The XX Factor: What women really think.

Thoroughly Modern Martha

"[George Washington] was clearly sexually excited by her," said Patricia Brady, a historian who wrote the first revisionist biography of Martha a few years ago. "When Martha decided to marry George, she didn't marry him just to be a kind stepfather to her two children. He was a hunk, and I think she decided to make herself happy. ..."

are seeking to revamp the former first lady's fusty image, using the few surviving records of things she wrote, asking forensic anthropologists to do a computerized age-regression portrait of her in her mid-20s and, perhaps most importantly, displaying for the first time in decades the avant-garde deep purple silk high heels studded with silver sequins that she wore on her wedding day.

It’s cool to know more about Martha. And I get that first lady fashion is back like black—the Smithsonian is displaying a beautiful onyx pocket watch worn by Mary Todd Lincoln after her husband’s assassination/ (I have it on good authority that DVF is an admirer.) But must we describe Martha’s shoes as “the Manolo Blahniks of her time”? I’m more interested in the mention of her late 18th-century management of five tobacco farms. What was that like? Ironically, this extreme makeover ends up bounding its subject within a rather retrograde portfolio, comprising what she wore and how she related to men and who wanted to diddle her. Exchanging the trope of the schoolmarm for that of the proto-Bovarian fashionplate isn’t really progress, is it?

Get Rid of the "First Lady"

Over on the Post's op-ed page today, Lauren Stiller Rikleen laments our confused conceptions of the first lady—"the lack of clear definition of their role has resulted in first ladies facing a web of conflicting expectations," she writes—and then goes on to suggest that, to improve the situation, we saddle first ladyhood with ... a concrete job description.

Huh? This seems totally backward to me. Wouldn't it be nicer to limit the first lady's "expectations," so each occupant could make of it what she (or, someday, he) wishes? Wouldn't a rigid job description either to strain a low-key presidential partner like Laura Bush, who doesn't want to get involved in policy, or provide ammo for the critics of more wonkish partners like Hillary Clinton ("so sorry, my dear, but managing health care reform isn't in the job description")? And isn't it likely that the only duties a job-description-drafting panel could agree to enshrine in the first place are the noncontroversial (and therefore old-fashioned) ones, like picking out Christmas ornaments for the White House tree?

And why do we so often imagine that the complications that emerge when we update female roles (like motherhood) can be solved by shoehorning these roles into the contours of a traditional "job"?

If I were queen for a day, I'd go the other direction: Instead of adding a job description to the first lady's burdens, I'd take away the title all together. The word lady in pop culture suggests all kinds of negative things: the fettered, prim reserve of a woman who isn't too forward in her ambitions ("A lady doesn't wander all over the room ..."), snobbish arrogance (Lady Catherine de Bourgh), even pure evil in feminine form (Lady Macbeth). We hardly use titles in modern life anymore, anyway. How about just "Mrs. Obama" for now?