Gendered Objects

The scene is a dinner party. A table of eight eager guests await their glistening portion of carved meat. They’ve been invited for a delectable evening of food and conversation and now the  pièce de résistance, Mrs. X’s pork loin is paraded through the swinging kitchen door. The glow of candles lights each expectant face, while the hush of hungry guests falls over the room. The man of the house lays down the lovingly cooked dish but panic stricken, he proceeds to fumble with his traditional carving set. Sweat beads on his brow, threatening to fall into the bubbling drippings in the pan below. Breathlessly,  Mrs. X comes to her man’s aid. She hands him their newly purchased 1963 GE electric carver and reassured, Mr. X.  confidently tucks into the tender butt of pork producing elegant thin slices of meat.  The electric knife in question doesn’t just carve, it’s the source of his newfound prowess; It alleviates anxiety and gives any man the confidence to host even the most scrupulous guests.

This hypothetical scene illuminates the subtle gendered expectations of an average dinner party.  The woman, who has prepared the meal, acquiesces to her husband to present the food. As the Provider, the guests expect him to present the most masculine of dishes; the meat and fortunately, the electric carver disguises his meager carving skills.

The electric carver, as Ellen Lupton writes in her design analysis, was introduced to the American market in 1963. That same year the Equal Pay Act became law and Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique was published, which criticized  the ubiquitous narrative of the nuclear family and is widely credited with spurring the second wave of feminism in America. While women were fighting for equality outside the home, men were marketed miniaturized chain saws to uphold their manhood in the house.

The electric carving knife represented a last bastion of male control, but condoned and marketed under the watchful eye of wives. An ad published in 1965 by knife manufacturer, Westinghouse acknowledged men’s domestic incompetencies as if an inside joke among women;

“After he’s had a go at poultry, roasts, hams, there won’t be any stopping him. He’ll want to branch out… slice bread, vegetables, cheese and cake for you. Let him go! ...[It’s]...the one thing that can make him handy in the kitchen. And think what you can do with it when he isn’t around.”  (Lupton, 52)

The husband is a deranged carve-happy helper and his wife, the keeper.

Another ad published in time for father’s day gleefully states; “Romps through a roast. Zips through a porterhouse. And it looks terrific on the table, too. Makes any man a Michelangelo at mealtime.” (Lupton, 45). The operative word insinuated in the advertisement is appear. “Makes any man “appear” like a Michelangelo at mealtime.”

What degree of posturing is required at home? The success of the electric carver indicates that while women were making strides outside the home, relationships were still gendered as ever in the house. Role playing and forced semblances were facilitated by products.  Even if men had forgotten their duties as head carver, they could save face with their gadgets.

Harkening to the orthodox roles of the family, the traditional knife manufacturer Carvel Hall reminded customers of mealtime duties. Carving done correctly, without a power tool, was “man’s only chance to shine during a meal.” (Lupton, 48). If carving is man's only chance to shine, then clearly roles are fixed,  and the rest of the meal is women's work.

Today, electric carvers are not widely advertised. They are mostly relegated to use during the holidays (when traditions peak).  American mealtimes have been transformed by the ease of eating out and our obsession with packaged goods. Or perhaps women, who do the majority of shopping, have learned that real help comes in the form of prepared and packaged dishes. Not from watching their husbands slice up their handiwork.

It’s crucial to ask why the electric carver is even needed? When tested in the outdoors against rugged (and stereotypically manly) environments it fails miserably. What do our products reveal about our anxieties and desires? It's easy to deride a product like an electric carver, but much harder to deride the people who use them. Discounting people is difficult because there is always a vestige of truth in their follies; even if it's the need to look competent while cutting a ham.

Lupton’s analysis boils down to family dynamics. My responsibility however as a designer is not to excuse a laughable product because of people's desires, but to balance beauty with human folly. Our objects become mirrors to our obsessions and motivation. Is it possible to design products that bring out the best in us?

The anthropological insights of electric carvers reveal a mix of feigning masculinity with performative pride. How can I positively design for the dynamics that we may want to hide? How can the indelible traces of our preoccupations result in artifacts that make us relieved to have our truths known, rather than ashamed?

References

Cho, Rosa. “Everything You Need to Know About the Equal Pay Act.” ReGender. http://regender.org/EqualPayAct1 (Accessed August 30, 2016).

Friedan, Betty. The Feminine Mystique. New York: Norton, 1963.

Lupton, Ellen. "Power Tool for the Dining Room; The Electric Carving Knife," in The Stud: Architectures of Masculinity. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1996. 42-53.