I had an urge last night to look into scientific theories of the cause of gayness. I don't necessarily believe that there is a way to scientifically pinpoint the cause, but I've read some things in the past that suggested there is compelling evidence but never any specifics. So I used the handy google machine to look into it and found a plethora of material.
I was actually kind of afraid to google such a thing, because I know any search on homosexuality is sure to turn up anti-gay horse shit, but I thought the inclusion of the word "scientific" in my search query would help. It did help, but not enough. After some actually good reading, I stumbled across a page that looked legit which had links to all sorts of articles that seemed to argue against homosexuality being biologically determined. Some of them seemed relatively unbiased, while others had titles that suggested deeply rooted homophobia. I clicked one that looked safe and soon found myself knee-deep in a steaming pile of crap.
The person who wrote this article (here if you want to get mad) cites absolutely nothing. It seems as if he simply made something up and decided to dump the contents of his biased brain onto a web page in hopes people looking for shit to spew would come across it and that it would add fuel to their raging asshole fire.
The page talks about a young man "for example." That was my first issue. Almost all the material I have read on the subject has talked almost exclusively about men, and mention women only in passing. Part of the reason I'm reading these articles is because I'm curious about why I'm gay, especially because one of my female first cousins is also pretty gay. Yet I have found out almost nothing, because most of the discussions were centered around men. I'm not surprised, because this is the case in most scientific studies... but I digress. Dick Assmouth, M.D. describes the gayifying process in detail, starting with certain genetic predispositions such as "a sensitive disposition," a "strong creative drive," and a "keen aesthetic sense." It's as if he was watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and thought, WOW, THESE FAGS ARE FASHIONABLE, IT MUST BE AN INHERITED TRAIT THAT DOOMED THEM TO FAGDOM! I'm inclined to think these traits are not genetic but rather socialized, and Dr. Douchecanoe might in fact have it backwards. In other words, you're sensitive because you're gay (due to not fitting in with gendered norms and having to create an alternative sense of identity outside typical male roles), you're not gay because you are sensitive. Of course, my theories are no more backed up by science than his, but personally I feel they hold more water.
Surprisingly, these suppositions are far from the most insulting part of the article. He goes on to explain how homosexuality develops due to a young man's desire for love from his father, who was either absent or a sub-par parent. The reputable Dr. Santinover goes on to say that initial homosexual experiences may be forcible or mere experimentation, and the youth to his horror may go on to seek more experiences voluntarily. He says stress-relieving orgasms with other men provide the young homosexual with a semblance of male affection and acceptance that he did not get from his father.
Okay, what? I admittedly do not know very many gay men in a close way, so I can't vouch for this by experience, but I KNOW from my own experience as a gay lady that it doesn't quite work like that. Assuming Dr. Makes Shit Up would apply the same theories to women, I don't fit the bill at all. And neither do most of the gay ladies I know. I don't have typical dyke traits like a love for sports, tools, and baggy clothes. I'm super femme. AND I have a wonderful, loving relationship with my mother. She is seriously the best mom ever, and we hug like six times a day. My love for women has nothing to do will filling a painful, gaping hole that bad parenting left. There is absolutely nothing negative that I feel about my attraction for ladies. The experience is filled with pride, wonder, and celebration, NOT reluctance, pain, and desperation. Looking back, it's something I have been experiencing from a very young age. I don't care what those religious psychos say, even if there's no "gay gene" or whatever: no amount of therapy will make me stop loving vagina. The end.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Mean Girls and feminism: triumphs and shortcomings
Tonight, I was watching the 2004 classic Mean Girls on TBS. I was looking for something to have on as comforting background noise while I browsed the internet, but despite the fact that I have seen this movie no fewer than a dozen times, I found myself repeatedly glancing up from the article I was reading about gender-variant boys (it's here and a very good read if anyone's interested) to watch. Eventually I abandoned my reading and decided to commit myself to watching the movie.
I haven't seen Mean Girls since my freshman year of college. I always enjoyed it, but could never quite put my finger on why. I'm not usually the kind of person who enjoys hyper-popular and oft-quoted movies (I'll be the first to admit that I'm kind of a movie snob), but this was an exception. Now, having just graduated with a BA in Women's Studies, the movie took on a whole new meaning for me. It is by no means a feminist manifesto, but on this viewing I was surprised to find some nuggets of positivity. I felt compelled to write down my thoughts on it, after doing a cursory google search for other such musings.
Mean Girls addresses a huge problem that affects not only teenage social circles, but women of all ages: girl-hate. For those who are unfamiliar with the term, it refers to the so-called "catty" behavior that women are often portrayed engaging in that stems from competition with one another. Many feminists point to this as a locus of misogyny, and call for female solidarity in its stead.
In the beginning the film attempts to relate to its audience by establishing the protagonist, Cady Heron (Lindsay Lohan), as the new kid in school, and, as a result, a misfit. This isn't exactly an innovative approach, but just by virtue of the fact that she's female and represented as sympathetic puts it a cut above similar movies. Cady is basically a math genius, and is mentored by her teacher Ms. Norbury (Tina Fey). Already, we have two female characters portrayed as intelligent and good at math. I don't have to point out that gender stereotypes dictate that women are bad at math (but I just did).
Cady befriends Janice and Damian, two other outcast students. Janice and Damian are both represented as queer--Damian is "too gay to function" according to Janice, and Janice herself has been accused of being gay. It is never clearly stated whether this is true or not, although at the end of the film she is implied to be in a heterosexual relationship. Either way, she is certainly gender variant and wears a purple tuxedo to the dance at the climax of the movie.
Together, the misfit trio concoct a plan to infiltrate the popular clique at school, which they refer to as "the Plastics." This scheme consumes the majority of the movie, during which Cady compromises her morals on several occasions to climb up the social ladder. She fakes being bad at math to get closer to a guy she has a crush on, lies to her friends, and finds herself becoming more and more legitimately concerned with her popularity. This is all decidedly Not Feminist, but after all hell breaks loose when queen bee Regina George publishes the Plastics' "Burn Book," Ms. Norbury leads all the women in their grade in what reminds me of a consciousness raising group. They have an open conversation about "girl-on-girl crime," and Ms. Norbury points out that as long as they all call each other sluts, they are giving men permission to do the same thing. In the end, Cady abandons her girl-hate once and for all, and there is a semblance of female solidarity--albeit, it is soured by the fact that everyone has seemed to neatly couple off into heterosexual relationships. I think if this one small detail was changed, or played down, the film's feminist message would have been much more explicit.
This is more of an aside, but there were a few small details that pleased me. I'll just make a list.
I haven't seen Mean Girls since my freshman year of college. I always enjoyed it, but could never quite put my finger on why. I'm not usually the kind of person who enjoys hyper-popular and oft-quoted movies (I'll be the first to admit that I'm kind of a movie snob), but this was an exception. Now, having just graduated with a BA in Women's Studies, the movie took on a whole new meaning for me. It is by no means a feminist manifesto, but on this viewing I was surprised to find some nuggets of positivity. I felt compelled to write down my thoughts on it, after doing a cursory google search for other such musings.
Mean Girls addresses a huge problem that affects not only teenage social circles, but women of all ages: girl-hate. For those who are unfamiliar with the term, it refers to the so-called "catty" behavior that women are often portrayed engaging in that stems from competition with one another. Many feminists point to this as a locus of misogyny, and call for female solidarity in its stead.
In the beginning the film attempts to relate to its audience by establishing the protagonist, Cady Heron (Lindsay Lohan), as the new kid in school, and, as a result, a misfit. This isn't exactly an innovative approach, but just by virtue of the fact that she's female and represented as sympathetic puts it a cut above similar movies. Cady is basically a math genius, and is mentored by her teacher Ms. Norbury (Tina Fey). Already, we have two female characters portrayed as intelligent and good at math. I don't have to point out that gender stereotypes dictate that women are bad at math (but I just did).
Cady befriends Janice and Damian, two other outcast students. Janice and Damian are both represented as queer--Damian is "too gay to function" according to Janice, and Janice herself has been accused of being gay. It is never clearly stated whether this is true or not, although at the end of the film she is implied to be in a heterosexual relationship. Either way, she is certainly gender variant and wears a purple tuxedo to the dance at the climax of the movie.
Together, the misfit trio concoct a plan to infiltrate the popular clique at school, which they refer to as "the Plastics." This scheme consumes the majority of the movie, during which Cady compromises her morals on several occasions to climb up the social ladder. She fakes being bad at math to get closer to a guy she has a crush on, lies to her friends, and finds herself becoming more and more legitimately concerned with her popularity. This is all decidedly Not Feminist, but after all hell breaks loose when queen bee Regina George publishes the Plastics' "Burn Book," Ms. Norbury leads all the women in their grade in what reminds me of a consciousness raising group. They have an open conversation about "girl-on-girl crime," and Ms. Norbury points out that as long as they all call each other sluts, they are giving men permission to do the same thing. In the end, Cady abandons her girl-hate once and for all, and there is a semblance of female solidarity--albeit, it is soured by the fact that everyone has seemed to neatly couple off into heterosexual relationships. I think if this one small detail was changed, or played down, the film's feminist message would have been much more explicit.
This is more of an aside, but there were a few small details that pleased me. I'll just make a list.
- The word "vagina" was uttered.
- There was a character who was in a wheelchair.
- Another character used the phrase "women of color."
- Feminism is brought to the table, if only in jest. Gretchen Wieners says not dating your friend's ex-boyfriend is one of the rules of feminism, which I chose to read as irony.
- When Regina went up a pants size, she was said to have lost her "'hot' body." She was still a size 7, tops.
- When Cady participated in the math competition, she was pitted up against another young woman--one with no fashion sense, which the voiceover pointed out. Cady had supposedly learned her lesson about girl-hate but that scene undermined it a little bit.
- The only explicitly gay character is a walking stereotype.
- There are fat people present, but only so they can be made fun of for being fat. When Cady compliments a fat girl on her appearance at the dance, she seems saintly for having bestowed her superior approval on someone so lowly.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
the five best decisions I've made (as a feminist)
One of the many great things about feminism is how far-reaching it is. It tries (and usually succeeds at) being incredibly inclusive, representing a wide range of individuals who come from many different walks of life. Everybody finds feminism in their own way; personally, I've always been a feminist. I just didn't know it or put a label on it until recently.
An individual's journey towards feminism is a highly personal one. For that reason, this blog will, at times, be highly personal. I am a big fan of "TMI" ("too much information")--at least, when it's me giving the information, as opposed to my mother or some other such figure (I love you, mom). I think it's important to bring taboo subjects out into the open, and discuss them, so we can hopefully work towards breaking down those taboos. That said, this post "goes there," whatever that means. And yes, I am fully aware that this may bite me in the ass some day.
There are very few decisions in my life that I regret, but there are also just as few that I feel 100% sure about, either at the time of making them or after the fact. This is a list that details the five best decisions I have ever made, and why I think they were so good.
5. Getting a sex toy.
This may seem like a strange way to start off the list, but bear with me. I don't think many people would argue with me if I said that female sexuality is very much feared and repressed in our society. With victim-blaming, slut-shaming, and the virgin/whore dichotomy, it's often hard to get in touch with your sexuality in a non-volatile way as a female-identified human being. We're called sluts if we aren't strictly monogamous, words for our vaginas are used as insults... heck, you can't say the word "vagina" on some TV stations, but "penis" is fine. With all this bullshit floating around, lots of things get overlooked. One of those things is female sex-drive. A friend of mine told me recently that every single one of his close female friends has come to him at some point, worried that her sex drive is "above average" for a woman. If all women think they're nymphomaniacs... well, there's something wrong here.
I firmly believe that the best way to get in touch with one's own sexuality is masturbation. Period. It's a way to figure out what you like, what turns you on, what gets you off... all in a relaxed, safe environment. Masturbation is the only sexual act that is purely, 100% for YOU. Selfishness is completely necessary. I know there are people out there who don't masturbate, but for me it's really hard to imagine having good, fulfilling sex with a partner without having gone through that initial exploration. That's where the sex toys come in.
I got my first sex toy when I was 16. I wanted one, but my then-girlfriend was the one who really encouraged me to do it. She had one, and she'd go on about how great it was. She was on the phone with me while I perused the internet for one that would best serve my purposes. She was still on the phone with me when I pressed the "place order" button. Since then, I have been more thoroughly able to explore my own sexuality, and four years later, I am still glad I made that decision. I don't think I would be as sexually assertive and confident as I am today had I not confronted the issue of my own pleasure.
There are still people out there--mostly men--who think that the idea of women masturbating is strange and abnormal. Well, I think if we want to reclaim female desire and pleasure, the first step is to validate our sexual relationships with ourselves.
4. Going on birth control.
Before I went on the pill, I had penetrative sex exactly twice. Both times, the rest of my cycle was filled with mild to moderate panic, for basically no reason. I was, of course, careful--condoms were used both times, and I watched the guy put it on, etc. But I knew (and still know) that accidents happen, people fuck up, and bad shit can go down. It also didn't help that I have an incredibly erratic menstrual cycle, so I didn't know when to start worrying.
Going to the gyno and asking for that prescription was a big moment for me. That was me saying, "I am ready to have a sex life, and take responsibility for it." I take that pill every day, at the exact same time. I enjoy taking it, because I know that I am doing something good for myself and taking matters into my own hands. I don't have to rely on a man to make sure the condom is on right, and nothing slips or breaks. I have had condoms break before, but it was when I was already on the pill... it was moments like those that I was really, truly thankful.
Many people feel like the pill is a taboo subject, and the fact that someone is on it should be a private matter or kept under wraps. I firmly disagree. I don't think the implications of birth control should be any more loaded than taking vitamins--it is something I am doing for my health, in my interests (sometimes unrelated to sex--I don't go off of it when I'm not getting laid; it regulates my period). One time, I was having an online conversation with a guy that I regularly talk to and flirt with. I mentioned something about being on the pill, and he said, "Oh, so you're a naughty girl?" I got pissed, but contained myself. I simply said, "No. I'm just responsible."
3. Losing my virginity.
I hate the expression "to lose one's virginity." I hate it. It implies that it is something done by accident, or something worth missing after it is gone. I never took that approach when thinking about virginity.
Now that I think about it, I've been dispelling virginity myths since middle school. I would hear my classmates talking about how you can lose your virginity to a tampon, and as someone who has used a tampon since her second period, I found it frankly ridiculous. As Jessica Valenti explains in her book The Purity Myth, there is no medical definition for virginity. It's purely a social construction.
That said, talk about "saving it" and "waiting for the right person" always rubbed me the wrong way. I can be a very neurotic person in a lot of ways, and I do like to keep track of firsts, but I wasn't going to let myself fall victim to this rhetoric. I figured if I "waited for the perfect moment," that perfect moment would never come, and I would just never get laid (at least not until I was 30). About a year before the opportunity even presented itself, I made the decision to not put my virginity on a pedestal. I told myself, when I wanted to, I'd just go for it. And it worked out just fine.
The idea of virginity is very heteronormative (one never having had vaginal intercourse), and for that reason I redefined it for my own purposes. I decided that I lost my virginity not the first time I had intercourse, but the first time I did anything below-the-wast with another person. This happened when I was 18, with a guy I haven't seen since. I am okay with this. He was respectful, caring, sensitive, and affectionate. I don't regret the experience one bit.
Since then, I have had many rewarding (and some not-so-rewarding) sexual experiences, of the vaginal intercourse variety and otherwise. They helped me learn about myself, what I value, and what I need both sexually and emotionally. If I put that virginity on a pedestal, I would probably still be a virgin. And that would suck.
2. Declaring a Women's Studies major.
Since entering my freshman year of college, I knew I was going to do something English-related as my major, and to be honest I was pretty "eh" about it. I love to write and I love to critically analyze texts (hard to believe, I know), but it wasn't something that I could get really passionate about. Passion is something I need; it's a motivator. Basically, if I'm going to do something, I've gotta be really fucking pissed about it.
Last semester I took my first Women's Studies class. It was an introductory course, but it totally opened my eyes to all this bullshit that incites my Womanrage. Early on, I figured I'd probably wind up declaring a Women's Studies minor, but as the semester went on, it started to not feel like enough.
With only a few weeks of school left, I went to the department HQ and put in a declare a major form. It felt so. Good. To do. Even though I wasn't signing my soul over to the discipline (well, not technically), it still felt like I was doing more. Still not enough, but closer to enough. Now I am a double major in Creative Writing and Women's Studies, and I say as much with excitement and pride. I take true pleasure in the work that I do for school, and I really feel like an integral part of the movement.
Now I want to be a professor, but that's further down the road.
1. Accepting my body.
This is not just the most important decision I've made as a feminist, but as a human being. I'm not going to go into the whole rant about how all my life I was conditioned to hate my body, from all sides. Even though I was. No, that would be far too long and is a matter for another post. Or perhaps a novel.
Far more important is my decision to just fucking stop. I can't pinpoint the exact moment, but it was around the time that things were starting to really line up for me: I was feeling good as a sexual person, I had friends, I felt fulfilled in my life, I found places to get nice clothes... and something just clicked. It wasn't an all-of-a-sudden thing. It started out with fatshionistas, and years later ended with Lessons From the Fat-o-Sphere (except, it never really ends, does it?), but somewhere in between that click happened. I stopped looking at myself and wishing I was still a size 16 (yes, you read that correctly; for some reason that's the size I wanted to cling to... perhaps because it's the last size you can get at straight-sized stores?), and realized I'm fine the way I am, that I deserve just as much as a skinny person, and that being fat doesn't make me immoral or sexually undesirable.
This decision to accept myself impacted me in two huge ways, the first being that I stopped waging that constant internal war. Even when I wasn't dieting, I was thinking about it. When I was dieting, I was angry because I thought I shouldn't have to. Some days, I'd feel fine. Other days, I'd feel like a disgusting fat pig who nobody could ever find attractive. With self-acceptance, all those inner monologues just shut the fuck up. Now, I have relative peace on that front. It is such a relief. Hating yourself is exhausting and pointless.
The other hugely positive way this impacted me was largely an indirect result, but amazing nonetheless. I have since started to exude confidence--something I never did before. I always felt very curled-in on myself, like I was protecting some vulnerable part of myself form overexposure. Now, I'm all out there. The confidence I feel about myself and my body is projected, and others can feel it. People receive me better. I make friends more easily. Guys find me more attractive. It's just an all-around good thing.
And you know what? If anyone has anything bad to say about me and the way I look, it doesn't get to me. Why yes, I do have a fat ass. Thank you for noticing. Have a nice day.
(This doesn't happen often, but I am prepared for when it does.)
So there you have it, my five best decisions. I look forward to making more.
An individual's journey towards feminism is a highly personal one. For that reason, this blog will, at times, be highly personal. I am a big fan of "TMI" ("too much information")--at least, when it's me giving the information, as opposed to my mother or some other such figure (I love you, mom). I think it's important to bring taboo subjects out into the open, and discuss them, so we can hopefully work towards breaking down those taboos. That said, this post "goes there," whatever that means. And yes, I am fully aware that this may bite me in the ass some day.
There are very few decisions in my life that I regret, but there are also just as few that I feel 100% sure about, either at the time of making them or after the fact. This is a list that details the five best decisions I have ever made, and why I think they were so good.
5. Getting a sex toy.
This may seem like a strange way to start off the list, but bear with me. I don't think many people would argue with me if I said that female sexuality is very much feared and repressed in our society. With victim-blaming, slut-shaming, and the virgin/whore dichotomy, it's often hard to get in touch with your sexuality in a non-volatile way as a female-identified human being. We're called sluts if we aren't strictly monogamous, words for our vaginas are used as insults... heck, you can't say the word "vagina" on some TV stations, but "penis" is fine. With all this bullshit floating around, lots of things get overlooked. One of those things is female sex-drive. A friend of mine told me recently that every single one of his close female friends has come to him at some point, worried that her sex drive is "above average" for a woman. If all women think they're nymphomaniacs... well, there's something wrong here.
I firmly believe that the best way to get in touch with one's own sexuality is masturbation. Period. It's a way to figure out what you like, what turns you on, what gets you off... all in a relaxed, safe environment. Masturbation is the only sexual act that is purely, 100% for YOU. Selfishness is completely necessary. I know there are people out there who don't masturbate, but for me it's really hard to imagine having good, fulfilling sex with a partner without having gone through that initial exploration. That's where the sex toys come in.
I got my first sex toy when I was 16. I wanted one, but my then-girlfriend was the one who really encouraged me to do it. She had one, and she'd go on about how great it was. She was on the phone with me while I perused the internet for one that would best serve my purposes. She was still on the phone with me when I pressed the "place order" button. Since then, I have been more thoroughly able to explore my own sexuality, and four years later, I am still glad I made that decision. I don't think I would be as sexually assertive and confident as I am today had I not confronted the issue of my own pleasure.
There are still people out there--mostly men--who think that the idea of women masturbating is strange and abnormal. Well, I think if we want to reclaim female desire and pleasure, the first step is to validate our sexual relationships with ourselves.
4. Going on birth control.
Before I went on the pill, I had penetrative sex exactly twice. Both times, the rest of my cycle was filled with mild to moderate panic, for basically no reason. I was, of course, careful--condoms were used both times, and I watched the guy put it on, etc. But I knew (and still know) that accidents happen, people fuck up, and bad shit can go down. It also didn't help that I have an incredibly erratic menstrual cycle, so I didn't know when to start worrying.
Going to the gyno and asking for that prescription was a big moment for me. That was me saying, "I am ready to have a sex life, and take responsibility for it." I take that pill every day, at the exact same time. I enjoy taking it, because I know that I am doing something good for myself and taking matters into my own hands. I don't have to rely on a man to make sure the condom is on right, and nothing slips or breaks. I have had condoms break before, but it was when I was already on the pill... it was moments like those that I was really, truly thankful.
Many people feel like the pill is a taboo subject, and the fact that someone is on it should be a private matter or kept under wraps. I firmly disagree. I don't think the implications of birth control should be any more loaded than taking vitamins--it is something I am doing for my health, in my interests (sometimes unrelated to sex--I don't go off of it when I'm not getting laid; it regulates my period). One time, I was having an online conversation with a guy that I regularly talk to and flirt with. I mentioned something about being on the pill, and he said, "Oh, so you're a naughty girl?" I got pissed, but contained myself. I simply said, "No. I'm just responsible."
3. Losing my virginity.
I hate the expression "to lose one's virginity." I hate it. It implies that it is something done by accident, or something worth missing after it is gone. I never took that approach when thinking about virginity.
Now that I think about it, I've been dispelling virginity myths since middle school. I would hear my classmates talking about how you can lose your virginity to a tampon, and as someone who has used a tampon since her second period, I found it frankly ridiculous. As Jessica Valenti explains in her book The Purity Myth, there is no medical definition for virginity. It's purely a social construction.
That said, talk about "saving it" and "waiting for the right person" always rubbed me the wrong way. I can be a very neurotic person in a lot of ways, and I do like to keep track of firsts, but I wasn't going to let myself fall victim to this rhetoric. I figured if I "waited for the perfect moment," that perfect moment would never come, and I would just never get laid (at least not until I was 30). About a year before the opportunity even presented itself, I made the decision to not put my virginity on a pedestal. I told myself, when I wanted to, I'd just go for it. And it worked out just fine.
The idea of virginity is very heteronormative (one never having had vaginal intercourse), and for that reason I redefined it for my own purposes. I decided that I lost my virginity not the first time I had intercourse, but the first time I did anything below-the-wast with another person. This happened when I was 18, with a guy I haven't seen since. I am okay with this. He was respectful, caring, sensitive, and affectionate. I don't regret the experience one bit.
Since then, I have had many rewarding (and some not-so-rewarding) sexual experiences, of the vaginal intercourse variety and otherwise. They helped me learn about myself, what I value, and what I need both sexually and emotionally. If I put that virginity on a pedestal, I would probably still be a virgin. And that would suck.
2. Declaring a Women's Studies major.
Since entering my freshman year of college, I knew I was going to do something English-related as my major, and to be honest I was pretty "eh" about it. I love to write and I love to critically analyze texts (hard to believe, I know), but it wasn't something that I could get really passionate about. Passion is something I need; it's a motivator. Basically, if I'm going to do something, I've gotta be really fucking pissed about it.
Last semester I took my first Women's Studies class. It was an introductory course, but it totally opened my eyes to all this bullshit that incites my Womanrage. Early on, I figured I'd probably wind up declaring a Women's Studies minor, but as the semester went on, it started to not feel like enough.
With only a few weeks of school left, I went to the department HQ and put in a declare a major form. It felt so. Good. To do. Even though I wasn't signing my soul over to the discipline (well, not technically), it still felt like I was doing more. Still not enough, but closer to enough. Now I am a double major in Creative Writing and Women's Studies, and I say as much with excitement and pride. I take true pleasure in the work that I do for school, and I really feel like an integral part of the movement.
Now I want to be a professor, but that's further down the road.
1. Accepting my body.
This is not just the most important decision I've made as a feminist, but as a human being. I'm not going to go into the whole rant about how all my life I was conditioned to hate my body, from all sides. Even though I was. No, that would be far too long and is a matter for another post. Or perhaps a novel.
Far more important is my decision to just fucking stop. I can't pinpoint the exact moment, but it was around the time that things were starting to really line up for me: I was feeling good as a sexual person, I had friends, I felt fulfilled in my life, I found places to get nice clothes... and something just clicked. It wasn't an all-of-a-sudden thing. It started out with fatshionistas, and years later ended with Lessons From the Fat-o-Sphere (except, it never really ends, does it?), but somewhere in between that click happened. I stopped looking at myself and wishing I was still a size 16 (yes, you read that correctly; for some reason that's the size I wanted to cling to... perhaps because it's the last size you can get at straight-sized stores?), and realized I'm fine the way I am, that I deserve just as much as a skinny person, and that being fat doesn't make me immoral or sexually undesirable.
This decision to accept myself impacted me in two huge ways, the first being that I stopped waging that constant internal war. Even when I wasn't dieting, I was thinking about it. When I was dieting, I was angry because I thought I shouldn't have to. Some days, I'd feel fine. Other days, I'd feel like a disgusting fat pig who nobody could ever find attractive. With self-acceptance, all those inner monologues just shut the fuck up. Now, I have relative peace on that front. It is such a relief. Hating yourself is exhausting and pointless.
The other hugely positive way this impacted me was largely an indirect result, but amazing nonetheless. I have since started to exude confidence--something I never did before. I always felt very curled-in on myself, like I was protecting some vulnerable part of myself form overexposure. Now, I'm all out there. The confidence I feel about myself and my body is projected, and others can feel it. People receive me better. I make friends more easily. Guys find me more attractive. It's just an all-around good thing.
And you know what? If anyone has anything bad to say about me and the way I look, it doesn't get to me. Why yes, I do have a fat ass. Thank you for noticing. Have a nice day.
(This doesn't happen often, but I am prepared for when it does.)
So there you have it, my five best decisions. I look forward to making more.
Friday, August 6, 2010
a woman's "place" in the music business
I have considered myself a big music fan since I was 12, and I got my first juvenile favorite band. It was a freeing sort of counterculture for me, as back in those days the mainstream genre was Rap and Hip-hop and the like, and my preference was for Rock. You know, "Alternative" Rock. Adolescents usually gravitate to one of two extremes: going to great lengths to fit in, or going to similar lengths to stand out.
I definitely belonged to the second camp.
Thankfully, I am now over myself and no longer think of myself as a Tortured Special Snowflake. But I am still a huge music fan. My taste in music defined me once I went to my first concert when I was 14, until I went to college and got a life. It was a form of escapism, for those horrible high school days. I could throw myself into this amazing thing that moved me, and idolize these dudes who were like heroes to me, and then I could go see them play in person, and even meet them! Fancy that.
That was all well and good. But then my admiration naturally evolved into idolatry, and I wanted to be like them. And that's when I began to feel pretty alienated. Sure, it's fine for a girl to like music. It might even be okay for her to think about it critically. But for her to want to make it? And earn that same respect? Much more difficult to fathom.
I definitely belonged to the second camp.
Thankfully, I am now over myself and no longer think of myself as a Tortured Special Snowflake. But I am still a huge music fan. My taste in music defined me once I went to my first concert when I was 14, until I went to college and got a life. It was a form of escapism, for those horrible high school days. I could throw myself into this amazing thing that moved me, and idolize these dudes who were like heroes to me, and then I could go see them play in person, and even meet them! Fancy that.
That was all well and good. But then my admiration naturally evolved into idolatry, and I wanted to be like them. And that's when I began to feel pretty alienated. Sure, it's fine for a girl to like music. It might even be okay for her to think about it critically. But for her to want to make it? And earn that same respect? Much more difficult to fathom.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
If what you mean by "a cold one" is "my cold fist in your face," then sure...
I usually describe the experience of taking my first class in Women's Studies as having blinders removed. It was like gaining peripheral vision that I didn't know I was missing; I started noticing all these things in my day-to-day life that really, really weren't right. It gets pretty exhausting, but anger is a motivator. As evidenced by the fact that I started this blog.
However, de-blinder-ing aside, one thing I didn't need feminism to notice was the blatant stupidity of beer commercials. My brother Julian loves to make fun of the fact that they always advertise how cold their beer is... but isn't how cold beer is up to the purchaser of said beer? Also, some of these beer companies peddle glorified mood rings in the form of color-changing cans that indicate coldness. Julian points out that you could just as easily touch the can, and get a much less black-or-white answer to how cold your damn beer is.
However, de-blinder-ing aside, one thing I didn't need feminism to notice was the blatant stupidity of beer commercials. My brother Julian loves to make fun of the fact that they always advertise how cold their beer is... but isn't how cold beer is up to the purchaser of said beer? Also, some of these beer companies peddle glorified mood rings in the form of color-changing cans that indicate coldness. Julian points out that you could just as easily touch the can, and get a much less black-or-white answer to how cold your damn beer is.
An Experiment in Anger Management
So, I guess I'm doing this, huh?
For months I've been toying with the idea of starting a new blog. One for me to talk about Serious Issues, instead of the usual inconsequential and inane ones I find myself writing about normally. Countless times I've started something like this, only to put off updating or abandon it a few posts in.
This time, that won't happen.
How do I know this? Well, I am fucking pissed. I furiously, unrelentingly, unapologetically, unequivocally PISSED, like I've never been pissed before.
So if I'm so pissed--if I let my anger get to these unprecedented levels--why did I wait so damn long to start writing about it? I did this thing I do a lot, called making excuses. I thought that in order to have a successful blog, I'd have to have a schtick. Or, to use a less kitschy phrase, an angle. There are tons of feminist blogs out there, and I thought that to be viable and worthy of participating in the blogging conversation, I'd have to make myself stand out somehow by putting a label on myself, and being known as that one thing. I am a feminist, and I am:
a college student.
a Women's Studies major.
a Creative Writing major.
fat.
pansexual.
doing a lot of dating, lately.
hoping for another sexual revolution.
20 years old.
a music fan.
a consumer of media.
...et cetera.
Well, I am all of those things. And yes, sometimes my ideas are broad and disorganized, but I've gotta start somewhere. And as for success? Who the fuck cares. This is a way for me to get down my thoughts. If nobody reads it, at least I know it's out there.
Likely, this will end up detailing the things that piss me off every day. Because things piss me off, every day. It's difficult, living with all that anger. It's pretty obvious to me that I need some sort of outlet.
I decided on the "Serious Oves" title based on a conversation my mother and I had a few months back. It probably started with her telling me a story about something gutsy she did, and my answering with something akin to, "Wow, you've got some serious balls."
In response to that, my mother said, "You know, that phrase always pissed me off. I don't have balls, I have ovaries. So, can't I have some serious oves instead?"
The two of us burst out laughing, and agreed that this needed to spread. Since that conversation, whenever someone comments that I've got "balls," I always correct them: "I think you mean, 'ovaries.'"
For months I've been toying with the idea of starting a new blog. One for me to talk about Serious Issues, instead of the usual inconsequential and inane ones I find myself writing about normally. Countless times I've started something like this, only to put off updating or abandon it a few posts in.
This time, that won't happen.
How do I know this? Well, I am fucking pissed. I furiously, unrelentingly, unapologetically, unequivocally PISSED, like I've never been pissed before.
So if I'm so pissed--if I let my anger get to these unprecedented levels--why did I wait so damn long to start writing about it? I did this thing I do a lot, called making excuses. I thought that in order to have a successful blog, I'd have to have a schtick. Or, to use a less kitschy phrase, an angle. There are tons of feminist blogs out there, and I thought that to be viable and worthy of participating in the blogging conversation, I'd have to make myself stand out somehow by putting a label on myself, and being known as that one thing. I am a feminist, and I am:
a college student.
a Women's Studies major.
a Creative Writing major.
fat.
pansexual.
doing a lot of dating, lately.
hoping for another sexual revolution.
20 years old.
a music fan.
a consumer of media.
...et cetera.
Well, I am all of those things. And yes, sometimes my ideas are broad and disorganized, but I've gotta start somewhere. And as for success? Who the fuck cares. This is a way for me to get down my thoughts. If nobody reads it, at least I know it's out there.
Likely, this will end up detailing the things that piss me off every day. Because things piss me off, every day. It's difficult, living with all that anger. It's pretty obvious to me that I need some sort of outlet.
I decided on the "Serious Oves" title based on a conversation my mother and I had a few months back. It probably started with her telling me a story about something gutsy she did, and my answering with something akin to, "Wow, you've got some serious balls."
In response to that, my mother said, "You know, that phrase always pissed me off. I don't have balls, I have ovaries. So, can't I have some serious oves instead?"
The two of us burst out laughing, and agreed that this needed to spread. Since that conversation, whenever someone comments that I've got "balls," I always correct them: "I think you mean, 'ovaries.'"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)