel. I'm taking on the government or whomever the powers that be.
Who really cares about political correctness? To me, it is an agenda to convince me that I can't think for myself. That I'm not smart enough to make my own judgments and not genteel enough to use good manners when dealing with my fellow man (you noticed, I did notsay fellow-person). Control of the little people has been in existence since caveman days. There have always been leaders and followers, but this type of control is insidious. (Insidious: awaiting a chance to entrap; harmful, but enticing, treacherous; having a gradual and cumulative effect.)
Are you being washed into the tide of the control freaks, excuse me, politically correctness? Not me! I'm a salmon. I swim upstream. MEMO: Pat Hubbard is a resident of Virginia Beach. by CNB