As I have stated before, I missed the first wave of feminism as well as the second, the third, and apparently, the fourth (which may or may not be an actual wave). Most of my ideas about feminism and equality have come to me via experiences and discussions with other likeminded women. I have never shied away from calling myself a feminist (though, a humanist would probably be a more apt description) even when feminist = bitch. Come to think of it, especially in that case.
Why am I maundering on about the feminist movement? Because I had a conversation with my niece yesterday that completely disheartened me. Now, she knows that I am not married (obviously), that I am childfree (again, obviously), and that I dress in a rather funky manner. She gives me crap about it every now and then like telling me I should have children, just because, but for the most part, I am accepted as the beloved quirky aunt.
First, some facts. She has always been both a girly-girl, loving dolls and the color pink, and a more rugged little girl. She liked to play outdoors, climbing on trees and such. It never concerned her to go from playing with her Barbies to running around the backyard. That is as it should be. To me, part of the feminism movement meant embracing all the different aspects of my womanly nature. Full disclosure: I do still struggle with the idea that doing womanly things is weak. I used to be hardcore about this. I loathed pink. I hated dolls. I refused to do anything I considered “soft”. The first breakthrough when Kiki convinced me that wearing glitter once in a while was not a bad thing. In other words, being girly and glam can be a fun thing–as long as it’s not a “should”.
The previous sentence brings me nicely to the conversation I had with my niece. We were wrestling a bit, and she exclaimed, “You forgot to shave your armpits.” I said that I didn’t shave them at all. She was appalled (remember, this is the same girl that flipped when I told her I didn’t wear panties after she asked me what color my panties were) and told me I had to shave. I asked why. She said because in that tone that parents of preteen girls know all-too-well. Her tone said I was the dumbest person on earth for not realizing the importance of this issue. I took a minute to decide what to say, and I settled on, “I don’t have to shave my armpits. Guys don’t.”
I thought that would be the end of that, but she started to tell me of all the things she wanted to do that she wasn’t allowed to do yet. This list included piercing her ears and shaving her legs.
I reflexively winced. The girl is eleven. What hair she has on her legs is negligible. I didn’t want to get all Elizabeth Cady Stanton on her, but I had to probe this issue just a little bit. She complained that her friend, also eleven, got to shave–even though she had no leg hair. I bit my leg to point out the stupidity of shaving when one doesn’t have any hair to shave. Instead, I mildly said that I didn’t shave my legs, either. What she said next blew me away. She said, “You’re not married. You don’t want to get married.” I immediately understood what she was trying to say, and I replied, “You know, there are lots of guys who don’t care about stuff like that.” She shook her emphatically, opened her eyes wide and said, “Yes, they do!” as if she knew it with every fiber of her being.
My niece is gorgeous. She is stop-in-the-street-and-stare gorgeous. She is creative, funny, bright, caring, warmhearted, curious, engaging, and a bunch of other really cool things. She’s also eleven years old! Eleven, and the pressure to change herself to please a guy is already starting.
I tried not to jump on her because she is just eleven, but it made me dispirited to realize how far we haven’t come in the last thirty years. But, on the other hand, we have. She thinks she can be President of the United States (but doesn’t want the job because it’s too hard), but she also thinks she has to wear makeup and shave her legs and armpits to snag a husband. Is that progress, or is that more of the Superwoman conundrum?
I have to add that I was already feeling defeated because of an earlier incident. Before going to my bro’s house, my mom and I went to lunch to see one of my cousins. I haven’t seen her in ten years, and she looks better than ever. Before we went, I was wearing a nice pair of beige pants and a fitted shirt (black, of course). My mom gave me The Look and asked if I wasn’t going to wear the dragon shirt she’d given me (she meant the ones with the zebras). She said it would go nicely with the pants, but I could tell by her tone that it had more to do with the latter shirt would cover my stomach better.
In an instant, I felt like a huge, lumbering elephant. I felt fat and ugly and just…gross. I immediately went to change my outfit, and I still felt like crap. I was self-conscious the entire time we were having lunch with my cuz (great to see you, girl! I will definitely visit you on my East Coast swing). I could just feel the fat bulging and squishing in a most obvious fashion. It didn’t help that I was fully aware that the last time I had seen my cousin (at her wedding), I had been the skinniest I’d ever been.
So. That was the mentality I was holding as my mom and I went to my brother’s house. When I was younger (late twenties), I used to cut myself. I mostly did it on my upper left arm (to avoid my tats), but I also did it on my stomach because I hated it so much. I once traced out the letter F and U on my stomach for Fuck you, but also for Fat & Ugly. I might as well have tattooed it on my soul; I felt it that deeply. The stomach cuts were fairly light so the scars aren’t easy to see, but the arm ones are very visible because I’m keloid. That means that I scar twice as badly as everyone else. I lied to both my mother and my niece as to how I got the scars. I no longer hide them because I am not ashamed of them, but I don’t feel the need to explain them to anyone, either. My ex used to call them my war wounds, and he was right. If it weren’t for them, I might not be here today.
So. Put all of this together, and I am feeling pretty down right now. I am upset that I am slipping back into the “I am worthless because I’m so fucking fat” mode, and I am unduly bothered by my niece’s view on what it takes to land a guy. I know she’s still young and her views can change (mine certainly did), but I still despair over the pervasive idea that a girl has to mold herself into some standard in order to be acceptable. Am I talking about my niece now or about me? Both, and that’s why what she said bothers me so much. She has given voice to the unspoken message that I myself believe. I knew there was a reason I don’t like mirrors!
All you can do Minna, is continue to show her that some women and men ARE different.
You live your life on YOUR terms and that is what attracted me to you in our original postings to one another.
I was raised within the feminist movement of the 70’s. And though it didn’t really exist then, I was also part of the LGBT. We just called it the Gay Community or “Family”. Particularly the Lesbian Community in Seattle.
I watched with my daughter, HOW YOUNG IT STARTS.
It starts as soon as they are born. It isn’t always easy to see, but the conditioning starts early and between the ages of three to seven, our children become who they will be most of their lives.
I had my daughter till she was almost 8. I worked my ass off to teach her that she had equal value. She still has that base, but she plucks her eyebrows (I Don’t), She shaves her legs and underarms, (as do I), She doesn’t have a hang up about her body type. yet she has told me she had eating disorders (I haven’t had eating disorder, but I also have Graves disease and am thinner than the rest of my kin). It happens because early in life it is silent and subtle and we don’t always realize we are feeding into it.
And like I said once before…
I Love You
fat
skinny
wise-ass
gifted
empathetic
emotional
happy
sad
I Love You
No Matter What.
UGH!!! I see I am going to have to save that to a notepad 😛
Your Feminist Friend
Hop Along Whabs
Not just no, but HELL no.
That insidious bitch of an inner voice of yours is not going to slither her bitchy way back in, just when you were making such progress at keeping her out. We won’t let her.
I realize that a lot of that work falls on you. But allow me to phrase it in this way:
I think you are hot, Minna. You’re amazingly intelligent, which I find sexy. You’re hilarious, which I also find appealing. You’re edgy, and you have an incredible way with words. You’re honest, you’re strong, you set yourself as a good example for your niece (which is really all you have the power to do!), you are loyal and protectice, and all of those other things.
The teensy little point of that speech that makes all the difference?
I have never laid eyes on you.
I wouldn’t know if you’re short or tall, or what you weigh. I’ve seen a few vague pics, yes. I know you’re Asian with long hair and a beautiful face, and great ta-tas. But really? I have no sense of your physicality from those few shots I’ve seen.
And yet, my assertions stand.
Hehe.
I like this Kel person!
PS Barbies should be outlawed. They are evil and insidious!I can’t tell you HOW HARD I looked for a Mexican Baby doll for her and found one right before her dad took her away. It was proportioned correctly and had MEXICAN features, not just a white doll painted brown. So conditioned is she anyway that when she saw it in my bedroom last weekend she asked me, “What the hell is THAT creepy looking thing?”
I like you back, Whabs. =)
My girls played with Barbies (then again, so did my son!), but they used to make fun of her disproportionately, unrealistic features. Actually, “Hollister Barbie” is considered quite a slur in their circle. =) The middle Kellion particularly loves thrift shops for clothing, and at one point, she had picked out some stuff and I was paying for it. One of the shirts was slightly more expensive than the others, and I didn’t blink much, ’cause really, we were at a thrift store, right? But I did notice that the tag inside the shirt (it was plain blue on the outside) said, “Hollister.” I started to snicker and said Kellion could not figure out why. When we get out to the car, I showed it to her and she was absolutely, positively horrified. I laughed myself silly, but then, I’m kind of a bitch. She cute the tag out immediately when we got home.
My kids are kinda weird, though. The same Kellion just did a photo shoot yesterday dressed as a young man. She was incredibly striking, and reveled in the attention and double takes she got as people tried to ascertain her gender.
But I digress. Honestly, as much I truly admire the coolness of The Whabs, I have to respectfully disagree on the outlawing of Barbies. I would much rather not restrict (with my one exception to that rule being violent toys) what my kids would play with. Instead, I’d take the opportunity to use it as a discussion point. So often, parents don’t grab the chances to make a point, or casually start a conversation. (Not you, Whabs…it was a general observation!)
whabs, yeah it starts from infancy. It seems like our society is saturated with the unthinking images of how women Should Be in order to get a man.
My niece went through her Barbie phase as well as her Polly Pocket phase. She is now in her Hannah Montana phase. I steadfastly refuse to get her any of the above. I get her cultural-specific dolls and books instead. She immediately gravitates to the other stuff, but it’s my presents that she re-reads or takes to bed. That gives me small comfort.
Barbies–as I said elsewhere. All I did with mine was make them have group sex and chop and dye their hair. Other than that, nothing.
P.S. Yes, you might as well keep that little poem on file because I have a feeling you will have to bust it out from time to time. I love you, too, whabs, just as you are.
Kel, thank you for your fierce support. I like the way you hold up a mirror to me and refuse to let me see the distortion. As you know, I think you’ve done a fantastic job raising your Kellions, and they are very lucky to have you.
Wow, I could write a book on the inner vs. outer beauty issue. My daughter and I were at a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert a couple of years ago and there was a very hot teen guy ahead of us, no girl attached to his arm (as I’d have been if I were his teen g-f), my daughter was drooling and taking photos w/her cell phone. Later we saw him kissing & hugging on a girl. She was at least 50-60 lbs overweight, bright, sunny and probably a funny wonderful person who was a much better girlfriend than 50 of the stick-think blond-haired perfect-looking girls put together. I pointed it out to my daughter, said “see that! ha!”
I have been brutally honest with my daughter about what it was like to grow up believing that your worth was determined by your looks, that putting out was mandatory, lest you lose your hot jock boyfriend. I did not figure out until my 30s that it could be that someone would want to be with me for any reason other than my looks. I slapped down Mr. Fabulous Husband when we first started dating and he would say “you’re so beautiful” — after the zillionth time I said “yeah, so what do I have to do with that? Why do you never say I’m so smart or funny or fun or anything like that?” We’ve been married nearly 10 years now and I never ever get “you’re so beautiful.” He sneaks it in sometimes when we go out, says “doesn’t mommy look beautiful?” to Lottie.
It’s insidious. Media. Peers. And worse than those, parents who push that b.s.!!!!! I already have talks w/my 4-yr-old about inner vs. outer beauty, about how people with phsyical flaws are just like anyone else, sometimes extra-special (her best little friend has a brother w/cerebral palsy, and we talk about him often). She is exquisite, looks like a mini Audrey Hepburn. People stop me in the street & stores. And I know that I will have to work twice as hard as I did w/her sister to make her understand that she must be the best everything that she can be, that she is so much more than her hair or eyes or pouty lips or whatever superficial aspect of her appearance some guy will comment on. It’s soul-killing. It’s really strange to me that so many women are willing to embrace it, they seem to have to give up more than a little bit of their soul & character to do so, though. Ick.
Do the best that you can for yourself — for your physical and mental/emotional health. That means do whatever you need to do to feel & be healthy (that would preclude some crazy diet shit), as well as telling your mother to back off re: your wardrobe choices, your weight and your own adult life choices. In regard to your niece, it sounds like she needs some serious books that discuss these sorts of issues. I really like the Bobbi Brown book for teens about make-up and stuff like that. It’s surprisingly down to earth, and does not glamorize things, talks about inner beauty a lot. There’s also a really great book out there called Girlosophy. Go to the bookstore and leaf through a bunch of books for teens, look for one or two that promote things that you believe in (particularly if you think she’s getting some bogus shit at home), sit down on the sofa w/her and read them together. Or how about watching Bend it Like Beckham w/her or some other movie like that? Movies with strong young girls. Nancy Drew?
Hang in there. You’ve come a long way baby.
Barbies became violent to me when my kid started popping off her head and leaving them on the floor for me to find in the dark with my feet. HAHA!
This was an amazing thread, maybe it is where I am at emotionally, but you guys are fucking cool and I have seen many amazing words here at Minna’s blog. Thanks everyone for enriching my blogosphere!
Violent Barbies — oooooh yes. See, in the interest of raising the kids in a non-gender-biased environment, Josh had his own Barbie corvette and a Barbie house as well, just like the girls. They would put the Corvettes at the top of the stairs, with elegantly (*cough*) dressed dolls at the wheel, and shove as hard as they could. The winner was the one who hit the lowest stairs in the row before tumbling wildly the rest of the way down the stairs into the wall at the bottom.
Their Barbies also bungee-jumped…with the cord around their necks. That one definitely caused a few raised eyebrows with the grandmothers, and the very religious neighbors. I almost had to feel bad for the Barbies in my house. While they weren’t necessarily exploring their sexuality to the extent of Minna’s crew, they certainly had some pretty serious adventures. Slathering one of them in peanut butter and handing it to the 130lb Newfoundland to simulate a bear attack was one I truly wish I’d captured in my camera. Sadly, I wasn’t as into photography at that point. But hey, live and learn. =)
Maybe I should start a blog. Eh…I don’t have that much that’s of interest to say. I just react to other stuff for fun. =)
SMR, you are so right that we can each only do what we can do. It is, indeed, all around us. Sometimes, I feel helpless as to how to combat the meme, but then I remember that my niece still believes she can be president. That is progress, indeed.
It is hard to get the message across to the young girls that looks aren’t important when society says differently. In addition, the fact that I have so many issues with my weight makes it difficult for me to tell my niece, “You’re fine just the way you are” without being a bit hypocritical.
Thank you for the suggestion on some sensible books to buy for young girls concerning makeup and all that. I know she is going to do it, so I want her to see it in perspective.
whabs, it’s an amazing thread because of my commenters. You guys are a big reason why I do this (almost) every day. I am humbled to have such a fabulous readership.
Kel, I like the way your Kellions think. I especially like the simulated bear attack! Heh. I wish I had thought of that one.
I think you should blog. You have a quirky and fresh outlook on life that would most likely touch a nerve with many people. Give it a thought.