I jumped on to a bus in Fleet Street the other evening and took a seat
against the door. Opposite me sat a young woman in a conductor's
dress, who carried on a lively conversation with the woman conductor in
charge of the bus. There were the usual criticisms of the habits and
wickedness of passengers, and then the conductor inside asked the other
at the door how "Flo" was getting on at the job and whether she was
"sticking it out."
"Pretty girl, ain't she?" she said.
"Well, I can't see where the pretty comes in," replied the other.
"Have you seen her when she has her hat off? She's pretty then."
"Can't see what difference that would make."
"She's got nice eyes."
"Never see anything particular about her eyes."
"Well, she's a nice kid, anyway."
"Yes, she's a nice kid all right, but I can't see the pretty about
her--not a little bit. Pretty!" She tossed her head and looked
indignant, almost hurt, as though she had received some secret personal
affront.
I do not think she had. It was more probable that on a subject about
which she felt deeply she had suffered a painful shock. She liked
"Flo," thought her "a nice kid," but mere personal affection could not
be permitted to compromise the stern truth about a sacred subject like
"prettiness."
The little incident interested me because it illustrated one of the
great differences between the sexes. You have only to try to turn that
conversation into masculine terms to see how wide that difference is.
Tom and Bill might have a hundred things to say about Jack. They might
agree that he was a liar or an honest chap, that he drank too much or
didn't drink enough, that he was mean or generous; but there is one
thing it would never occur to them to discuss. It would never occur to
them to discuss his looks, to talk about his eyes, to consider whether
he was more beautiful with or without his hat. They might say that he
looked merry or miserable, sulky or pleasant, but that would have
reference to Jack's character and moral aptitudes and not to any
aesthetic consideration.
But this conversation about "Flo" was entirely aesthetic. The question
of her moral traits only came in as a means of dodging the main issue.
The main issue was whether she was pretty, and it was evidently a very
important issue indeed.
It is this interest of women in their own sex as works of art that
distinguishes them from men. Men have no interest in their own sex in
that sense. Sit on a bus and see what interests the male passenger.
It is not his fellow males. He does not sit and study their clothes,
and make mental notes on their claims to beauty. If he is interested
in his fellow passengers at all it is the other sex that appeals to
him. His own sex has no pictorial attraction for him. But a woman is
interested in women and women only. It is their clothes that her eye
wanders over with mild envy or disapproval. You almost hear her mind
recording the price of that muff, those furs, the hat and the boots.
At the end of her survey you feel that she knows what everything cost,
what are the wearer's ambitions, social status, place of residence--in
fact, all about her. And she is equally concerned about her physical
qualities. She will watch a pretty face with open admiration, and pay
it the same sort of tribute that she would pay to a beautiful picture
or any other work of art. "What a pretty woman!" "What lovely hair
that girl has!"
This is not a peculiarity of our own people alone. Not long ago I went
with two French officers over a great munitions factory near Paris. We
were accompanied by a clever little woman who was secretary to the head
of one of the departments, and who acted as guide. We went through
great shops where thousands of women were working, and as we passed
along I noticed that every eye fell on the little woman. I became so
interested in this human fact that I forgot to give my attention to the
machinery. And to be honest I am always ready to turn away from
machinery, which to me is much less interesting than human nature. I
think I can say with truth that not one woman in all those thousands
failed to scan our guide or bothered to give one glance at the
officers. Yet they were fine fellows and obviously important persons,
while the guide was commonplace in appearance and quite plainly dressed.
There are of course women who dress and comport themselves with an eye
to male admiration as well as female envy and appreciation. They are
the women of the bold eye, which is not the same thing as the brave
eye. But taking women in the lump, it is their own sex they are
interested in. They devote enormous attention to dress, but they do so
for each other's enjoyment. They have a passion for personal beauty,
but it is the personal beauty of their own sex that appeals to them.
No doubt there is a sexual motive underlying this fact. It is the
motive expressed in "'My face is my fortune, sir,' she said." The
desire to be pretty is ultimately the desire to be matrimonially
fortunate. Bill's success in life has no relation to his looks. He
may be as ugly as sin, but if he has strong arms, a good digestion, and
a sound mind he will do as well as another. Some of the plainest men
in England have sat on the Woolsack. Plain women, it is true, have
come to eminence. Catherine Sedley, the mistress of James II., is a
case in point. She herself was puzzled to explain her influence over
that sour fanatic-libertine, for, as she said, "I have no beauty and he
has not the faculty to appreciate my intelligence." But the exceptions
prove the rule. Prettiness is the woman's commodity. It is the badge
of her servitude. And behind that little conversation in the bus about
"Flo's" claims to prettiness was a very practical, though unformed,
consideration of her prospects in life.
What will be the effect of the war upon "Flo" and her kind? She has
found that she has an independent, non-sexual importance to society,
that she has a career which has nothing to do with prettiness, that she
can win her bread with her mental and physical faculties as easily as a
man. She has tasted freedom and discovered herself. The discovery
will give her a new independence of outlook, a more self-confident view
of her place in society, a greater respect for the hard practical
things of life. She will still desire to be pretty and to have the
admiration of her sex, but the desire will have a sounder foundation
than in the past It will no longer be her career. It will be her
ornament. It will decorate the fact that she can run a bus as well as
a man.