um, excuse me waiter: ah, there's a fetish in my textbook!
Music: Pet Shop Boys: Format (2012)
I've been writing relentlessly, almost every day, this past semester, alternating between a scholarly book and a textbook. Moving from one to the other is akin to whiplash as the audiences for each kind of writing (one, colleagues; the other, young adults and returning students) demands different kinds of prose. Today I finished the second of two chapters for the public speaking textbook on style.
As I was writing today I thought about how much of my thinking is made explicit in the scholarly book, and how much I have to bury my rationale for writing decisions in the textbook. What appears on a page in the textbook may seem relatively straightforward and (hopefully) clear, but it represents an awful lot of decision-making behind the scenes, scrapped outlines, deleted paragraphs, and so forth. Every sentence is, more or less, the outcome of a tortured process (not that it's not enjoyable, it's simply not easy). Every sentence is also, more or less, co-authored, first with my editor and second with untold numbers of reviewers who demand a closer policing. Writing a textbook is, in some sense, to succumb to the logic of the committee, which means you abort almost as much as you produce. I penned one example of "scrap" today, scrap that I like very much but which, I predict, the editor will want to go Santorum on. It's about shoes.
In my discussion of style and public speaking, I spend some pages discussing "what to wear." For those of you who know me, you'll recognize this topic is truly an instance of parental hypocrisy ("do what I say, not what I do!)." It was a fun stretch to write because, well, it's a very important topic for public speaking but one which, from what I've seen, gets glossed over in one or two paragraphs.
When writing about one's appearance in a public speaking situation, I had to deal with how perverse the art is: I mean, it's an invitation to voyeurism, and consequently, public speaking is a minefield of fetishization. Small things you don't notice about yourself are amplified, and the smallest of fashion choices, such as a broach or unusual cufflinks, can generate all kinds of unintended meanings and uninvited projections. So, how do I broach the topic of projection and fetishism in a way most 18-24 year olds will "get," without offending their, um, their instructors? How do I write about the visual erotics of pubic speaking without, you know, calling it a "visual erotics?"
For all sorts of contractual reasons I cannot share the entirety of this section or chapter on my blog; you'll just have to guess about how I handled it. What I can do is offer periodic teases. Here's a small section of that chapter---a section, I suspect, the press will want to cut. Still, it was fun to write. Here ya go:
. . . And a Good Pair of Shoes: On Fashion
When audiences are preparing to listen to a public speaker they do what most of us do when we meeting someone for the first time: check out their looks. Before you open your mouth to speak, like it or lump it, your audience will be assessing your appearance. Inasmuch as tonework concerns syncing your body and voice with the content of your speech, you should strive to similarly match your grooming and clothing with the context of your speech and the setting in which you are giving it. The general rule for appearance that seasoned public speakers generally follow for speaking engagements may surprise you: avoid having your grooming and clothing choices noticed!
Such a rule seems counterintuitive, but the reason speakers adopt this rule is because . . . [SNIP].
[IMAGE: a foot with a stiletto heel crossed over a foot wearing jeans and a beat-up tennis shoe, like crossbones]
Finally, a word about shoes. Yes, I said shoes. Although there is little research on the topic, many of those who have spoke publically for a long time—and especially those who teach public speaking—will testify that for some reason, some audience members are keenly interested in footwear as an index of personality. Whether or not there is any correlation between what you put on your feet an who you are, the fact remains that at least some audience members, especially those who are concerned with fashion, will make judgments about you as a speaker based on your footwear. Think about it this way: when a person is "flirting" with someone or "checking them out," despite some variations in gender and orientation, he or she will examine the head and face first, then the body (including dress), and then finally, the feet (including shoes). The shoes, consequently, are the "final statement," as it were, of your nonverbal cues to others about who you are and what you are like. If you are wearing tennis shoes, these might communicate you are athletic, or enjoy comfort. If you are wearing a six-inch stiletto heel, what this communicates varies from one community to the next, but in general it would be received as a statement of femininity, perhaps strength (at the very least, a skilled sense of balance).
In general, when observing the rule of avoiding notice the shoes that you wear to a speaking engagement should mirror the footwear of your audience. Observing the rule to dress "one step" up also implies your shoes should be a little nicer, perhaps a little newer, than the audience's feet that you imagine will be arrayed in front of you. Yet it is also with footwear that you can add a little signature of individuality if you wish because the feet are the last thing that gets noticed about appearance. As a speaker, some folks may not notice your feet at all, however, for those who do you can break the general rules just a bit here to express your individuality, giving the fashonista in your audience a subtle, surprise treat of the feet!
__________
Yeah, this is going to get edited out of the textbook. Still, a hat tip to you, Professor Wright.