Feminists don’t seem to understand their own sex very well. I was considering making this part of the Matriarchal Self Worship Series, but it is more of a woman’s projection of her superficiality and narcissism onto her daughter. Like that never happens! Sexualization of girls or women being blamed for girls’ image problems for example.
Source: Daily Mail
At 11, Sasha Bennington is too young to remember the days when Jordan was just a country and being branded ‘fake’ was something to be ashamed of.
But maybe the youngster’s biggest tragedy is that her mother, Jayne, 31, is in no hurry to paint a picture of how it used to be.
Jayne is talking breezily about how Sasha had her first set of false nails glued on at eight, and now enjoys the sort of rigorous beauty regime – hair extensions, fake tans, pedicures – that was once the preserve of porn stars and Dolly Parton, not school children from Burnley in Lancashire.
Still, times have changed. ‘All the kids are at it now,’ insists Jayne. ‘We spend about £300 a month on beauty treatments for her.
‘Sasha’s friends are the same. All girls their age are. Of course they are! Why else would you be able to buy make-up for pre-teens at Boots?
Um, because Boots wants to make money? And all girls aren’t the same, it’s their mothers that are the same. Using their daughters to compete with each other. The attitude of this ‘mother’ is alarming to say the least, with lines like;
‘I don’t understand why people get so upset about it. None of it is permanent. Tans wash off. Hair extensions come out. Why all the fuss?’
They kept saying they wanted the girls to look natural. Why? Let them slap it on! What’s the harm?’
What else does one expect? They scurried off to a U.S. beauty pageant with a film crew, where the mother revealed how sacrificial and noble she is;
‘I fell in love with a pink dress that made her look like a princess, but the people advising us told us you should always match the dress to the eyes – so we went for green.
‘That was OK, though. I wasn’t there to have the dress I wanted. I was there so that Sasha could win. I was amazed at how much there was to learn, but I knew I was in the hands of the experts.’
It seems that the main lesson learned was that her darling daughter could look like a plastic Barbie, and be rewarded with a sash to prove it.
‘People always said she looked like a Barbie in Miss British Isles, but the girls in Texas truly did,’ enthuses Jayne.
‘It was wonderful. I watched them on the catwalk, with their arms held so precisely, walking slowly and turning just so. They reminded me of little ballerina dolls.’
What sort of mother wants her daughter to look like a doll? The image I have in my head is of Exorcist Barbie, but Jayne sees something else entirely.
The article author cottoned on to the matriarchal projection however.
Her response to the pageant pictures of Sasha – looking shocking with deep red lips and heavily smoked eyes – probably says more about her than her daughter.
‘The pictures are amazing, and Sasha is such a lucky girl to have them. I’d love to have those sort of pictures, nice pictures, rather than ones you hide away because you can’t bear to look at them.’
It was about the same time she started dabbling in beauty pageants that Jayne declared she wanted her daughter to be the next Jordan. She still does.
For those readers who do not know who ‘Jordan’ is, curse you, you lucky buggers. Just imagine Mister Geppetto with a Barbie Doll instead of a piece of wood. With about the same amount of personality.
‘Of course. Jordan is her idol and I fully support her in that. She’s a great role model, this really down-to-earth woman who has made a big success of her life. She’s a better role model than Britney Spears – any day.’
Okay, this is her. Content with making her daughter into an object, she then attempts to sell her.
In the forthcoming documentary, Jayne takes Sasha to a major agency, in the hope that she will be signed up.
The model booker says a vehement ‘no’, horrified by her portfolio, and tells Jayne that clients want their child models to look like children, and that for this sort of career success she would have to stop bleaching Sasha’s hair and encouraging her to wear plastic nails. Jayne refuses to comply.
It comes as no surprise that Jayne used to be a model herself, and one who worked in the ‘glamour’ side of the business.
She started at 23 – which, she explains, was ‘far too late’ for real career success – and now believes that earlier is better, in order to maximise profit and notoriety.
One of her own happiest memories is of entering a beauty pageant and winning the coveted sash. ‘I was on top of the world. One day I was an ordinary clerical worker, the next everyone was looking at me. It was wonderful.
Bloody hell. This mother didn’t sell her body as much as she’d hoped in her time, so obviously her daughter is the next best thing.
‘She’s always wanted to be a model, 100per cent. I’m just helping her do what she wants, like any good parent would. It’s not pushing her into anything. I hate it when people say I’m a pushy parent. I’m not. I just want the best for her.’
I’m not a parent, but I don’t think that doing whatever the child wants is a good parent. That’s how you get this. You are supposed to set rules and boundaries for children. Instil morality, good behaviour and constructive attitudes.
But maybe that’s just me. I wonder where the father is?
And what Sasha wants, Sasha clearly gets. Last Christmas, Jayne and her husband, Martin, a builder who works all over the UK and is barely at home, spent £26,000 on Sasha’s presents, which included a swimming pool.
Goes some way to explaining the situation.
What will become of the child, who turns just 12 in two weeks? We might hope for a reverse teenage rebellion – one in which she dyes her hair mousey brown and professes a desire to study political science at university – but it’s unlikely.
Ask Sasha how she sees herself and she replies: ‘Blonde, pretty, dumb – I don’t need brains.’ Her mum laughs her head off at this, proud that the child is so like her.
Indeed. How far Britain has fallen.