TV suits

I got a phone call from a guy when I was reporting at City TV. He left an angry message on my voicemail. It wasn’t because he thought I was unfair in a story, or wanted to find out more. It was because he thought I was single and found out I’m not. He accused me of “false advertising” for not wearing a wedding ring on air. First I laughed and then felt kind of gross. When had I turned into a walking billboard. An advertisement for anything?

As much as i don’t like to admit it, that’s exactly what TV is all about. You can do great stuff, but in the end, especially if you’re a woman, it’s all about the clothes, the hair and the teeth. Marshall McLuhan’s famous: “the medium is the message” has morphed into “the messenger is the message”. In television, it’s just too hard to get past the appearance of the person on the screen.

We’re all to blame for it, the tv execs who fuss and fidget over what’s appropriate for TV. (Sombre but stylish is the ideal.) The TV anchors, reporters and hosts who spend more time on their make up, hair and shopping than they do on the story, becoming actors instead of journalists. And you, the viewer snipping and sniping about what you see instead of what you hear. (And now that I’m out, I catch myself doing the very same thing).

I remember at CTV Newsnet, the techies and the writers would lovingly (sometimes) refer to the anchors as “the meat”. Which--even as a vegetarian--, i’d much prefer to the more common “hair and teeth. (As in: “Who’s the meat”, or “Who’s the hair and teeth” in the anchor chair today?) At least meat has substance.

Most of my career was in radio, so I was naive to the tv image game. When I got a ridiculously large clothing allowance and huge discounts at snotty boutiques it should have triggered something. But I lapped it up. Shopping sprees, someone to do your make up and hair every day. I fell for it hard.

Somewhere along the way it gets out of control. It simply isn’t healthy to spend so much time looking at yourself and having people look at you. That hyperawareness grows and grows. You notice things about your face or body and become fixated on them. Shopping becomes a chore because you’re only buying what works for TV.

All of this to tell you that my closet is jammed to the rafters. We had to incorporate a walk in closet into our designs when we renovated our house a couple of years ago. And even then I have rows and rows of grown up clothes crammed into a closet in another room.

They are souvenirs of my TV career. And since I’m not sure I ever want to go back to it, I’m wondering what to do with it all. What about ebay? Since I’m getting rid of just about everything I own, why not put my life up for sale? I’m stepping out and you can take my place, shoes included. Along with the house. The car. The closet full of clothes. The furniture. The parking permit. The membership at the gym, and even my daughter’s coveted spot in the SK french immersion program. If someone can auction off a piece of cheese, or a tomato or toast that looks like Jesus or the Virgin Mary for thousands, surely I must be worth something. (On that toast note, could someone please explain why Allah, or one of the millions of Hindu gods, never appear on food? Does it always have to be about Jesus?)

Steve snorts when I tell him my Ebay idea. Because it was a particularly rough day with the kids he asks if they can be thrown in as a bonus. Kind of a 4 for 1 sale. Then he gets into it and make some very inappropriate comments about what his relationship might be with the new Avery.

But before can even start figuring out how much my life here is worth, the plan starts unravelling. We find someone who wants to buy our vehicle, and really, what’s a life without an SUV? (sarcastic joke to taunt my eco-brother) Then the house is sold off. This Ebay thing would have probably been a hard sell at the best of times, but without a house and a car , it just won’t have the same impact. Not much of a deal. You wouldn’t be buying my life, you’d be getting my leftovers, really.

We’re still trying to figure out what to do with the furniture and extra toys. But those clothes, the ones that didn’t cost me much, but came at a price? I am finally getting some joy out of them. My girlfriends have been coming over, one by one and taking what they want. For me it’s shopping in reverse and it’s even more fun. We laughed at some of the stuff (too tv-ish says one friend), but mostly they’ve walked out of my house with overloaded arms, excited about their new wardrobes.

I’m saving a few suits in case we come back and I have to get a job. I’m also taking some stuff I know is very impractical. Like the stunning J. Lindeberg three piece white pant suit. Insanly expensive, I bought it to eat up my clothing allowance before the end of my last season at Discovery Health. I have a fantasy about wearing it at a dinner outside our jungle house overlooking the ocean, Bobby Bland blaring on the stereo, watching the sunset with Steve and the kids, who are equally duded up. And there is no one to see any of it, except us.