Super Heroine

So Hillary Clinton's out of the race. And just when I think she's changed everything, there in the Style section of Sunday's New York Times is a nothing piece dissecting Michelle Obama's style.

And so it goes. See how great she wears purple shift dresses and channels a mixture of Barbara Bush (the fake pearls) and Jackie O. (the hair). So are we to think her biggest goal is re-decorating the White House? Seems so hollow coming on the heels of a substance (and sometimes substance-abusive) primary season. Not that Clinton got her due respect just because she was running as the candidate, and not the candidate's wife. There was the "iron my shirt" incident. Cleavage-gate. And who could forget the pandemonium around a misty-eyed moment. Of course these weren't the moments that lost the campaign for her. They were the telling moments that said more about the electorate, rigid notions of gender and the media frenzy than it did about her. Through it, Clinton kept going with her 90-point plan on health care and green jobs and the rest of it, showing that hard work is the answer to any demented sexist comment, rather than stooping to respond.

Still, maybe it was that one nothing style story that let me know reality had hit: back to covering male politicians' women as arm candy, as decorative pieces. Sure, these are the upgraded models with more brains and bod, but that's what we're left with. Our candidate has a stylish wife.

This weekend I took in the Superheroes fashion show now showing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. And while there are plenty of superheroes to go around, it reminded me that I grew up on a steady diet of Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman, and everyone from Eartha Kitt to Michaelle Pfeiffer trying their paws at Catwoman. Maybe these characters weren't role models, but they did embody the ideals of the '70s-chic notion that women were sexy and strong, powerful and smart. For the next show, there should be a superhero in a pantsuit.