What it means to have a culture-bound syndrome

If you tell a distressed woman that her suffering is a culture-bound syndrome, perhaps citing examples that she would find bizarre, you shouldn’t expect a pleasant and understanding response. It sounds dismissive, like saying it’s “all in her head” or a manipulative tactic to garner sympathy.

There have been a flutter of articles about culture-bound syndromes in the wake of the DSM-5 publication, and a piece on the The Guardian (Are mental illnesses such as PMS and depression culturally determined?) seems to have inspired this one on Jezebel and then this one on Slate.  There are many good links in the articles and I recommend clicking if you’re interested in the topic.  But what comes through to me in some sections of the writing and definitely in the comments is the attitude that if an illness is culture-bound, it’s not real.  Many of the comments are defensive, daring others to say that what they’re experiencing is a lie.  This can be complicated by a mainstream understanding that something “cultural” is something shared, yet (to use the main example from the articles) not every woman in Western cultures has PMS or experiences it in the same way. Does this mean that those who do are exaggerating for effect or making it up?

No.  However, we start to wade into the swamp of the “really real” where I so often find myself lost. I know I’m not alone in struggling to understand what it means for someone to have a culture-bound syndrome and I’d make a mess if I tried to unpack a lot of theory.  However, I think it’s a common mistake to see these syndromes as only a way of expressing emotions that don’t have another path of release. I’m more inclined toward the notion of local biologies, where societal and cultural expectations play a role, but so can genetics and epigenetics, diet, and environment.

We do a disservice by pointing out the culture-bound syndromes of others without inclusively evaluating those that might be our own (not at higher levels of study, but certainly in lower levels and mainstream articles). It wrongly puts Western culture in a position of rationality and superiority, smiling at the quaint confusion of others, rather than questioning our own socially accepted conditions that are proving to be non-universal and WEIRD (Western, Educated, Industrial, Rich, and Democratic).

The ‘baby bump’ as public property

What is it about a pregnant woman’s belly that inspires strangers to stare at it, touch it (sometimes without asking permission), and comment upon it? On Slate today, Jessica Grose is creeped out by our obsession with celebrity pregnancies, pointing to a recent New York Times article about pregnant celebrity fashion entitled Pregnancy Takes a Turn on the Red Carpet. Her views are doubtlessly shaped by her own experience:

People I passed on the street wouldn’t meet my eye, they’d stare right at my stomach. Once, a man leered at me, which felt much more invasive than cat calls did before I was with child. I suppose it’s because I had no control over the way my body looked, and I felt much more vulnerable than usual because I had a helpless baby I was supposed to be protecting.

Grose finds the flaunting of bellies — or at least the media’s treatment of it — to be extremely objectifying.  The NYT article relates the history of celebrity demi-moorepregnancies, mentioning Demi Moore’s famous Vanity Fair cover from 1991 as a turning point that brought bellies into the open. It talks about a “revolution” that empowered celebrity women to appear at award shows when they were visibly pregnant and seems to take the position that this is universally liberating, especially now that there are more fashionable options. Grose points out that an essay by Renee Ann Cramer cited in the article draws a very different conclusion. In that essay, “The Baby Bump is the New Birkin“, Cramer writes:

Tabloids and glossy magazines watch and judge these pregnant bodies. Given that celebrities provide models of fashion that everyday women try to emulate, the sexy new baby bump establishes standards of pregnant and post-baby female beauty that are unattainable — perhaps even undesirable — to most. What’s more, press coverage of celebrity moms predictably replicates tired tropes and existing power gaps in class, race, and gender.

Looking at a media culture that reeks of TMI and TMZ, I’m inclined to say, “Who cares?”, but the answer seems to be “almost everybody but me”. Baby bump speculation sells magazines and raises hit counts, encouraging us to evaluate the celeb as a mother-to-be, not as woman, a person, or on the basis of whatever qualities brought her to the public eye. Let me throw in a plug for a professor at my alma mater, Erin Meyers of Oakland University, whose recent book Dishing Dirt in the Digital Age: Celebrity Gossip Blogs and Participatory Media Culture analyzes the digital obsession with celebrity gossip and who has looked at the “bump watch” in particular.

Celebrities aside, some of the comments on Grose’s article suggest this is part of an oversharing trend that extends to posting photos of urine-sensitive pregnancy tests with positive results on one’s Facebook page. Think of Janelle Taylor’s The Public Life of the Fetal Sonogram: Technology, Consumption, and the Politics of Reproduction. It’s not uncommon to get a first glimpse of a friend or relative’s child long before birth as a shared sonogram image. When I researched the social construction of pregnancy in the virtual world Second Life, among the phenomena I considered were products that give the fetus a more active role. These include transparent belly or uterus add-ons that show the growing baby (giving the pregnancy a whole new level of visibility) and some known as “tummy talkers” that simulate monologues by the fetus reminding the mother to eat properly and rest, expressing love, or warning others nearby to be careful not to push into Mommy. Though these are not universally used, they’re common enough that dozens of brands exist.

Celebrities set trends but they also follow them; if they reveal their pregnancies in ways that ordinary women might, the scrutiny and judgment they receive is magnified. Grose felt that she garnered unwanted attention when she was visibly expecting. I can’t guess whether she shares that feeling with the majority of today’s American  mothers, though signs point to women inviting others to bear witness to their pregnancies earlier and earlier in their progression. The female body remains a battleground for agency, no matter how famous one happens to be.

You are more beautiful than you think… but why does beauty matter?

In class, we’ve had occasion a few times in the past week to think about the double-edged nature of any message, from cholera statistics (Briggs) to Chevron’s greenwashing (Sawyer).  On the one hand, we have the explicit message, which might seem to run counter to the interests of those in power: cholera statistics may run counter to the government’s messages reassuring effective containment, or Chevron’s “Human Energy” campaign might call upon corporations to exercise responsibility in their use of natural resources.

But the covert subtext of these messages actually serves to reinforce systems of inequity. Briggs makes a compelling case that cholera statistics implicitly mark statistics as the most authoritative form of information in circulation, privileging the few Venezuelan institutions capable of generating statistics.  And Sawyer points out how entirely disingenuous and dangerous it is for Chevron to posit a false equivalency between the civic responsibilities of corporations (as “people”) and the civic responsibilities of ordinary consumers.

I’m thinking about this today as many of my Facebook friends, several of whom are self-described feminists, are posting a Dove commercial that is clearly designed to go viral- and it seems to be working.  It shows women describing themselves to a sketch artist, and then we see contrasting sketches resulting first from their self-descriptions, and then from how others describe them, which is invariably more flattering.  The tagline: “You are more beautiful than you think”.

I am immediately reminded of the point Kaw makes in her analysis of Asian-American cosmetic surgeries: the message in both of these examples is about gender, emphasizing that what should really matter for women is their physical appearance.  Watch the commercial again and you’ll see how clearly this is emphasized.  So if this ad is supposed to be empowering for women, it’s a kind of empowerment that clearly serves the interest of Dove.  If Dove really wanted to empower women, it would argue that physical beauty is really not that important anyway- but then they wouldn’t have a way to sell their product.  Or am I missing something here?

I think about this every time I see a bank advertisement announcing that they don’t care about the money, they care about you and your well-being.  This is not in the nature of banks, at least not those banks who are seeking to maximize profits for their shareholders.  But it is a very effective way for corporations (who are not actually human!) to package human values (altruism, compassion,  environmentalism, women’s empowerment) as a way of selling themselves to consumers.

What do you think? Is Dove’s message really empowering, and I’m just cynical?  This is the new mode of advertising, and in many ways I find it far more insidious than the overt commercials we’re used to.  For example, there’s a recent, feel-good Coke commercial designed for viral consumption that I also find incredibly sinister, but for other reasons.

Munchausen by Internet

While following a trail of links from an article about Manti Te’o’s imaginary girlfriend, I rediscovered this excellent article from The Stranger (a weekly newspaper in Seattle) about people — mostly women — who lie about illnesses online. It’s a terribly interesting read.

“Munchausen by Internet” is not considered a unique illness, though that was debated for the DSM-V, but is a form of Munchausen Syndrome in which a person fakes his/her own illnesses.  (There is also Munchausen by proxy, the most common example of which is a mother who exploits exaggerated or imaginary illnesses in her child.)

It’s easy to say that these illness fabricators are pathetic or predatory, emotional vampires who feed on the sympathy of others.  However, I find myself thinking about Ong’s work with Malaysian factory workers, Nichter’s “Idioms of Distress”, or accounts of spirit possessions (mostly of women) in various cultures.  Should we consider this an individual psychiatric disorder when the condition centers around relationships with others?  Why is it largely a female phenomenon?  Is this a culture bound syndrome?

Prague is very nice in May…

…and this conference looks pretty interesting, too- although “probing” might not be the best word choice:

Call for Presentations: 1st Global Conference–Probing the Boundaries
of Reproduction

Origins, Bodies, Transitions, Futures

Sunday 12th May – Tuesday 14th May 2013 Prague, Czech Republic

This conference seeks to explore the boundaries of reproduction, not
merely as physical birth but more broadly as an agent of change, of
bodily, sexual, cultural (and even viral) transitions.

Lecture on concepts of embodiment in Appalachian women

Mark your calendars for this lecture! (via News at OU)

Friday, Oct. 12
Noon to 1 p.m. in Oakland Center Gold Room C

Between the River and the Railroad Tracks: Speaking Marginal Bodies to Central Spaces in Appalachian Ohio

Using life history research, Dr. Rebecca Mercado-Thornton, assistant professor of communication, will examine the scarcely told experiences of Appalachian women living in Appalachia, Ohio. Focused on the life histories of three women, the talk will trace the ways in which these women resist and undermine traditional conceptions of embodiment.

Breastfeeding in Public: A Feminist Anthropologist Speaks Out

Adrienne Pine is always brilliant, and this post on CounterPunch, in which she details her correspondence with a school newspaper over breastfeeding in class, is no exception.

“To be honest, if there were an easy way I could feed my child without calling attention to my biological condition as a mother, which inevitably assumes primacy over my preferred public status as anthropologist, writer, professor, and solidarity worker, I would do so. But there is not.”