Many years ago, when I was a graduate student in University of Hawai’i at Manoa, as a young 23 year-old I nearly befriended a young woman faculty member in the university’s Department of Urban Planning. The attraction was mutually au naturale, yet unconsummmated, quiet, civil and warm, a one time meeting between a conservative student and faculty. She had flashed what American women today call a “sideboob.”
It happened to me again with a European woman during an evening student party, but this time when I was faculty in Kitakyushu, Japan in 1992.
On both occasions I was a dual-graduate major in Engineering and Political Science and by then had studied Biopolitics with a well-known academic, Glendon Schubert.
My growing young daughter hears her upper class girls in puberty use the word “boob”, a colloquialism for the feminine breast, on the playground. This diminution of language is deplorable.
The neologism for feminine sensuality in contrast to the ugliness of the unseemly garishness of the masculine bulge out of a jeans trouser, no matter the race, must encapsulate the beauty of the curvature the word ought to communicate.
Naked in Europe and America, the abreast – in the remaking of fashion, to coin a double entendre synonym for “sideboob” – is clothed in Arabia and Asia. Frontal and sideviews of a woman’s bosom have enchanted men for ages, only explained by Freud, both in their display and in their modesty.
In angry conversations with the government over the Pentagon Papers, Washington Post Publisher Katherine Graham’s “[teats were to be in a vice]” if her newspaper published the confidential government documents about the war being botched in Vietnam according to an account by The Washington Post’s Bob Woodward.
For the conservative woman socialite and doyen of the capital’s journalist corps, who had taken over the newspaper from her father Eugene Meyer, Chairman of the Federal Reserve from 1930-33, Pentagon Papers and Watergate were a liberation: as if her breasts were released from her brassiere instead of being squeezed in the Washington vice, proclaiming the need for liberty, fashionable to feminists from Gloria Steinem to Naomi Wolf.
The Washington Post, which had staked the family fortune on journalistic principle from 1971-1974 on two young rookies, Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, has now veered in its elitism in the worse than Nixonian years since the end of Gulf War I and the rise of Islamic terrorism. The country is being ransacked from the inside since 9/11 in a manner unprecedented in its history even as women flash their abreasts during evening cocktail parties in fancy gowns in a cosmetic world of cosmetic meaning when, in fact, lactation – the motherly duty of the species and class – can naturally substitute for boob jobs.
It is high time the political class kept abreast of the times.