Welll yesterday was quite the feminist stomachache. Recently, on some blog, a brilliant blogger pointed out that feminism is what helps explain the world around us, rather than just running around calling people assholes and thinking that its their individual behavior. This, however, is still hard to cope with- the individual behavior that hurts like hell. Yesterday, two big things occured that smacked me upside the head (yeah, actually, it was violent) with the nastiness of patriarchy.
First, it was a beautiful day. Spring around these parts has been terrible, and I was out of town for the last weekend we had nice, sunny weather. Fortunetly, I was in a sunny spot, but busy all day with non-leisure activites. Putting on a bathing suit should NOT be an intimidating or psychologically difficult experience. Thanks to patriarchy it is. My parents have a pool, and as I live in the same vicinity as my ‘rents, when I have time to kill on nice days (read study or work break) I really like hanging out at the pool. Its quiet, and water has a brilliantly soothing and cooling effect. I’m a lucky kid. Anyhow, after a few hours of work on THE PAPER, I was looking forward to the first day of pool this year. I put on my bathing suit and realized, I didn’t look the same as last year.
Now, to clarify, this is the intersection of lots of things, but at this point most of the issues are on the surface. They’re still painful, but in a way that I can see its stuff which isn’t my fault. So looking at my body and realizing that it wasn’t as small, as toned, and “nice” or as “neat” as the last time I’d put it on… well it made me see lots of things. First, that the exercise of putting on a bathing suit necessitated my judgment of my body. Hmmmm, why? Well, mostly because I was trying to protect against the judgement of others. Since my body in a bathing suit is primarily a thing to be measured, judged and looked at by others (mostly males) it was my duty to carefully scrutinize it myself before daring to put it on display. That’s some hard stuff. I spent most of the time in my bathing suit listening to that voice, the one that tells me that my body is something bad. Now, luckily enough, I can hear that voice as a voice now, rather than as truth, or as myself. I can see where it comes from. But listening to it, figuring out how to deal with it is tough.
After an hour at the pool, I walked with some friends (2 guys) down to a local beach. The culture of evaluation and judgement continued. The comparisons and valuation based on body were just too obvious. I might have to avoid beaches for a while. Which fucking sucks, but at this point, it makes me miserable to see all the bullshit that goes on with so many bodies on display. We sat down, and my guy friends started commenting on a guys body- doing the equvilate of the “ohhh I wish I had her (insert body part here)” and generally being insecure and ridiculous. I asked them to stop. Later, I explained that it made me feel really uncomfortable because if they were comparing themselves and others, and if they did they, wouldn’t they also probably compare me to others- and I really was tired of being a body in public space to be evaluated. I asked them how it would feel if I did that, compare myself, to other girls, and how uncomfortable they would be. Mostly, these guys are awesome, and it made me really sad to see them do this. I value them for them, I don’t care what they look like, and I wish they would too, be happy enough to not pull that bullshit. Not to mention, that one whispered to the other, “if I were gay, I would definitely do him” when I was on the phone. Smooth, now you’re giving your approval to guys by way of if you would have sex with them. Sigh again.
I went out to dinner after that, and was psychologically exhausted. But, I rallied, went home, took some deep breathes, and went out to join a friend for her birthday for drinks and dancing.
I haven’t been “out” in a long time. If I go to bars, its for a drink with friends on a evening, but I rarely frequent spots that are typically meat markety. Honestly, I had almost forgotten how fucked up that scene is. The closest I ever got that was frat parties my freshman year, and even then… it was different. I walked into the bar, and ended up being 20 min early. From the moment I walked in, I felt the confusion of what the fuck I was supposed to be doing there. I didn’t have anyone I knew, and you couldn’t really look at anyone. I mean, if you make eye contact, it feels like you’re giving a guy permission to come and invade your personal space. Literally, I felt like I couldn’t look around the bar because I would be inviting unwanted attention. I’m a resonably “attractive” person by society’s messed up standerds, and I was probably about 6′3″ wearing heels last night, so I command some attention when I enter or inhabit a room. But this can’t take away from the fact that I was a GIRL, no matter the “attractiveness,” and I had walked into a setting where I was available for consumption, once again. My desire to stand, by myself, because I felt like waiting, seemed like an unreasonable request in this setting. The setting being a public area after 10:30 at night. WTF. The fact that I didn’t feel like being accessible to guys made me to feel 1) like a bitch (classic) 2) unreasonable and 3 ) apologetic for existing in the space. Sigh again.
Well, my friends came soon enough (2 girls, 3 guys I don’t know so well.) The situation improved, it was fun to sit around and enjoy a drink. One of them (a sports freak) even said he hoped Danica would win the 500
Things were looking up.
After a bit, the birthday girl wanted to go dancing, which I was all for. I hadn’t been dancing in like 6 months, and I knew she was a blast to go dancing with (none of us really drink, so its good sober fun.) We headed over to the place.
- On the way over we got street harassed
- After excusing myself for bumping into a guy in the bar, I got touched not so subtly ’round my waist
- Taking off my layer over my dress, I got oggles and comments about my boobs
- I watch a ridiculous number of men check out me and my friends (up and down, kinda the way I would imagine you look at oh, anything non-human you’re carefully scrutinizing)
- Walking back to my car, I get the classic “hey baby, how you doing..” creeper, I give them the finger over my shoulder as I pass. Funny how fast guys can change their tone and call you a “fucking bitch.”
I mean, its almost sad and pathetic how easy this shit is to analyze. If you’re a woman and you go out to dance, you’re subject to this. And, lots of women, myself included (the voice that told me I should be hotter, skinnier, was there, and it loved getting looked at when it thought it was getting approval. It also worried a shitload about if I was good enough to have male attention. Hilarious…. if it weren’t so sad) have internalized this as a way to gain approval and feel good about themselves. Being treated like objects by men is a form of praise, and men think so to. But its straight up terrorism (thanks nine deuce) When you resist being objectified, tell a guy he’s out of line, you’re subject to more violence as they defend their right to treat you like shit. Not to mention its not my responsiblity to educate every guy who pulls this stuff. But being approached respectfully would be really cool. The ONE highlight of the night
I’m dancing with my friends and a guy bumps into me
Guy- Oh hey, I’m sorry about that
Me- Yeah, don’t worry about it
Guy- I’m really sorry…. hey what’s your name
Me- I’m (insert my name here)
Guy- Nice to meet you, I’m (insert whatever his name was) ……… do you want to dance?
Me- No thank you, but I appreciate you asking. A lot of guys wouldn’t.
Guy- Oh, ok, well… I didn’t bump into you on accident.
Me- Yeah… I kinda figured.
Guy- ok, welll……
Me- have a good night!
I mean at least the guy bothered to have a conversation with me (I mean, kinda), ask my name, and was honest about his intentions. In other words, he treated me like a human being. So hooray. Sadly enough, after that I almost felt like I should have danced with him out of thanks…. for being a normal human being to me. Oh jeeeze.
The sadder thing is, I can see how this shit happens to girls are drunker, wearing less clothing etc and it gets blamed on them. No one should be subject to this, no one deserves to be treated like this. When I discussed this later with the BF (who has since apologized about the GTA thing, and kinda gets it) he actually asked what would be a good role for men when out in night life situations, tying to meet girls. YAY dudes for asking questions!