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The Bully in the Mirror
Stephen S. Hall
August 24, 1999
The New York Times Magazine
On an insufferably muggy afternoon in July, with the
thermometer pushing 90 degrees and ozone alerts filling the airwaves, Alexander
Bregstein was in a foul mood. He was furious, in fact, for reasons that would
become clear only later. Working on just three hours of sleep, and having spent
the last eight hours minding a bunch of preschool kids in his summer job as a
camp counselor, Alexander was itching to kick back and relax.
So there he was, lying on his back in the weight room of
his gym, head down on an incline bench, earphones pitching three-figure decibels
of the rock band Finger Eleven into his ears as he gripped an 85-pound weight in
each hand and then, after a brief pause to gather himself, muscled them into the
air with focused bursts of energy. Each lift was accompanied by a sharp
exhalation, like the quick, short stroke of a piston. The first thing you need
to know about Alexander is that he is 16 years old, bright, articulate and funny
in that self-deprecating and almost wise teen-age way. However, about a year
ago, Alexander made a conscious decision that those weren't the qualities he
wanted people to recognize in him, at least not at first. He wanted people to
see him first, and what they see these days are thick neck muscles, shoulders so
massive that he can't scratch his back, a powerful bulge in his arms and a chest
that has been deliberately chiseled for the two-button look what Alexander now
calls "my most endearing feature." He walks with a kind of cocky
gravity-testing bounce in his step that derives in part from his muscular build
but also from the confidence of knowing he looks good in his tank top and baggy
shorts.
As his spotter, Aaron Anavim, looked on, Alexander lifted
the 85-pound weights three more times, arms quivering, face reddening with
effort. Each dumbbell, I realized as I watched, weighed more than I did when I
entered high school. Another half-dozen teen-agers milled around the weight
room, casting glances at themselves and one another in the mirror. They talked
of looking "cut," with sharp definition to their muscles, and of developing
"six-packs," crisp divisions of the abdominals, but of all the muscles that get
a workout in rooms like these, the most important may be the ones that move the
eyes in restless sweeping arcs of comparison and appraisal. "Once you're in
this game to manipulate your body," Alexander said, "you want to be the best."
While we talked between sets of Alexander's 90-minute routine, his eyes wandered
to the mirror again and again, searching for flaws, looking for areas of
improvement. "The more you lift," he admitted, "the more you look in the
mirror."
In this weight room, in a gym in a northern New Jersey
suburb, the gym rats have a nickname for Alexander: Mirror Boy. That's a vast
improvement over the nicknames he endured at school not long ago. "I know it
sounds kind of odd to have favorite insults," he told me with a wry smile,
munching on a protein bar before moving on to his next set of lifts, "but Chunk
Style always was kind of funny." And kind of appropriate. Until recently,
Alexander carried nearly 210 pounds on a 5-foot-6 frame, and when I asked if he
was teased about his weight, he practically dropped a dumbbell on my feet. "Oh!
Oh, man, was I teased? Are you kidding?" he said in his rapid, agreeable patter.
"When I was fat, people must have gone home and thought of nothing else except
coming in with new material the next day. They must have had study groups just
to make fun of people who were overweight." He even got an earful at home. "My
parents God bless them, but they would make comments all the time. My father
would say, 'If you eat all that, you'll be as big as a house.' And I'm, like:
'Dad, it's a little late for that. What am I now? A mobile home?"'
The day of reckoning came in April 1998, during a
spring-break vacation in Boca Raton, Fla. As his family was about to leave its
hotel room to go to the beach, Alexander, then 15, stood in front of a mirror
and just stared at the spectacle of his shirtless torso. "I remember the exact,
like, moment in my mind," he said. "Everything about that room is burned into my
head, every little thing. I can tell you where every lamp was, where my father
was standing, my mother was sitting. We were about to go out, and I'm looking in
this mirror me, with my gut hanging over my bathing suit and it was, like:
Who would want to look at this? It's part of me, and I'm disgusted! That moment,
I realized that nobody was giving me a chance to find out who I was because of
the way I looked." And so Alexander decided to do something about it, something
drastic.
There is a kind of timelessness to a teen-ager's battle
with body image, but in most accounts the teen-ager is female and the issue is
anorexia or bulimia. Yet as any psychologist knows, and as any sufficiently
evolved adult male could tell you, boys have body-image problems too.
traditionally, boys have felt pressure to look not thin, but rather strong and
virile, which increasingly seems to mean looking bulked up and muscular. Hearing
Alexander give voice to his insecurities and imagined physical flaws, reminded
me all over again of my own tortured passage through adolescence, my own
dissatisfaction with a body that seemed punitively untouched by any growth spurt
and my own reluctant accommodation with certain inalienable facts of nature.
Like me, Alexander had been teased and harassed about
being short in stature. Like me, he had struggled to overcome his physical
shortcomings as a member of the high-school wrestling team. Unlike me, he also
battled a severe weight problem, but at a similar moment in life, we had both
looked in the mirror and hadn't liked what we'd seen. Still, a lot has changed
since I was 15. Consider the current batch of cold messages from the culture at
large. The new anabolic Tarzan. Aggressive advertising campaigns showing
half-naked men in which the Obsession could just as easily be about your own
very toned body as about someone else's. And Littleton. (Buried beneath a ton of
prose about gun control was the report that Eric Harris apparently felt
dissatisfied with his height, repeatedly complaining that he was smaller than
his brother.) You would never know that for the past quarter-century, feminist
thought and conversation has created room for alternatives to traditional
masculinity, in which toughness is equated with self-worth and physical stature
is equated with moral stature.
A number of psychologists with whom I spoke returned to
the same point again and again: The cultural messages about an ideal male body,
if not new, have grown more insistent, more aggressive, more widespread and more
explicit in recent years. Since roughly 90 percent of teen-agers who are
treated for eating disorders are female, boys still have a way to go. Young
girls have suffered greatly from insecurity about appearance and body image, and
the scientific literature on anorexia and related body-image disorders depicts a
widespread and serious health problem in adolescent females.
But to hear some psychologists tell it, boys may be
catching up in terms of insecurity and even psychological pathology. An
avalanche of recent books on men and boys underlines the nature of contemporary
boyhood in America. A number of studies in the past decade of men, not boys
have suggested that "body-image disturbances," as researchers sometimes call
them, may be more prevalent in men than previously believed and almost always
begin in the teen-age years.
Two years ago, Harrison G. Pope Jr., of Harvard Medical
School, and his colleagues published a modest paper called "Muscle Dysmorphia:
An Underrecognized Form of Body Dysmorphic Disorder" in a relatively obscure
journal called Psychosomatics. The study described a group of men and women who
had become "pathologically preoccupied" by their body image and were convinced
that they looked small and puny, even though they were bulging with muscles.
The paper got a lot of attention, and it led to an even more widely publicized
study earlier this year from the same lab reporting how male action-figure toys
such as GI Joe and the "Star Wars" characters have bulked up over the years.
Recent figures on cosmetic surgery indirectly confirm the anecdotal sense that
men are going to greater extremes to improve their appearances. Women still
account for about 90 percent of all procedures, but the number of men undergoing
cosmetic surgery rose about 34 percent between 1996 and 1998, with liposuction
being the most sought service. "Basically, men in general are getting the same
medicine that women have had to put up with for years, which was trying to match
an unattainable ideal in terms of body image," says Pope, who has focused his
studies on college-age men just past adolescence.
The confusions that arise in young males as they try to
reconcile the traditional masculine values of their fathers, for example, with a
postfeminist culture that celebrates sensitivity and openness have created a
"national crisis of boyhood," according to some psychologists as well as a
boomlet of academic interest in boys and a burst of popular literature on the
subject. In addition to "Raising Cain," there is William S. Pollack's "Real
Boys," Michael Gurian's "Wonder of Boys" and James Garbarino's "Lost Boys," as
well as a spate of books and magazines about male fitness. Many of these books
were inspired by the groundbreaking research in the 1970s and '80s by Carol
Gilligan, of Harvard's Graduate School of Education, who charted the
psychological and moral development of adolescent girls. Now Gilligan and Judy
Chu, her research associate, are listening to boys' voices too. And one of the
most eagerly awaited books this fall is "Stiffed," an account of the
"masculinity crisis," by Susan Faludi, author of "Backlash."
For boys in the midst of the exotic and uncontrollable
incongruence of puberty, growing up in an internal world flooded with hormones
and an external world flooded with idealized male images, the pressures may be
tighter than ever before. In seventh and eighth grades, Alexander Bregstein
didn't fit in. "I was picked on in every single class," he recalled. "It was
beyond belief. They would do things like hide your bag, turn your bag inside
out, tie your shoelaces together. Some of the stuff I just can't repeat, it was
so awful." They called him Fat Boy -- thought he was lazy, that something was
wrong with him. He knew it wasn't true, but he also realized that his physical
appearance made him a social outcast and a target neither of which is a good
thing to be in early adolescence. It was during his sophomore year, getting
"the daylights pounded out of him" in wrestling and gaining even more weight,
that Alexander began what he calls, with justification, his "drastic
transformation." He started by losing 30 pounds in one month. For a time, he
consumed only 900 calories a day, and ultimately got down to 152 pounds. He
began to lift weights seriously, every day for three months. He started to read
magazines like Flex and Men's Fitness. He briefly dabbled with muscle-building
supplements like creatine. He got buff, and then beyond buff. By the time his
sophomore year in high school began, Alexander had packaged his old self in a
phenomenally new body, and it has had the desired effect. "My quality of social
life changed dramatically when I changed my image," he said. He still
maintained friendships with the guys in the computer lab, still programmed,
still played Quake with dozens of others. But he worked out at the gym at least
five times a week. He shifted his diet to heavy protein. He pushed himself to
lift ever-heavier weights. When I asked him if he ever felt tempted to try
steroids during his effort to remake his physical image, he denied using them,
and I believe him. But he wasn't coy about the temptation. "When someone offers
you a shortcut," he replied, "and it's a shortcut you want so bad, you're
willing to ignore what it might be doing to your insides. I wanted to look
better. Who cares if it's going to clog up my kidneys? Who cares if it'll
destroy my liver? There was so much peer pressure that I didn't care."
After Alexander finished his workout that hot July day, we
stopped to get something to drink at the gym's cafe. "I feel pretty good right
now," Alexander admitted, "and I was furious when I went in there." It turned
out that the night before, he had a conversation with a girl that took a
decidedly unsatisfying turn at the end. I'm not so worried about kids like
Alexander he clearly has demonstrated both the discipline to remake his
appearance and the psychological distance not to take it, or himself, too
seriously. But there will be many other boys out there who cannot hope to match
the impossibly raised bar of idealized male body image without resorting to the
physically corrosive effects of steroids or the psychologically corrosive
effects of self-doubt. Either way, the majority of boys will be diminished by
chasing after the golden few. Moreover, this male reoccupation with appearance
seems to herald a dubious, regressive form of equality now boys can become as
psychologically and physically debilitated by body-image concerns as girls have
been for decades. After all, this vast expenditure of teen-age male energy, both
psychic and kinetic, is based on the premise that members of the opposite sex
are attracted to a retro, rough-hewn, muscular look, and it's a premise that
those who study and write about boys have noticed too. "While girls and women
say one thing, some of them continue to do another," Pollack says. "Some of them
are still intrigued by the old male images, and are attracted to them." Because
he's a perceptive kid, Alexander recognizes how feckless, how disturbing, how
crazy this all is. "I tell you, it's definitely distressing," he said, "the fact
that as much as girls get this anorexic thing and they're going through these
image things with dolls and stuff, guys are definitely doing the same." True,
he admitted, his social life has never been better. "But in a way it depresses
me," he said, before heading off to a party, "that I had to do this for people
to get to know me."
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