In 2012, I enrolled in graduate school for art history with a rebellious attitude towards art. I was deeply ingrained in punk, metal and goth subcultures, and the visual art I was drawn to reflected my appetite for edgy content.
Before I settled on the subject of post-WWII figurative expressionist painting in the United States (of which I’ve become a foremost scholar on), my initial idea for a thesis was a movement, for lack of a better term, called “Lowbrow Art.” This genre of visual art includes imagery from subcultures like the punk rock music scene and the rise of underground comix. This aesthetic mode began by rebelling against the cultural aftershock of the Hippie movement and the rise of bourgeois art. Cartoonist, R. Crumb, was and still is at the epicenter of this phenomenon.
R. Crumb’s visualization of the human body is infamous for the presentation of thicker, and more muscular depictions of women. Crumb’s treatment of femininity is referential to Italian Renaissance and modernist movements. In both of these periods of art, larger, more full bodied women were portrayed and considered a symbol of beauty and wellness. These prior art historical movements satisfied the male gaze, meaning that the work was created to appease the gender hierarchy. Crumb’s work is a part of this lasting tradition, and he has contributed to the discourse in a manner that invites serious critical re-framing of the male and female portrayal in art and culture.
Crumb’s artwork makes his lust for big, strong women declarative. By juxtaposing himself as puny and awkward next to these strong women, Crumb is not only buying into the male gaze, he’s simplifying women’s body types to a sexual fetish.
Look, I love R. Crumb’s art. I’ve been an avid consumer and reader of his comics, and have gone to nearly every solo show he’s had in New York since 2008. I’ve written pages (mostly unpublished) of art historical and theoretical analysis of his art. I even waited in line outside of the David Zwirner gallery for several hours in an attempt to secure an autograph from him. I left sans-signature, but did catch a glimpse of him on my way out. So, I’d certainly call myself both a scholar and fanboy of R. Crumb.

However, an R. Crumb inspired “beauty-fitness mat” for yoga and aerobic fitness is too perverse for my liking; especially for a culture that has had a rife and trite history with gender roles and body image. Although the image on said mat is actually not terribly objectifying, it still upholds the male gaze. This is an idealized female form manifested from the mind of a male artist. The figure, performing a straddle press, likely in the process of transitioning into a handstand, is rendered as someone who is incredibly strong and powerful. Crumb’s a lower body guy, hence the emphasis on the glutes, thighs and calves. While the figure is projected as having great strength and power, Crumb’s fetishization makes it less empowering.
It should be noted that as of 2019, Crumb no longer draws women. He goes even further, stating that, “I try not to even think about women any more. It helps that I’m now 75 years old and am no longer a slave to a raging libido.”
While much of Crumb’s work is intellectually stimulating, he was very obviously living out his fantasies when it came to his depiction of women. Part of what makes Crumb critically iconic is his ability to infuse a pointed and sardonic twist into his art, as a means to address what he sees to be society’s dark side, and the absurd behaviors and thoughts that are largely deemed to be taboo. Another aspect of what makes Crumb’s work compelling, is his propensity for expressing his vulnerability, by placing himself and his insecurities, desires and concerns as a central theme in his work.
Art is about probing and envisioning the human experience, and it’s hard to separate the art from the artist. Crumb is human after all. He’s got vices and biases like the rest of us. Many artists who’ve worked throughout the years have had their art subjected to changing perspectives from a culture that is (thankfully) more diversified and in a steady state of flux.
While there are far better candidates to make the argument against prescribed body and beauty standards, Crumb has nonetheless become a part of the conversation. Art critic Charlotte Jansen writes that “Beyond analyzing Crumb’s unmistakable sexual fetishes, his drawings do pose a challenge to the canon of ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’ women in contemporary culture: His women aren’t super-skinny waifs but rather powerful, imposing figures. He has long been championing women who are solid and strong, women with thick limbs, bulging thigh muscles, and big bottoms; pictured lifting weights or eating fast food, they are still feminine and hypersexual.”
While I wouldn’t dare call Crumb a feminist, his progression as an artist reflects a bit of growth in terms of how he approaches the subject of femininity. His “Art & Beauty” magazine series was ongoing from the 1990s through 2016, and therefore represents some of his last images portraying the feminine image. Subjects in this series include renowned athletes like tennis champion Serena Williams and Olympian Tonja Buford-Bailey. In his signature manner, he celebrates their athletic accomplishments, while incorporating his passion and sexual arousal for strong and fit figures. Is this idealistic glorification better than the alternative discourse, wherein women in sports are scrutinized under an unreasonable and chauvinistic lens? Both commentaries support the male gaze and uphold the hierarchy of gender roles, so I’d be hard pressed to say yes.
Body image and femininity doesn’t have to be so polarizing and controversial; yet it is because society, under the hegemony of toxic masculinity, continues to trumpet the narrative of these elements in binary terms. Women alone (and on a highly personal and individual basis) should have the authority, autonomy and artistic freedom to determine and express what’s feminine.
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