Zoolander: Man of Substance?

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on January 20, 2008.

I freely admit that I am a shallow man. I used to think that I was "deep," that I was somehow above the grubby, materialist horde. However, when the materialism of this world proved not only pleasurable but even edifying, then my original hopes for leading a profound life dissipated. You see, right at the moment that one decides to pursue a good, service, or experience that is beyond the simplest and least expensive—when one has the means to move beyond the inferior good—then he/she has entered (probably irrevocably) the materialist realm.

How did this come to be? I suppose that I could blame, in part, my spouse, who introduced me to various culinary delights that surpassed what had been a staple meal in my bachelor days: elbow macaroni noodles (store brand) with canned Parmesan cheese (store brand). However, we also happen to live in a culture that is so wealthy, knowledgeable, and connected that many of us don't have to settle for basic, "inferior" goods; the materialist life is, in fact, the de facto life.

In many respects, Ben Stiller's Zoolander (2001) mirrors our current age. While the movie, at one level, mocks our culture's fascination with appearance, healthy living, and self-actualization, it also subtly encourages those very elements.

Stiller plays Derek Zoolander, a male model who fits all of the stereotypes that term connotes: he is shallow, body-centric, and a complete intellectual lightweight. He thrives on media attention and is always concerned with finding the appropriate "after party" to attend. However, when he loses VH1's award for male model of the year to rising star Hansel (Owen Wilson)—after having won in prior years—he begins to look at his existence in a different light. Perhaps there is "more to life, other than being really, really, ridiculously good looking." He then spends much of the rest of the movie stumbling around for direction: he tries to reconnect with his coal-mining family, and he even comes up with an idea for a non-profit organization — the Derek Zoolander Center for Children Who Can't Read Good and Wanna Learn To Do Other Stuff Good Too.

Besides Zoolander's existential quest, we have other subplots threading their way through the movie. Will Ferrel plays Mugatu, the narcissistic designer who has been commissioned by his fashion-executive overlords to assassinate the leader of Malaysia — whose child-labor-busting crusade threatens their profits. (Mugatu's weapon of choice is, of course, Zoolander, who is brainwashed to serve as a sleeper agent.) Christine Taylor is Matilda Jeffries, the Time reporter trying to uncover the fashion industry's dark side, while David Duchovny performs an X-Files-inspired cameo as J.P. Prewitt, a model turned conspiracy theorist, who has collected evidence on how male models are the real agents of change in world history.

Ultimately, though, the focus of the movie is Zoolander and his shallow, stupid ways. Yet, we should ask ourselves: do we find him funny because he is so different from us, or because we recognize in him our 21st-century consumer culture and the ways in which it enmeshes us? For example, when Zoolander's male-model roommates offer to take him out for an Orange Mocha Frappuccino® in order to take his mind off his troubles, we laugh at their suggestion's innate frivolity — as though a chilled beverage was all that he needed. Besides, there is something shallow about the beverage itself: it's one thing to go out for a cappuccino or mocha (which have a sufficiently long culinary history), but to throw in orange flavor, mix it with ice, and call it a "frap" is far too cute, faddish, and ephemeral. However, if we honestly examined our own beverage consumption, then we probably would find our fair share of specialty coffees or other non-nutritional products.

Another example: when Zoolander visits his coal-mining family, they see one of his television ads, a spot for Aveda in which he dons a mermaid—um...merMAN—outfit, swims around, and utters these provocative words: "Moisture is the essence of wetness, and wetness is the essence of beauty." Of course, it's a spoof of the utterly pretentious marketing often found in the "beauty" industry, and we laugh at how the models treat their ridiculous poses (a merman outfit?) as high forms of human expression. However, I'm the first to admit that I use moisturizer on my hands during these cold and dry winter months. Does that make me less manly? Or, am I simply following a contemporary trend that eschews the slovenly male who barely understands basic hygiene, let alone skin care?

Thus, underneath the obvious satire, Zoolander displays what designers and other trend setters have long known: at some point, the ephemeral becomes the substantial. One can just look at the U.S. consumer landscape to see how much has changed over the past couple of decades. For example, higher quality coffee has moved from independent, boutique establishments to chain cafes and on to general supermarkets. Organic food has moved from farmers' markets to the trend-setting Whole Foods and on to Wal-Mart(!). While quality coffee and organic foods were once regarded as fads of both the culinary avant-garde and self-righteous do-gooders—and not something for real, working people of substance—they now have become assimilated into the wider consciousness.

So what are we to make of this? At one level, this is simply inevitable: in a market economy, goods often move from elite to mass status (think of something as "basic" as indoor plumbing). Plus, as I mentioned before, once one decides to pursue a good or service beyond the bare minimum, then he/she has entered the ranks of the materialist, however slightly. Yet, before we bemoan our excess and exchange our Frappuccinos® for hair shirts, perhaps we should remember the Apostle Paul's caution against self-denial based on a worldly asceticism (Col. 2:20-3). The sin does not lie in the Frappuccino®, per se, but in our attitude towards it.

Thus, while Zoolander (in its own way) documents current trends in American consumer culture and the options that make up our daily material landscape, it also (gently) criticizes the attitudes of the "cutting edge" tastemakers. Their shallowness, frivolity, and narcissism are quite evident throughout the film and are worthy of mockery. In short, go ahead and use the moisturizer that the male model peddles; just don't be like that model.