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.

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.

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.

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.'"