This New Yorker podcast–an interview with Ariel Levy, who wrote an article on Cindy McCain for the September 15th issue of that magazine–is pretty fascinating. Mostly because Levy managed to articulate many of my gut feelings about Cindy. (I’m going to refer to her by her first name because otherwise I’ll start thinking I’m talking about John.)
Whenever I see Cindy on TV, I can’t help but feel a little bit sad and a little bit sorry for her. She seems to be the embodiment of what society tells women they need to be: thin, pretty, agreeable, inoffensive and completely pleasing in every respect. Every woman has, to varying extents over the course of her life, tried to live up to this ideal, and so every woman knows how utterly exhausting it is. And each time I see Cindy on TV I wonder what a woman who is clearly as smart and determined as she is, with the myriad opportunities that she has had, could have achieved if she had invested even a fraction of the time and energy that it takes to suppress yourself like that, into something else–something more meaningful.
Levy describes Cindy’s smile as “the smile of someone who doesn’t talk.” Doesn’t that just nail it? I find myself more and more wanting to know what she would say, if she felt the freedom to occasionally be disagreeable and maybe even a little offensive to boot.
I’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a man by who he marries. Weak men need someone who won’t challenge them, and strong women won’t tolerate being disregarded. And I can’t figure out what to make of this couple. Cindy adopted a child and learned to fly without telling her husband. But she goes out of her way to avoid any intellectual or political discussions. She appears to adopt her husband’s positions on all the big issues, at least publicly. And above all, despite the truly gutsy and inspiring things she does, she still chooses to masquerade as this fragile, seen-but-not-heard figure.
It’s as if she’s struck a bargain with herself: You can dodge landmines in Cambodia and drive race cars as fast as you want, but you’ll have to be a size zero to reassure everyone that you’re not threatening. Do your own thing, be independent, but be a good girl and smile politely while you’re doing it.
I think a lot of women do that. It’s frustrating and heartbreaking that they do. It’s even moreso that doing so is still apparently the best (and only?) way to become First Lady.
