Lucille Ball and Patti Stanger Images of Womanhood Within and Behind the Scenes Briaan Barron Sarah Lawrence College (2013)
One is a vibrant redhead with a quirky demeanor, trying to quench her thirst for the spotlight. The other is a blunt brunette bursting with colorful quips and provocative jargon in her search for love. Though these descriptions may ring true for a female sitcom duo, they describe two separate women who have managed to make a mark on the entertainment industry in two distinctive eras of television history. Watercooler Journal
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1950s starlet Lucille Ball created an iconic image of the housewife with her portrayal of Lucy Ricardo in the classic sitcom I Love Lucy. Patti Stanger, the founder of Millionaire’s Club International, Inc. and star of the Bravo reality show, The Millionaire Matchmaker, makes her lavish living by providing a unique dating service—a boot camp approach to love advice for an elite clientele. It may seem that these two women have little to nothing in common, but the roles that they play in terms of both their on-screen characters and their real world influences share some intriguing parallels. Specifically, Stanger and Ball both firmly grasp the importance of self-branding. They both star in television shows that commodify love, and they both have to reconcile decisions on how to represent femininity in society. Given the dual occupations of starlet and entrepreneur, these women craft an image that subscribes to particular social standards in order to attain broad appeal while simultaneously defying those standards by occupying positions of power in traditionally masculine spaces. Branding Lucille Ball on I Love Lucy Self-branding is the concept of creating or selecting one’s most unique, interesting, appealing, or provocative attributes and exaggerating them to invent a marketable caricature of one’s self. Whether developing a unique hairstyle, facial expression, fashion, catch phrase, or all of the above, self-branding is all about creating a signature “you” that is quickly and easily recognizable to an audience. Lucille Ball embodies a classic example of self-branding during early television’s “golden age.” At the mere mention of I Love Lucy, an image of Ball’s gingerhaired headshot most likely enters one’s mind, or perhaps the lively, retro theme music, or even a visual of the show’s title scrolling across the inside of a black and white heart as per the famous opening segment. The twenty-first century provides a plethora of media outlets that propel the potential of self-branding to an entirely different level of significance. In the current hypermedia climate, audiences and consumers demand an intimate level of familiarity with the subjects on-screen. The ever blurring line between the public and the private sphere forces contemporary television personalities to be increasingly more conscious and deliberate about their representation in the media. It is within this milieu that Patti Stanger’s career subsists. While consumer expectations and tools of communications may have advanced within the past several decades, an analysis of Patti Stanger’s and Lucille Ball’s respective branding strategies reveals that the fundamental principles behind representing famous women have scarcely changed. One peculiar but prominent component of Lucille Ball’s visual brand is her signature red hair. What began as a ploy to stand out amongst competing flaxen starlets of the era (Doty 5) Watercooler Journal
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ultimately became a career-defining decision that carried more significance. As Ball transitioned from the medium of radio and film to television in the 1950s, the set of qualities associated with her hair color evolved with the characters she played. Doty notes that, “Most frequently, RKO cast Ball in roles that reinforced qualities of directness, harshness, unpretentiousness, practicality, job-competence, straightforward sexual attractiveness, and sharp, ironic humor” (5). The “Lucy” that America came to love in her television career thoroughly contrasts the characters Ball personified during her run as a contract player with RKO. As the sitcom genre—which both depicted and targeted the traditional nuclear family— called for a relatable or widely accepted sort of woman, Lucille Ball’s brand adapted to these demands. As a result, Ball’s red hair, having become associated by the 1950s with glamour, sharptongued wit, aggressiveness, and temper… became linked to Lucy’s comic vanity, deceptiveness, manic energy, and “screwball” illogic. Ultimately, Lucy Ricardo, and even Lucille Ball as a public figure/star were frequently characterized by some variation of the phrase “crazy redhead.” (6) In fact, Ball’s hair color served distinct purposes for both film and television as she traversed the two media. In the film industry, the vibrant hue lent itself to the use of Technicolor that typified RKO films in the mid-twentieth century. With the arrival of I Love Lucy, the hair color abandoned its function as visual stimuli to become a more figurative mark of Lucy’s personality, since the iconic television show aired in black and white.
“While I Love Lucy utilizes costumes, sets, and narratives that resemble a more traditional American household to obscure Lucy’s unconventional ideals and behavior, The Millionaire Matchmaker uses Stanger’s assertive language, powerful comportment, and skin-exposing garb to obfuscate its perpetuation of sexist ideologies.” During Ball’s era, the film and entertainment industry depended heavily upon a woman’s appearance and ability to emote a particular sentiment through her eyes and bodily Watercooler Journal
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movements. As implicated in descriptions of Ball’s roles prior to I Love Lucy, sensuality played a key role in the success of female characters. Given this framework, Ball had the opportunity to carve a niche of her own, not only as manifested in her choice of hair color but also in the characteristics she embodied. While Marilyn Monroe occupied the role of the sultry, coquettish Blonde, the role of Lucy Ricardo allowed Lucille Ball to lay claim to a sort of whimsical glamour. Lucy’s iconic bemused and wide-eyed pout contrasts with the memorable portrait of Marilyn Monroe, lids low and lips agape. Even solely from the neck up, Lucille Ball had contrived a signature look, exemplifying perhaps the primary objective of self-branding, which is to develop a set of visual traits that don’t compete or compare with other existing public figures and yet still demand attention.
Another component that distinguished Lucille Ball’s brand was the platform for alternative forms of expression offered by sitcom television, which did not exist on the big screen. While Watercooler Journal
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Ball’s hair color transferred well from film to TV, her style of dress, living environment, and the narrative premises in which she worked were adapted to the world of television. Doty examines the strain that arose between Ball’s previous film roles and her portrayal of Lucy Ricardo: In I Love Lucy, elements of Ball’s earlier film personalities are strategically camouflaged by Lucy’s housedresses, aprons, and hostess pants. The resulting tensions between “Lucy Ricardo” and “Lucille Ball” in Ball’s televisual star image often threaten to disrupt the series’ sitcom characterizations and narrative development, thereby opening a space for more complex, if not always progressive, readings of Lucy Ricardo and the series. (4) Here, Doty speaks to the way in which Lucy Ricardo’s attire attempted to dilute Ball’s performance ability in order to make her character believable as a housewife. Yet, it is these same dramatic faculties that allow for Ball’s success in portraying the character. This complex play between Ball’s talents and the expectations of her character reflect a particular ideology about acceptable gender roles, suggesting that if Ball were going to star in her own sitcom and dominate the program’s comedic substance, both unusual feats for a woman at the time, her character’s lifestyle would have to subscribe to more traditional standards: “Ball realized that the construction of her television character was the result of a series of denials: of glamour, high style, wealth, wit, and independence; that is of certain key elements of her film image” (4). Yet while Ball’s television persona was forced to reject many of the “edgier” traits of her film personas, Lucy Ricardo still covertly challenged the narrative of the content housewife in that she vocally expressed her desire for a life outside of the home and persistently sought to achieve it by challenging her husband—albeit through botched attempts. Lucille Ball’s physical characteristics allowed her to distinguish herself from other actresses and acquire a trademark that translated across different media as well as disguise the contention between her endeavors as a woman in a male-dominated industry and the social expectations to which her character complies. Branding Patti Stanger on The Millionaire Matchmaker Matchmaking professional Patti Stanger’s experience as a woman in the television industry differs from Lucille Ball’s in that she stars not in a fictional narrative but in a non-fiction “reality” show. As a result, her persona within the context of the program is difficult to distinguish from her true identity. The Millionaire Matchmaker on the Bravo Network portrays Patti’s tasks and Watercooler Journal
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encounters as she seeks to initiate serious relationships between wealthy clients and qualified dating candidates whom she selects. However, the emphasis of the show lies on Stanger’s assertive personality, raunchy aphorisms, and propensity for mild verbal abuse toward her clients and club members.
It is also important to note that the show’s home—the Bravo Network—has in recent years found a niche in reality television that highlights a high society lifestyle with a tendency to play upon the irony between social status and lowbrow behavioral choices. Bravo’s reality series have become so popular, in fact, that the network has coined the term “Bravolebrities” to refer to its programs’ stars. Bravo frequently engages in cross-promotion within the company as a way of further embedding its brand into the minds of viewers. Consequently, as the star of The Millionaire Matchmaker, Stanger assumes the responsibility of representing herself, her company, and the mission of the Bravo Network. Patti Stanger’s image betrays the evolution of a social standard for femininity in the media, a Watercooler Journal
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social standard that seems to have reversed many physical expectations while still clinging to certain behavioral principles. Like Ball, Stanger possesses visual identifiers that give clues about her character traits. Long dark hair, blunt bangs, mini dresses, and six-inch heels all work insistently to camouflage Stanger’s fifty years of age. Visual media of Stanger frequently depicts her in a hip-tilted stance with arms akimbo, thereby suggesting both femininity and control. Episode trailers hinge upon scenes of Stanger’s disapproving reaction shots while she confronts others with finger-waving, voice-raising fury.
“Stanger further reinforces the unwavering existence of standards that require women to appear submissive if they are to achieve success in a relationship.” If Lucy Ricardo reflects the image of the 1950s housewife in the city, Stanger reflects the image of the twentieth-century L.A. businesswoman, strutting her stuff in Christian Louboutin heels and Herve Leger dresses. Yet within her show, Stanger consistently advocates a set of requirements that states that women should avoid giving off “masculine energy,” soften their exterior, be intelligent but not intimidating, straighten their hair, wear form-fitted clothing and high heels, suppress overt sexual expression but be flirtatious, and, in essence, allow a man to be a man. Thus, Lucille Ball and Patti Stanger are inverted images of one another. While I Love Lucy utilizes costumes, sets, and narratives that resemble a more traditional American household to obscure Lucy’s unconventional ideals and behavior, The Millionaire Matchmaker uses Stanger’s assertive language, powerful comportment, and skin-exposing garb to obfuscate its perpetuation of sexist ideologies. “Patti Meets Her Match” Driven by this blatant entertainment contradiction, The Millionaire Matchmaker appeared to be doing well on the Bravo Network. However, despite the fact that Stanger’s show sustained five seasons, the unmarried Stanger began to come under fire by both club members and viewers. They criticized her (via the internet) for distributing love advice while not having achieved success in love herself. Stanger responded to the pressure by electing to take some of her own advice, and on the fifth season’s finale, she turned the tables and allowed her business partners to play lead matchmakers while she played the “millionairess” client. Watercooler Journal
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Over the course of the series, Stanger’s appearance evolved subtly but noticeably, while her trademark personality remained the same. She slimmed down her figure, softened her hairstyle, and underwent cosmetic surgery. It’s possible that altering her appearance was a response to the pressure her viewers put on her to practice what she preached. However, in the season five finale, entitled “Patti Meets Her Match,” Stanger accompanies her physical alterations with an attitude adjustment as well, so as to portray that she too has to succumb to gendered conventions in order to attain love. The entire episode aims to distinguish Stanger’s business persona from her temperament in a dating situation. It achieves this by showing Stanger preparing to find a match and undergoing her own process from the other side of the spectrum. This includes her being interviewed by her employees about why she wants love, what she is looking for in a mate, and what her deal breakers are. Scenes of Stanger in this reverse role are coupled with flashback scenes depicting moments from previous episodes in which she is seen working with clients and putting them through the same grueling process in which she is now forced to participate. Stanger’s wildly flailing hand gestures and emotive expressions in flashback moments contrast with her cool comportment in present-day scenes. The result displays both Stanger’s discomfort with suppressing her controlling tendencies and her eagerness to embrace the ameliorating process for the sake of finding “true love.” The significance of portraying even Patti Stanger—the rule-maker on love herself—as not exempt from the regulations of the dating world is two-fold. On one hand, producing an episode with this premise acts as a great marketing tactic in that Stanger directly addresses audience critique, granting viewers an opportunity to scrutinize her shortcomings as opposed to seeing her denigrate clients who break her rules. On the other hand, Stanger further reinforces the unwavering existence of standards that require women to appear submissive if they are to achieve success in a relationship. This infantilization of the female partner in a relationship appears in I Love Lucy as well. While the dynamic of the marriage between Lucy and Ricky appears to be more progressive than that of other television couples of that era (perhaps because there are factors that detract Ricky’s authority), Lucy still dwells within a patriarchal structure. Doty asserts that, “Ball took over the male domain of physical comedy… stealing the show in the process, yet neither [Lucy nor Gracie Allen’s character] escaped confinement and the tolerance of kindly fathers” (12). Thus, both Ball and Stanger’s onscreen personas perpetuate this idea: no matter how exceptional a woman’s talents may be, if they threaten to infiltrate a masculine realm, they must be stifled in order for her to function properly in a heterosexual relationship.
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“Merchandise to Match” As entities of the entertainment culture industry, both of these television shows sell ideologies with merchandise to match. Lori Landay’s “Millions ‘Love Lucy’: The Commodification of the Lucy Phenomenon” thoroughly investigates the consumer products and advertising ventures that arose as a result of the show’s popularity. Landay remarks on the way an idealized image of love portrayed by Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz helped to sell goods through their onscreen characters: In the world of I Love Lucy, home meant the “love” that Ricky had for Lucy no matter what odd, property damaging, career jeopardizing, financially threatening thing she did. I Love Lucy assured viewers that with love, everything would turn out alright. And that “love” could be yours in the form of his and her pajamas for only $5.95. (33)
Landay also draws on irony to illustrate the connection between ideologies promoted through television programs and consumer products. She points to the way that the advertisement of merchandise associated with these shows is facilitated by persuading audiences that Watercooler Journal
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romanticized versions of abstract notions can be commodified. In a similar tactic, Patti Stanger has partnered with the floral company 1-800-Flowers to market the “Patti Stanger Bouquet,” an arrangement of flowers that incorporates a pink, red, and white medley of daisies, roses, and lilies. While the bouquet itself is quite standard in appearance, its association with the Matchmaker brand suggests that its composition was conceived by a love expert with inside information on what type of bouquet incites the best reaction from its recipient. Though the concept is as absurd as the idea of “his and hers” pajamas equating to unconditional love, the pairing of principles that appeal to the participation in consumer culture lies at the foundation of such advertising, and is essential in establishing a lasting brand. Roles and “Reality” As women with a hand in their business endeavors outside of the frames of their respective shows, Ball and Stanger recognized the commercial potential of their careers. But much like the rules that they seem to profess through their television personas about love and relationships, they had to carefully negotiate a balance between personal advancement and public expectations. Stars do not simply disappear when the director shouts, “Cut!” at the end of a scene. Popular culture and the obsession with celebrities that constitutes it requires television personalities to invite viewers into some aspects of their off-screen lives in order to offer the illusion of connection between the famous and the common. Even in the 1950s, well before reality television materialized or the Internet spewed tabloid journalism sites, the correlation between public and private life played an important role in public perceptions, particularly in I Love Lucy: One of the attractions of I Love Lucy was its blend of reality and fiction, or “real life” and “reel life,” as a 1953 article called it. Self-reflexive jokes like Lucy’s statement that Ricky needs a “pretty girl” in his act bisociate inept housewife Lucy Ricardo and TV star Lucille Ball, calling attention to how she both is and is not the “pretty girl” in the various narrative frames of the I Love Lucy phenomenon. Interwoven are the episode, the advertisements during the episode, knowledge about the series and its stars from secondary texts, the cultural contexts that inflect the combinations of private housewife/public pretty girl and femininity/comedy with contradictions, and the ideology of the feminine mystique. (Landay 28) Landay summarizes the interdependency between an audience’s familiarity with the subject, Watercooler Journal
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both when “in character” and as a public figure outside of his/her on-screen role. Landay also ties in the importance of cultural context and consumer culture in informing the way that a program is received. The genre of reality television, which claims to evade the shroud of fiction so as to provide direct access from the viewer to true accounts of actual events, engages the motif of the persona versus the personal in a more complex way. When playing a fictional character whose dialogue, behavior, and appearance are known to be designed by a team of industry professionals, an actress retains the ability to keep some distance between her own identity and the character she portrays. Yet reality stars are obligated to create an illusion that their onscreen personas reflect their true lives. The critiques that Patti Stanger receives mimic personal attacks more so than subjective opinions of a fictional character. Thus, she is held accountable for her self-presentation in a way that differs from the way Lucille Ball might be expected to account for Lucy Ricardo’s choices. Stanger’s role is further complicated and problematized by the fact that, though she stars in a non-fiction show, she still operates in an industry driven by interest in profit. In essence, without the vessel of a fictional narrative to distinguish the content of The Millionaire Matchmaker from Stanger’s personal belief systems, she limits her self-presentation to the attributes that are most marketable, yielding a distortive narrative of “reality” to audiences. Who is More Progressive? It is interesting to contemplate whether or not Patti Stanger and Lucille Ball would have been compatible with one another, especially considering Patti’s often-professed vocal detestation of redheads. Outside of the context of their television roles, the two women share some commonalities in the way they represent themselves. Lucille Ball played Lucy Ricardo, “in part because such an image would reinforce, and become reinforced by, then-current publicity and press stories… depicting her as someone who longed for a more traditional married life, and who relished the roles of wife and (future) mother” (Doty 9). Patti Stanger uses her position as a successful matchmaker to instruct men and women in the twenty-first century on how to translate traditional roles of masculinity and femininity in relationships to a contemporary setting. Later, she even depicts herself as someone who longs for such a dynamic so much that she would diminish the very strong and independent qualities that contributed to her success. Yet, one of these women tends to be read as more progressive than the other. Lucille Ball navigated the social climate of the 1950s by donning the costume of the accepted type of woman while stealthily offering an alternative representation of female characters. While she was forced to withdraw from the more cutting-edge personas of her film career, her decision to Watercooler Journal
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do so resulted in more mobility and longevity in the entertainment industry. This ultimately provided her with a platform for an alternative type of expression that did not depend upon sensuality, as did the careers of many of her movie star counterparts. In contrast, Patti Stanger’s more overt rejection of social norms manifests in her brazen references to obsolete gender conventions as the code for success in modern relationships. This concept is edgy precisely due to its lack of progressiveness, in contrast to I Love Lucy. However, Stanger arguably represents the voice of modern women who value and appreciate a conventional nuclear family structure and feel that their perspective is hushed by various forms of feminist critique. Perhaps a show like The Millionaire Matchmaker, which perpetually sexualizes the female body and highlights the eligibility of wealthy men, is not the best platform to showcase this perspective, but it remains a valid viewpoint nonetheless. The branding choices, ideologies, and cultural influences that Patti Stanger and Lucille Ball embody provide a catalyst for discussing the way that powerful women traverse public fame and private advancement. They also allow us to question whether temporal progress necessarily equals social progress, or if it is possible to move backward with regard to our perception of oppressive conventions.
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works cited Doty, Alexander. “The Cabinet of Lucy Ricardo: Lucille Ball’s Star Image.” Cinema Journal Vol. 29 (1990): 3-22. Web. 12 Apr. 2012. Landay, Lori. “Millions ‘Love Lucy’: Commodification and the Lucy Phenomenon.” NWSA Journal 11.2 (1999): 25-48. Web. 13 Apr. 2012. “Patti Meets Her Match.” The Millionaire Matchmaker: Season 5. Television Show. 15 Aug. 2011. iTunes. 8 May 2012. Pozner, Jennifer. Reality Bites Back: the Troubling Truth About Guilty Pleasure TV. Berkeley California: Seal Press, 2010. 239-272. Web. 13 Apr. 2012. Walker, Nancy. “Humor and Gender Roles: The ‘Funny’ Feminism of the Post World-War II Suburbs.” American Quarterly 37.1 (1985): 98-113. Web. 13 Apr. 2012.
image credits, in order: image: Watercooler Journal, screenshots: @CBS Studios + ©Bravo Media image via http://thereelist.com/ ©Bravo Media, via http://www.bravotv.com/ image via http://www.writework.com/ image via http://www.pattiknows.com/ Watercooler Journal
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