Have you seen the movie 27 Dresses?
I didn’t see it at the theater. I didn’t want to see it.
It seemed like the sort of forced, contrived chick flick I don’t usually enjoy.
But some of my friends have started to love forced, contrived chick flicks. Yes. These are the same friends who now watch Lifetime.
I don’t know when it happened. One day my friends were the kinds of women who read the Wall Street Journal, trade publications and non-fiction books for their professions, and used vacation days to go to in-depth courses pertaining to their jobs. We had long discussions about politics, religion, the environment, our place in the world, and our responsibility to make it a better place. We didn’t just talk. We brainstormed ideas, launched plans, got involved. For fun we went to concerts and movies. We liked to go to small (usually grimy) clubs to hear new bands. We saw bands whose music we liked, good music, meaningful music, music with depth, music that mattered. Not the slick, overproduced cute front-man bands at the arenas and cool clubs. When we went to movies we chose indie releases. Moves that mattered. Movies that made us think. Movies that explored concepts. Movies with great art direction. And subtitles. Yes. Often they were pretentious or reaching or affected or just stupid. (Hint: Just because a movie is French with subtitles doesn’t automatically qualify it as important or art.) But. We liked stepping away from the pabulum that the big production houses served up as entertainment. We liked seeing actors other than the media-darling cookie cutters Hollywood flaunts as hot, new, young, or popular. We liked seeing movies, which were not financed via megaconglomerate corporations. We liked seeing movies that were something other than vehicles for selling products, clothes, cars, actors …
One by one those friends got married. And bought condos. And started having children. And quit their jobs. And moved to suburbs.
And the next day their interests changed. They stopped caring about their professions. The careers they spent years in college studying for and years working, striving and enjoying were abandoned and forgotten. These were smart women. I mean, they are smart women. Magna and summa cum laudes. Most have advanced (masters or above) degrees from top tier universities. They had big ideas, big aspirations for their lives. They were going to take on the world and change it. And yes, they did have an impact, make changes to the world. They’ve impacted and changed the world by populating it with new people. In a few cases I know parenthood is just a hiatus—they will one day return to work and impact the world in ways other than producing new people.
But. In a lot of cases the women openly admit they have no intention of ever returning to work. Like alcoholics they swear they could stop being stay at home moms whenever they want. But when I talk about something in my life, a work related issue, they shudder and say things like, “I am so glad I don’t have to put up with that sort of stuff anymore. I could never deal with that anymore.”
The brainstorming and hard work on charities has been replaced with organizing PTA fundraisers, bake sales, and family vacations.
Along with stopping their careers, they stopped going to concerts. They lost interest in music altogether. They became those people we said we’d never be: The people who stop listening to music in a certain year. And henceforth in their lives listen only to music recorded prior to that year. I call this the Whitesnake Phenomenon. Or the REO Phenomenon. Depending on the age/era of the person in question. Those bands also stopped exploring new music, but because of some fans also stuck in a time warp, they exist and even thrive on their moment of popularity. They would be forgotten were it not for the legions of people who stopped listening to music the year they were popular. (This phenomenon also explains why you still see acid wash jeans, flannel shirts, and mullets. And not to be confused with The Pink Floyd Syndrome wherein some victims (usually male) stopped listening to new music in 1978, but many new victims are still claimed on college campuses annually. Boys go into college listening to all kinds of music, and graduate fixated on Pink Floyd. It’s sad, really.) My friends used to laugh at The Whitesnake Phenomenon. And now they’re suffering from The Gin Blossoms Phenomenon. They started reading books they heard about on Oprah! Wait. They watch Oprah!? Yep. They started watching Oprah! They read Parents magazine. They “don’t have time” to read national newspapers but devour the lifestyle section of the local newspapers. They love the parenting and marriage advice columns. They watch Lifetime. And. They like formulaic, contrived, always-a-happy ending, “romantic” chick flicks featuring the popular actress du jour and a couple random good-looking men.
Consequently in recent years I started to dismiss most of their movie recommendations. Every now and then, on the increasingly rare occasions they have time and desire to see a movie in the evening or on a weekend (the only time I can go to a movie because I have a job which requires me to work during the days Monday to Friday (and often weekends)) they want to see chick-flicks. Lame, predictable chick flicks. I go because I want to spend time with my friends, not because I want to see the movies they want to see. But. When they recommend a movie to me I just smile and nod like I’m trying to be polite to someone whose language I don’t speak.
That’s how I feel most of the time: I don’t speak their language. They’re foreigners to me.
When one-by-one they sent me emails telling me I had to see 27 Dresses I just hit delete.
Why so much prodding for this particular movie?
My “number.”
Apparently I have an above average “number.” They tell me the average woman’s “number"” is three, but I recall reading a survey saying the average “number” for normal, healthy women has increased to five.
My “number” is thirteen.
Which is fourteen less than twenty-seven. But still on the high side for times down the aisle as a bridesmaid.
If I include flower girl duty and obligatory sibling wedding party participation I’ve logged nineteen trips down the aisle. But I don’t count those. Being a flower girl is the first base of wedding party participation, and siblings’ weddings are like second base.
Oh, I saw the ads for 27 Dresses. I was aware of it. I knew the premise. And yes, I did chuckle at the idea.
But when my friends started sending emails saying, “OMG! You could have written that! It’s a movie about you … well … except you haven’t found a great guy yet,” I felt that familiar tug at my heart. I’m single. I have no boyfriend and no prospects. I haven’t even had a good date in, well, a long time. My friends’ lives are moving forward in the usual progression. Mine is not.
Thanks, pals. Twist that knife in my heart, why dontcha.