I just discovered that PBS provides the entire documentary “A Class Divided” online. The video discusses the experiment a teacher conducted in her classroom, in which she divided her 3rd-grade class into groups with blue eyes and brown eyes and told them the blue-eyed groups were “the better people in this room,” later changing the rules and saying that brown-eyed kids are better (she started this experiment the day after Martin Luther King, Jr., was shot). It’s an interesting look at stereotyping and social psychology, particularly how quickly groups will change their behavior if they are told they have a superior or inferior characteristic.

The website also has clips from a class reunion 14 years later where the people who took part in the experiment talk about it, as well as when the teacher was hired to conduct the experiment on Corrections Department employees to teach them about discrimination and stereotyping.

You might also discuss this experiment when you’re looking at ethics of research–would we allow something like this now? How would parents likely react today if they found out their child was told they were in an “inferior” group? My guess is a teacher would face a lot of opposition trying to do this now.

The New York Times recently published an article on the evolving Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM).  The DSM is the official source for psychologists who are diagnosing patients with mental disorders.  The article points out that the number of disorders in the manual has more than doubled since the 1950s:

Hypothesis One:  The DSM reflects an increasingly sophisticated and exhuastive compendium of all possible mental disorders.

Hypothesis Two:  More psychological disorders = more people diagnosed with mental disorders = more money is siphoned off to hospitals, treatment centers, drug companies, mental health professionals, social workers, school counselors, etc.  (Scientists who are currently working on the next version of the DSM have agreed to restrict their income from drug makes to $10,000 a year or less.)

Hypothesis Three:  We are an increasingly rationalized society and all things are becoming increasingly listed, compiled, organized, and annotated.

Hypothesis Four:  What is considered a “problem” depends on the social context.  (“Homosexuality” used to be in the DSM, but it isn’t any longer.)  Perhaps a shift in the last 50 years has created a social context that is less tolerant of difference, more insistent upon happiness, or requires a more compliant citizen.

Hypothesis Five:  Grassroots activists get together and lobby scientists to include disorders in the DSM so that they can raise awareness and money for research.

What do you think?

Thanks to Francisco for pointing me to this article!

Julie C. drew our attention to this ad for an internet service that filters “inappropriate” content:

Lizvang nicely articulates an objection (my emphasis):

The breasts, the vagina, the uterus and the colon is cut out of an anatomical text book. When did biology and education about our bodies become shameful? Haven’t we as a society moved past the “a woman’s body is dirty” mindset?

Text:

Wine doesn’t just come with cheese.  For women it’s also accompanied by hair loss, wrinkles, and obesity, plus the other problems like breast cancer, early menopause and memory loss.

This ad rests on women’s fear of looking like men (whatever that means)

(1) Interestingly, none of the side-effects of alcoholism listed seem, to me, to be masculinizing.  I can only imagine that the creators of this ad thought that straying from the norms of youthful femininity makes a woman seem masculine, thereby conflating aging with masculinization in women.

(2)  Also, notice the excessive make-up.  The ad is relying on the viewer being disgusted at the idea of a masculine face covered in make-up.  That is part of what is supposed to create a negative reaction.  But make-up and masculinity are not intrinsically or naturally at odds.  We only believe this to be so.

(By the way, the fact that most men do not wear make-up, I think, is a beautiful example of the triumph of gender ideology over capitalism.  For example.  But see here.)

(3) Finally, what’s “drink like a man” all about?  I guess men can have all the wine and cheese that they want without getting wrinkles because, gosh darn it, it’s just how men drink!   Maybe they even get more masculine!  (Hmmmm… as someone who loves her liquor, suddenly I do have penis envy.)

Thanks to Julie C. for the link!

NEW! This vintage ad (found here) uses the same logic:

Ten Apples and a Flat Sponge reports that the Thorvaldsen Museum in Copenhagen is selling reproductions of Venus with Apple and the Birth of Venus, with some artistic interpretation:

Hat tip to Shapely Prose.

Taylor D. sent in a link to a collection of vintage ads that includes this one:

From Vintage Ads:

Holly M. sent us this one:

NEW! Larry Harnisch, of The Daily Mirror, sent us this one:

The fact that these girls were considered “chubby” is only slightly more distressing than the fact that polyester blends were considered fashionable.

What do they call sizes for “larger” kids these days? I know they don’t say “chubby,” but I don’t think they use the “plus-size” term for kids–am I wrong? Is there a standard industry term?

The ownership of corporations under parent companies concentrates profits and profit motives, often in ways that undermine the progressive or conservative causes that the subsidiary companies purport to promote. Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream is famous for its progressive and countercultural flavors and activities.

A tribute to the countercultural bands, Phish and The Grateful Dead:

A pacifist message:

The Barack Obama inspired flavor, Yes Pecan:

Alas, in 2000 Ben and Jerry’s was bought by Unilever, the company that brings us (pseudofeminist) Dove, (misogynistic) Axe, and (racist) Fair and Lovely products (examples here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here).

Oh, to bring the irony full circle, Unilever owns Slimfast too.

Don’t shoot the messenger.

Hat tip to Jezebel.

Francisco pointed us to a spoken word poem by Andrea Gibson in which she talks about what it’s like to be ambiguously gendered:

Transcript (borrowed from Francisco):

So, I teach in a preschool. Hehe… I make a goddamn difference, now what about you. That’s one point I had to make before I read this poem. The second point is, I usually have hair that is much much shorter than this. That’s all you need to know.

“Are you a boy or a girl?” he asks, staring up at me in all three feet of his pudding face grandeur, and I say “Dylan, you’ve been in this class for three years and you still don’t know if I’m a boy or a girl?” And he says “Uh-uh.” And I say “Well, at this point, I don’t really think it matters, do you?” And he says “Uhhhm, no. Can I have a push on the swing?” And this happens every day. It’s a tidal wave of kindergarten curiosity rushing straight for the rocks of me, whatever I am.

And the class, when we discuss the Milky Way galaxy, the orbit of the Sun around the Earth… or whatever. Jupiter, Saturn, Mars, and kids, do you know that some of the stars we see when we look up in the sky are so far away, they’ve already burned out? What do you think of that? Timmy? “Umm… my mom says that even though you got hairs that grow from your legs, and the hairs on your head grow short and poky, and that you smell really bad, like my dad, that you’re a girl.” “Thank you, Timmy.”

And so it goes. On the playground, she peers up at me from behind her pink power puff sunglasses and then asks, “Do you have a boyfriend?” And I say no, and she says “Oh, do you have a girlfriend?” And I say “No, but if by some miracle, twenty years from now, I ever finally do, then I’ll definitely bring her by to meet you. How’s that?” “Okay. Can I have a push on the swing?”

And that’s the thing. They don’t care. They don’t care. Us, on the other hand… My father sitting across the table at Christmas dinner, gritting his teeth over his still-full plate, his appetite raped away by the intrusion of my haircut, “What were you thinking? You used to be such a pretty girl!” Frat boys, drunken, screaming, leaning out of the windows of their daddys’ SUVs, “Hey! Are you a faggot or a dyke?” And I wonder what would happen if I met up with them in the middle of the night.

Then of course there’s always the somehow not-quite-bright enough fluorescent light of the public restroom, “Sir! Sir, do you realize this is the ladies’ room?” “Yes, ma’am, I do, it’s just that I didn’t feel comfortable sticking this tampon up my penis in the men’s room.”

But the best, the best is always the mother at the market, sticking up her nose while pushing aside her daughter’s wide eyes, whispering “Don’t stare, it’s rude.” And I want to say, “Listen, lady, the only rude thing I see is your paranoid parental hand pushing aside the best education on self that little girl’s ever gonna get, living with your Maybelline lipstick after hips and pedi kiwi, vanilla-smelling beauty; so why don’t you take your pinks and blues, your boy-girl rules and shove them in that car with your fucking issue of Cosmo, because tomorrow, I stop my day with twenty-eight miles and I know a hell of a lot more than you. And if I show up in a pink frilly dress, those kids won’t love me any more, or less.”

“Hey, are you a boy or a — never mind, can I have a push on the swing?” And some day, y’all, when we grow up, it’s all gonna be that simple.