In Politics, Folks, It's Never Pretty

The curious development in the race for Maryland comptroller is not that the participants have sunk so low they have begun to hurl insults, but rather the type of critical remarks that have ignited a fury this week.

Comptroller William Donald Schaefer called his challenger, Janet Owens, "that little prissy miss" and a "little girl" who wears "long dresses, looks like Mother Hubbard -- it's sort of like she was a man."

He then followed up by observing that she was "getting fat."

For her part, Owens has made it clear that she thinks Schaefer is too old for the job, suggesting that an increasing pattern of nonsensical, boorish behavior may be related to his 84 years.

In political races, it is rarely a surprise when one candidate suggests that the other is a liar, a coward, a dunce or a snob. The attackers may be coy in making their accusations or they may allow stand-ins to do the insulting for them, but the mud flies all the same. Candidates then profess shock and disappointment that the campaign has turned mean-spirited. But politics, at its all-too-common worst, is a game of the dozens.

Judging from the public reaction to the contretemps in the comptroller race, one can assume it is far worse to be described as dowdy, overweight and "prissy" than to be called old and batty. It is worse to be compared to Mother Hubbard than it is to have a critic suggest that you've failed the public trust.

It doesn't matter how much truth there is in either accusation: old or dowdy. Surely everyone noticed long ago that Schaefer is rather long in the tooth, and Owens is not likely to appear on anyone's best-dressed list. But going after appearances puts folks on the defensive more than most any other assault. The social contract says that references to attire, attractiveness and anything else related to public presentation automatically belittle and demean the person on the receiving end, especially if the recipient is a woman and even if the observations are complimentary.

Somehow, the culture has arrived at the false conclusion that appearance doesn't matter; it shouldn't matter. And yet if it is truly so inconsequential, why do folks become so bent out of shape when it is discussed?

The U.S. Office of Special Counsel found itself in the middle of a dust-up over a list of fashion do's and don'ts that recently went out to employees in a newsletter. The list advised men to avoid sneakers at receptions. It reminded women not to wear skirts or pants that are too tight. Employees got offended. The recommendations sparked howls of sexism, presumably because women were asked to make sure that their skirts were not so short that they would turn into belts when the women were seated. This week, the sartorial suggestions were rescinded.

People had gotten their feelings hurt. How condescending to tell professional adults how to define proper business attire! But one glance into virtually any office in the middle of a workday -- especially in the sweltering middle of summer -- will reveal that common sense often goes unheeded and mirrors unused.

Among the first to get their hackles up whenever a politician's appearance is discussed are the watchdogs of political correctness and the self-delusional who would have others believe that they have never noticed the clothes of another person in all their lives. They contend that any observation of a woman's appearance is an assault on her intelligence. A man's appearance is fair game to criticize unless he holds high office -- in which case, the attack is taken as an insult to his position.

Women are held to a different standard of appearance than men. So what? Different isn't necessarily bad. Women have about 5 million more sartorial options than men. That makes them more interesting and surprising to look at. Katie Couric got huffy when critics wondered if she would change her style of dress after shifting from morning television to the evening news. Was anyone concerned with Charles Gibson's wardrobe? she parried. It's hard to get excited about a steady diet of dark suits, but if he turns up in a crew-neck sweater and sport jacket, he might draw some attention.

If women wore a uniform such as a navy suit, there'd be less interest in their wardrobe. But in Couric's case, making one's heavily hyped evening news debut in a white jacket is not exactly the best way to say, "Ignore what I'm wearing." Dare one make the observation that her blazer was lovely? Or is that condescending?

In politics, the desire to dub appearance as topic non grata seems to be a mutually agreed-upon defensive stance. It's possible to play fast and loose with statistics to make a point. One can spew eloquent but hollow words in answer to a tough question. But the way one's appearance is received depends on the person giving the candidate the once-over. Think you're dressed appropriately? The audience will be the judge of that. It's all a matter of interpretation.

A campaign is akin to a seemingly endless trial by jury. No matter how much truth a witness speaks, if the jury's assessment is that he looks slippery, untrustworthy or self-absorbed, it's hard for even the most stirring words to alter that perception.

So to call a candidate "Mother Hubbard" and "prissy" is to say that her appearance connotes that she is inflexible, bedraggled and overwhelmed. To call Owens a "little girl" -- rather than, say, youthful -- labels her as inexperienced and naive and parallels the burdensome "boyish" brand that has sometimes stung male candidates. "Old" can, of course, mean obsolete, but it also implies experienced.

References to appearance tap into the reality that so many voters don't parse campaign speeches for meaning; they make their choices based on a feeling, on their gut, on an impression.

Comparing Owens to "Mother Hubbard" is a damning observation. Calling her fat is just plain mean.