Viva Las Crazies?

I've always thought of myself as liberal and open-minded.  I believe in a woman's right to choose, that marijuana should be legalized, and that the death penalty should be abolished.  Why am I suddenly politicizing this blog? Well, one could argue (as they taught us in grad school) that the personal is political and by even addressing the constructs of gender identity, I am being POLITICAL.  And I agree with this assertion.  However, there's another reason why I feel the need to position myself politically.  Until tonight, I believed that prostitution should also be legalized. I believed that such a shift would keep women safer and provide them with more control over their lives.  And now I don't know what I believe.  I knew coming into the trip that Vegas has all sorts of excessive cultures that might be troubling, but I grossly underestimated the reality of what this would feel like.

Within our first minutes away from the hotel en route to find dinner, we saw two women wipe out.  The first was drunkenly wobbling in one of the inside gardens in the shopping mall.  In spiky gladiator heels, she weebled, wobbled, and fell flat on her face.  Not at all embarrassed, she picked herself up and tried to explain to the security guard who watched it all happen that she didn't mean to fall in the flowers.  He gently reprimanded her and sent her on her way with her beau.  Undoubtedly, part of the training for working in Vegas is knowing how to handle drunk men and women who wipe out or do worse damage.  No more than thirty seconds later, we watched a woman also in super high spiky gladiator sandals wipe out fifteen yards away from the first one.  This time, the beau had been trying with all of his might to keep her up but couldn't. Alas, the combination of high heels and a micro mini dress that clung better than any saran wrap
I've ever bought was too much.  Down she went-- first to her knees, then to her stomach.  Bam. These two incidents may not seem important but I kept thinking about them as I wandered around the Strip tonight.
Everywhere I looked, I saw women dressed like streetwalkers.  I could dance around the language and pretend that there's another way to describe women who cannot keep all of their body in their
clothing, but there isn't.  They look like streetwalkers. Women for hire.  Whores.  Or, more importantly, women who lack self-esteem or a mother who taught them both shame and self-love.  I know I sound judgmental and I guess I am "judging," but it's hard not to.

Every day as a teacher at a boarding school, I find myself telling girls to "keep some secrets" (my euphemism for dressing appropriately).  I do this not because I am old, conservative, and stuffy (though I'm starting to think I'm all three of these things!). I do this because there is another way to be beautiful and sexy... and it includes confidence that you CANNOT have if you're teetering and squirming and trying to walk without showing the fact that you're not wearing unmentionables.  I do this because I fear having a daughter and having to explain to her why these women behave this way.... 

But I digress.  Tonight on the Strip I saw at least 4 attempts to procure sexual contact.  The most disturbing one included a young black girl who looked like she was barely 16 walking into a hotel with a man in his late-40s who looked like the stereotype of a "bubba."  Maybe I have misread this encounter, I thought as they approached me.  That is, until she answered his question of how long she had been standing outside waiting. It was a sad, tragic moment. And I wanted to save her.  And then I realized that the same culture that legalized the sale of her sexual services, and in turn her body, also makes the falling girls feel like they must wear next to nothing in order to be "hot." 

Many years ago, I had a roommate who was my polar opposite in many ways.  A nice girl, but we were different. Very different. The first day I saw her in leopard print kitten heels the difference was confirmed.  Anyway, she was very impractical in her fashion choices and I can recall more than one night waiting for her to deal with her footwear issues.  He mantra was simple: Fashion Over Function.  And somehow it seems appropriate here.  When you constantly put your "image" ahead of your comfort, it's hard to believe your wellness is at the forefront of your mind. 

So it's a sex-filled city. Big deal, right?  It's a place where dreams are pursued. Who am I to stop being from pursuing their dreams?  Maybe I should lighten up. Or maybe Vegas isn't the place for me if I'm going to think about the things I see.  I don't know what I've learned tonight, but I know there's something in these experiences. Something I'm supposed to take from it all.  At the very least, I'm glad I'm from the Bronx. I'm especially thankful that I grew up in NYC because I've seen it all.  There's nothing that even a crazy city like Vegas can do to really startle me. But here's hoping I find something to love about this crazy place because its potential is endless.

That's it for now. And I promise I won't stay this serious for long!