Musing on the muses

I was browsing through the paper today, and noted a collection of photographs being taken at the Cannes Film Festival that's currently taking place. I noted how beautiful all the women were, with their dresses and beautiful coiffed hair. Certainly, they were all dressed impeccably, and so very beautiful. And with very sore feet - I don't think any of them did not arrive on the red carpet without stilettos.
In stark contrast were the photographs taken of the men: Antonio Banderas in an untucked shirt, boat shoes and jeans. DeNiro wearing sneakers (sneakers!) with his tuxedo. Jack Black showing up in a T-shirt and sneakers. The lucky ducks. The men get to show up in clothing they can comfortably wear on the French Riviera, lounging around and even having the belt room to spare for some extra frites before the show starts, and yet the women, the women...
Bound in tiny pieces of footwear. Encased in tight dresses. Forcing their bosoms to heave with the corsets and stays in their tops. It is still the relentless expectations and subjugation of women that force these women, as stunningly beautiful as they are, to be dressed no less oppressively than those of their burqa-covered sisters under the Taliban, or the chanzu of the Han Chinese, or the corseted courtesans in European courts. The irony of the freedom afforded to Western women seems a bit lost when perusing these beauties...