MARTHA STEWART RIBBING
BY LEN SOUSA
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Martha's moxie. She uttered those five words that cut those apprentice wannabes down to the size of a guppy.
PHOTO BY THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
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“You just don’t fit in.”
Has any other phrase in the litany of English phraseology ever been quite so damning? It instantly conjures up weak knees at baseball practice or being picked last for the dodgeball team in gym class. You just don’t fit in because you’re not as coordinated as this person or as light on your toes as another; you just don’t fit in because—gulp—you’re different.
As an adult, being different can often be a compliment. You’re shaped from a different mold. You don’t take your latte with a sugar substitute. In fact, you don’t drink lattes at all. In a world of mocha grandes and caramel flavoring, you drink your coffee black. But being different has its unshaven side. The one you forgot until one night, flipping through the channels, you stopped on what looked like Donald Trump’s hilarious boardroom set from his television show The Apprentice. The imaginary location where he rails unabashedly at young hopefuls, giving them the two words he’d love to trademark and embroider on his business suits: Well, you know what they are by now.
But what was this? Trump looked thin. Rosy-complected. Even, dare you say, pretty. What had gotten into him? Did those Queer Eye men make him over, too? But, looking closer, you soon realized the truth. It wasn’t the Trumpster at all, but his strangely similar, sexual opposite, Martha Stewart with her own version of the popular television show.
When Martha prepared to deliver the sad news that one of her precious youths must submit to the summit of instant embarrassment, she leaned forward as the music built and her damning words rang out: “You just don't fit in.”
Dear God, did she actually say what we think she said? Did she accuse a poor child, a helpless fawn in the large-scale business world, of not fitting in? The very thing every human fears from a tiny age is the thought of being outcast. For centuries, the greatest punishment the Catholic Church could bestow on a person was ostracism. How could NBC, with its PC police on constant patrol, and its work constantly being watched by millions, be so careless as to allow such a damning phrase to be channeled through its network? And how could Martha, embodiment of the sweet and dear (albeit formerly incarcerated) offer such a cold statement by way of good-bye? What would the Trumpinator say? Surely even he wouldn't jump at the chance to patent a phrase like that.
Perhaps prison had really changed Martha. Cursed her to a mindset of cold realities and bitter resentment. We had sought to build Martha, years ago, by welcoming her into our homes and watched in awe as she crafted perfect gingerbread men and utterly untouchable chocolate cream pies. Were we jealous? Did this explain the sudden turn we made against her in 2004?
It was simple. The Betty Crocker of modern America had been caught in a lie. Something Betty Crocker—and more importantly Betty’s alter-ego, Mom—never did. But there she was, her hand still clenching the cookie a full inch inside the jar. The jig was up. Mom—that is, Martha—was caught. Worst still, we couldn’t let it go.
The mistake wasn’t that America turned its back on Martha Stewart and built her only to make her fall. The mistake was that Martha couldn’t live up to her own ideal. Betty Crocker was never a real woman. Even “mom” is just an ideal. In time, we grow to learn these truths, but Martha never gave us that chance. She was Martha Stewart. The mom. The recipe we tried and tried to get right.
While we all know, deep down, that we don’t fit in—that we’re all too different to ever agree on what is normal, Martha proved it to us every time we saw her stunning souffles. That wasn’t us. Mom made great cookies, but they were always uneven—maybe slightly too brown. But what did it matter? They were made with care and love and all the other stuff they write about inside greeting cards. Martha was a constant reminder of everything we could never be, and she never let us believe otherwise. Was it a mistake to turn on her the way we did? Sure, I think so. It’s never easy winning a war of public opinion. But we did it for a very specific reason.
NBC passed on ordering another season of Martha’s version of The Apprentice. The show concluded, in typical reality-fueled grandiose style, with a live finale last December 21. Ratings indicated the show failed to ignite a spark with viewers.
After years of telling us we didn’t fit in, we finally had our chance to tell her the same. So, with our chests puffed out and chins planted high in the air, we said what we’d been waiting to say for so long:
Martha, you just don’t fit in.
Len Sousa now spends his Wednesday nights fruitlessly attempting to uncover Criss Angel's mind-freaking secrets. He also does a mean Marlon Brando impression.
Originally Published:
The Mercury (1.25.06)
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