The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
the b-side
Thursday, November 12, 2015 — 2B
Day One: Aerobics with
Richard Simmons and the
Silver Foxes
When I started this video, I
wasn’t really sure what I expect-
ed the Silver Foxes to be. Some
svelte figures in metallic jump-
suits were about what I had in
mind. But alas, the Silver Foxes
were not blondes in high pony-
tails, but instead the 70-odd-
year-old
parents
of
famous
figures from the ’80s: the moth-
ers of Farrah Fawcett, Sylvester
Stallone and Simmons himself,
as well as the father of Al Pacino.
Immediately, I knew I made a
huge mistake, but I had made a
commitment, so I proceeded on
my journey with the Silver Foxes.
First thing’s first — Richard
Simmons doesn’t mess around.
Maybe there was something in
the water in the ’80s, but I could
barely keep up the movement of
my feet when paired with enthu-
siastic clapping and hip shaking.
Mrs. Stallone had this thing down
pat, looking like a goddess in a
peach sweat ensemble.
It hadn’t even been 20 min-
utes of the 50-minute video
(read: 17 minutes) when I real-
ized I desperately needed a
water break. This is coming
from a girl who does hot Bikram
yoga twice a week. I’m telling
myself this has more to do with
the large plate of sushi I had
eaten a couple hours earlier that
stripped me of the moisture in
my body than with the vivacity
of the Silver Foxes. It was also
around this time that I realized
Sal Pacino looked too much like
the father of an ex-boyfriend for
my comfort. My concentration
was in a shaky place, I needed
the wisdom of Simmons’s perm
to bring me back.
25 minutes in. Another water
break. But I was starting to
get why these videos were so
popular. So soothing. So visu-
ally pleasing. I’d love to find a
way to have Richard Simmons’s
voice and positive energy inher-
ent in my daily life.
I don’t know if it was the jazzy
music, the matching velour
jumpsuits or the ever-smiling
faces of the Silver Foxes, but
I had a great time doing this
video. I’ve never taken a formal
aerobics class, so I can’t say how
this video compares to a class
for those born in the later half of
the 20th century, but I definitely
worked a bit of a sweat. Some of
the exercises were incredibly
goofy, like the “rump bends” that
looked undeniably like humping
the back of a chair. But honestly,
the Silver Foxes were everything
to this video. Immediately after
it ended, I had to look up what
happened to Jackie Stallone,
hoping she was still doing high
knees somewhere. However, I
wish I hadn’t. It looks like old
Jacks filled up too much of her
later years with bad plastic sur-
gery and a role on “Celebrity Big
Brother.” RIP to the image of
that goddess in the peach sweat
suit I briefly knew and loved.
Day Two: Sweat and Shout
I have a confession to make: I
took a three-day break between
the first workout and this one. My
workload was insane, and my sleep
levels were subpar, so exercise fell
to the wayside, per usual. But after
things settled down, I settled back
into Simmons.
This second tape starts with
a much more flamboyant Sim-
mons backed up by a gospel
choir singing, “Shout!” Before
I could gain my composure, the
dancing starts. Already, this
tape is 100 percent more intense
than anything the Silver Foxes
could keep up with. The new
cast of supporting dancers is
brightly clad but definitely sec-
ondary characters to Simmons’s
fabulousness. I’m not sure if
it’s a year difference (I couldn’t
actually find the year this video
was made) or the absence of
septuagenarians, but Simmons
definitely expressed his famous
personality in this video more
than
the
last.
After
some
research, I learned that Sim-
mons has never actually con-
firmed his sexuality, squashing
my uninformed belief that he
was some sort of gay icon.
Again, I kept messing up the
quick movement changes while
the backup dancers kept up per-
fectly, which led me to ques-
tion how many times they had
to practice this one-hour rou-
tine without cameras. What if
someone in the back messes up?
Do they have to film the whole
thing over again? This tape has
literally no breaks, Simmons
powers through one hour of
intense dancing without slow-
ing down at all. This tape is also
significantly more difficult than
the Silver Foxes — I’m sorry I
doubted you, Richard. The old-
ies soundtrack naturally made
me want to dance, and I’m sure
I could have reached euphoria
if I weren’t concentrating so
hard on keeping up with the
moves. Like the Silver Foxes
video, there were some weird
humping maneuvers, this time
done with less stable eye con-
tact with the camera and more
vivacity, echoing the younger
cast of the background dancers.
Other moves had names like
“sweating ponies” and “sham
shammies.” Your guess to what
those are as good as anyone’s.
The video’s name did not lie.
I did sweat, but I did not shout
because my roommates were
home and would have been con-
cerned if I had. However, I was
very out of breath by the time
the cool down period started.
Doing weird stretches with my
arms while the gospel choir
sang (they came back just for
the end) was oddly satisfying,
and I felt a spiritual connection
to the higher being which is
Richard Simmons. My potential
soreness the next day was left to
be determined.
Day Three: Disco Sweat—
How to lose 15 pounds in two
weeks
When I stepped out of bed this
morning, there was an unmistak-
able soreness in my quads from
my sweating and not-shouting the
day before. Now with a definite
sign that these workouts actually
do something, I culminated my
three-day experiment with what
sounded like the hardest Simmons
workout YouTube has to offer —
one that guaranteed I would lose
15 pounds in two weeks, though
never actually specified how often
these workouts had to be to accom-
plish this. Once a day? Twice a
day? I’m unsure.
This time, instead of being a
recluse in my bedroom vigorously
dancing alone, I set up the HDMI
cord in the living room and did the
workout with my roommate, an
actual dancer. Though the tapes
were fun alone, they were defi-
nitely more exhilarating in a group
setting; I was no longer afraid to
sing along to the music or “whoop”
when Simmons did. This was the
most difficult of the Simmons vid-
eos, and my keeping up with it was
more than debatable.
We made it a little more than
halfway through the video,
slightly after the dance routine
to “I Will Survive,” when my
roommate had an epiphany: “I
HAVE to show you this work-
out video I used to do with my
mom in our living room.” And
with that, Richard was hijacked
and replaced with Billy Blanks’s
TaeBo workout. Richard, I’m
so, so sorry. But if your videos
intentionally had a twinge of
humor, TaeBo was unintention-
ally the funniest thing I’ve ever
seen. The background music,
clearly made for this specific
workout, made me feel like I was
in a video game. And though I’m
sure I would have gotten a fan-
tastic cardio workout with the
mix of martial arts and aerobics,
I genuinely could not stop laugh-
ing when Blanks would yell,
“DOUBLE TIME,” and the room
would go inexplicitly dark and
the movements were twice as
fast, looking like a fever dream.
We only made it about halfway
through TaeBo when we both
called it quits, and I left with an
unmistakable guilt toward the
spirit of Richard Simmons.
While I can’t say if I’d
voluntarily elect to do Simmons
dance tapes on a regular basis
again, I understand why people
do. They’re fun, positive and
make you feel good about
yourself. While I’m not sure if
you’d actually lose 15 pounds in
two weeks, you probably could
over a greater length of time,
because holy smokes, if you put
all your energy in it you can
sweat bullets doing these. I’m
glad I did my little experiment,
but I think I’ll stick to hot yoga
after all.
MUSIC VIDEO REVIEW
“I just got here and I think
I’m losing signal already....
sorry,” says a sepia-toned
Adele, windswept upon her
arrival
to an old,
abandoned
house at
the end of
a secluded
country drive.
And so we
enter with her the microcosm
of a tender, long-hidden
memory in the balladeer’s
latest video for “Hello.” This
abandoned house is a time
capsule where we relive with
Adele the narrative of a love
long lost. Much of the video is
filmed from the first-person:
her old boyfriend speaks
directly to the camera, and
we see Adele’s hands reaching
out to him as if they’re the
viewer’s own. When her ex
isn’t talking to us, Adele stands
next to a rusting, ivy-wrapped,
vintage London telephone
booth in a sun sprinkled forest
clearing pouring her heart out,
a perfect millennial queen.
Though the narrative
force behind the video isn’t
incredibly novel, I call Adele a
millennial queen for a reason.
The video is heartbreaking
but soothing to watch at
the same time, managing to
assuage several anxieties of
the millennial generation.
The entire thing is saturated
in nostalgia: the whole video
is filmed in sepia, Adele is
visiting an old abandoned
house, and although there are
phones in the video, not one of
them is a Smartphone. Instead
both Adele and her former
lover use flip phones — an
elegy to the 2000s — or corded
phones in the mysteriously
placed phone booth or inside
the house.
Not only is she letting
viewers enter a vintage
fantasy; she’s also overcoming
other social problems
prominent in contemporary
popular media. Adele looks
absolutely stunning without
conforming to the standard
body type of the female
celebrity, and her ex is
Black while it’s unfortunate
that a biracial couple in a
mainstream music video is
worth noting, like everything
else in the video it definitely
seemed purposeful. All in
one video, Adele manages
to answer the millennial
obsession with nostalgia,
overcomes unjust expectations
on women’s bodies, and takes a
step toward racial equality.
Though the video doesn’t
necessarily push artistic
boundaries, that’s not really
what Adele is about. She’s
about the vintage, she’s about
the nostalgia, and she’s about
being a champion of capturing
our emotions. All this she does
in the video of her latest single,
“Hello.”
- REGAN DETWILER
XL
B+
Hello
Adele
As freshmen, my friends
and I giggled abashedly as we
downloaded the app – only
to
swipe
sarcastically,
we
affirmed. Though we stood
proudly as anti-slut shamers,
we turned a side-eye to those
who prowled for casual sex,
and even more for long-term
relationships. Especially with
aggressive pick-up lines like,
“Your cute wanna fuck?” —
there has stemmed a sense
of stigma with its use. News
sources have criticized the
app for “ruining romance” and
inciting the “dawn of the dating
apocalypse” — pinning culprit
on the millennials who use it.
Contrarily, in New York City
this past summer, with a much
larger swiping vicinity, my
coworkers’ solution to all my
dating woes was always, “Have
you ever tried Tinder?” In the
Big Apple, dating apps aren’t
taboo; they’re simply ways to
make an isolating city intimate,
a way to meet like-minded
individuals
you
typically
wouldn’t. In Ann Arbor, with
less opportunity for mobility,
stumbling across friends (or
GSIs) on the app always feels
too close for comfort.
However,
John
Cacioppo,
a psychology professor at the
University of Chicago, found
that more than one third of
marriages between 2005 and
2012 started on the Internet. In
his 2013 study, he ascertained
that couples who have met
online
have
1.6%
fewer
marriage breakups, and also
higher marriage satisfaction
ratings.
Currently, the average age for
first marriage is 27 for women
and 29 for women – a wedlock
rate down 10% from just the
previous generation. Though
Cacioppo’s
study
proved
positive long-term effects, how
does online dating fare with
casual
relationships
among
millennials at a time when they
aren’t necessarily looking for
The One?
So, with mixed responses, I
delved further into the world
of cyber-romance — warily,
but with an open mind. For
the purposes of my study, I
limited my age range from 22
to 30, a pool representative
of
“millennials”
—
mostly
upperclassmen and recent post-
grads.
On the first night, Tinder’s
new “super-like” feature landed
me at Marnee Thai for dinner
with
Matt*,
a
24-year-old
University
graduate
student
whom
I
found
physically
attractive
enough
and
his
profile intriguing enough to
reciprocate his super-like.
However, like many stories
go, his unkempt facial hair
didn’t quite mirror the carefully
vetted photos on his profile
— and his bio’s claim that he
had studied across Asia didn’t
actually
materialize
itself
into a cultured personality.
On “paper” (online), we had
common interests in travel,
literature, and art museums —
but when discussing in depth
and in person, we realized how
vague “commonalities” were
really just dissimilarities.
After our two hour dinner,
Matt still had no idea where I
was originally from, what my
college major was, what my
career aspirations were — no
details about my family, friends
or hobbies. While I attempted
to reciprocate genuine curiosity
about his life in response
to his online “super-like,” I
never felt his real-life interest
reciprocated back.
Had Matt and I initially met
each other in person, it would
have
been
evident
within
the first five minutes that we
couldn’t be well-suited romantic
partners. We wouldn’t have
wasted time over a superficial
dinner or poured effort into
online impression management.
However, offline — in person —
we probably wouldn’t have had
the chance to meet each other in
the first place.
My Bumble, Hinge, OkCupid
and Coffee Meets Bagel dates
all ensued in a similar fashion
— with men where there was
fleeting cyber infatuation, but
little chemistry in real life.
Our lack of connection wasn’t
necessarily due to a deficiency
on my or their part. Rather, it
was simply a lack of social and
dispositional compatibility that
a mobile app couldn’t possibly
discern with six photos and a
three-line bio.
On day two, I tried Hinge.
While all the apps paired
by
proximity,
Hinge
took
similarity-pairing to another
level – matching based on
mutual Facebook friends —
forming connections that could
very well be made in person in
real life. My coffee date with
Patrick*, a 23-year-old recent
University grad who shared
few acquaintances, didn’t incite
any romantic sparks, but we
found a platonic affability from
which we could keep in touch as
friends.
After OkCupid and Coffee
Meets Bagel, I had swiped
through many of the same
men across the different apps.
I felt like I had small-talked
all of Ann Arbor to the point
where I copied and pasted the
same responses to the same
stale questions: What was I
for Halloween? Did I have a
favorite travel destination? Did
I want to come over that night
at 11 p.m.?
On day five, I explored Bum-
ble, an app founded by Whitney
Wolfe, the sole female cofound-
er of Tinder, one year after she
sued her original company for
sexual harassment. Inspired by
Wolfe’s experiences with sex-
ism, Bumble contests tradition-
al gender conventions by giving
females 24 hours to initiate
conversation before their match
disappears. Though the men on
the app should presumably be
comfortable with women mak-
ing the first move, I received
comments calling out my “con-
fidence,” “assertive” nature and
“forward” personality. After
lunch with Logan*, a 25-year-
old model from London, he
“teased” that I should pick up
the bill — because that’s what a
“feminist Bumble-user like (my)
self would do, right?” Though I
generally have no issue paying
on dates, I want my generosity
to stem from pleasure instead of
obligation. The criticisms that
dating apps favored men more
evidently peaked through.
By day six, I reached my final
app: the dreaded Match.com.
Notoriously a serious platform
geared toward a middle-aged
demographic, I worried about
finding men in my 22-30 range.
Unlike the five free mobile
apps I tried, Match thoroughly
vetted potential candidates —
down to the minutest of prefer-
ences in both appearance and
personality.
First and foremost, I real-
ized how appearance profiles
weren’t based on reality — but
rather on the confidence (or
cockiness) with one chose to
convey oneself. Some response
options to the “body type” ques-
tion included: “slender,” “ath-
letic and toned,” “heavyset” and
“a few extra pounds.” Not only
did I have to classify myself,
but I also had to preference the
physique of my ideal date — as
well as the option to make body
type a “deal-breaker” quality.
However, even if I demanded
an “athletic and toned” man, I
would only end up with some-
one who deemed himself wor-
thy of that title.
I knew I reached a red flag
zone
when
inquired
about
my marriage history, poten-
tial children and current sal-
ary – queries rarely of careful
contemplation to a millennial
audience. Perhaps more dis-
turbingly, the site forced me to
preference his relationship sta-
tus and salary range (in case I
wanted to date a married father
or a Sugar Daddy).
Ultimately, though I value
Match’s careful selection pro-
cess, the site certainly revealed
the discriminatory side of dat-
ing apps. Match.com forced
me to be picky — but in super-
ficial terms of appearance and
financial worth. By the end,
both parties would have quite
comprehensive outlines of their
personalities and lifestyles –
the good, the bad, and the ugly
up for interpretation.
After navigating through the
“winks,” “likes” and “faves”
the site offers, I deemed one
message
worthy
of
pursu-
ing: Connor* was 29, but his
photos coddled puppies and
his four paragraph biography
detailed his adventures around
38 countries in the past year.
His hobbies included tea, yoga,
and simply, “massage.” I never
would have imagined I’d be on
a Match.com date, but there we
sat at Mani Osteria with our
napkins in our laps and pizza
fresh on our plates. Compared
to the previous five dates, it was
actually the most pleasant, per-
haps because our similarities
were so carefully vetted.
However, while all five of the
apps I tried are free, Match puts
a $16.99 per month price tag on
the elusive concept of love —
which consequently heightens
the desperation to find romance
when attached to a financial
investment. For its target demo-
graphic, Match may be worth
the pretty penny — but for a
generation that isn’t looking for
Mr. or Mrs. Right, it seems silly
to make a monetary transaction
for a relationship.
Another
observation:
dat-
ing apps bred a desperation I
never knew I had. As a college
senior planning to move across
the country soon, I rarely
yearn for romantic commit-
ment or even companionship
at this point. However, after
just one week perusing six dif-
ferent online sites, I developed
a vicious addiction to checking
and rechecking for matches —
a guilty pleasure in selectively
replying to messages as it gave
me a sense of ownership over
my dating life.
Ultimately, these are all my
singular experiences with the
apps — neither representative of
all experiences, nor my future
luck on the same apps.
A week before my experi-
ment, I had given my friends
the task of finding me a blind
date — a match made the “old
fashioned” way. After seven
DATING APPS
From Page 1B
RICHARD SIMMONS
From Page 1B
entire days, they returned with
text messages from their male
friends:
“Lol a blind date? That’s so
weird.”
“#tbt to the 19th century.”
“How would I know she’s not
a monster or a serial killer?”
All these messages came
before even seeing my photo or
learning any personal details.
Though I expected real-life
match-making to occur much
more organically than any app
encounter, the guys in real life
seemed to make the situation
far more awkward (and frus-
trating) than any initial mes-
sage on Tinder or Match.com.
They may often be labeled as for
the “desperate” or the “thirsty,”
but apps have become more
popular for dating, regardless
of how stigmatized.
In real life, initial face-to-
face conversations with crush-
es are (and always have been)
clunky and terse. Perhaps the
issue
with
“the
millennial
generation” is not that we’re
“flighting from conversation,”
but that we’ve reconstructed
methods of communication to
make us feel more comfortable
– and in turn, make us more
approachable.
In real life, there’s no way 35
“matches” could (or want) to
pine after me. Online, it’s easy
to feel wanted — lusted after in
the moment. However, the fal-
lacy of reality is that the initial
desire often dissipates when
online chemistry doesn’t trans-
late outside of cyberspace.
Ultimately,
the
goal
of
any relationship is to build
a connection. Does it matter
whether that’s done through
a mutual friend or through an
online venue?