The Sociology of... the Body

Are we living in a post-body world?

The Gist of It:  We now have a multiplicity of bodies. Our “real” body exists — but does it still matter?

But first, a story…

Years ago, while visiting Seoul, I went to a Korean sauna for a body scrub. Not a touristy sauna, but a no-frills local spot in the basement of a mall. My new friend, Jung, accompanied me, and as we entered, we rented two small, peach-colored hand towels, which, together, made up about half of a standard bath towel. I imagined which body part might win coverage and hoped this was only round one of the towel distribution program.

Illuminated by a mix of fluorescent bulbs and an eerie green glow, I stripped down, my eyes adjusting to a space where nudity was normalized. The women’s sauna was an asexual scene with a strong lack a self-consciousness — with the exception of me. I seemed to be the only one acutely aware of her own nudity, and my unclothed body felt far more naked than I’d expected.

After showering and soaking with Jung and dozens of other women in several of the hot tubs, I was told it was time for my scrub. Three pink, rubber-covered massage tables were positioned just off from the hot tub area with no privacy dividers. Each table was accompanied by a different middle-aged woman in her underwear: One in a red polka dot bra and matching briefs, another in a black lace bra and black briefs, and the third went topless, wearing only mesh briefs — with a highly visible white maxi pad glowing from behind. Their bodies had the usual curves and markers of age, and their choice of garments seemed to be guided by personal preference, rather than what might please an observer. Though I felt a wave of confusion: Are our bodies objects for viewing in here? Aren’t we supposed to be invisible?

I mounted the massage table, and as she grabbed for her used loofah, I handed her a new one. (While sitting in the tubs, I watched another woman get her butt and very “inner thighs” exfoliated with the loofah she now wanted to use on me.) The woman abruptly pulled my hair back, flinging my limbs and flipping my body. I was an animal in the wild being bathed and groomed by its mother. This wasn’t about relaxation or pampering. It was clinical, with an emphasis on efficiency.

After 20 minutes of vigorous rubbing and scrubbing, I lay in a pile of my own dead skin. To wash it away, she periodically filled a large bucket with water and threw it at me — often directly at my face — as if putting out a fire. I burst into laughter. This process repeated, until she gave me a firm pat on my butt, the universal sign for “you’re done, now off you go.”

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The Sociological Hot Take