I identify strongly with being a feminist. This is mostly because I really despise being told what to do. I especially hate being told what I can and cannot do based on something arbitrary, such as my sex. My sex does not give anyone the authority to dictate my behavior.
The first time I noticed that I wasn't supposed to do something based on my sex was also the first time I ever took action against it. I was in youth group, not really paying attention to anything because I was forced to be there. We broke up into small groups, because apparently the only way teenagers learn is in small groups. And as what happens in small groups, someone decides to play leader. Now, in youth group, no one fights each other for the leadership role. No one actually wants to facilitate a discussion in youth group. In my group, there was one guy who was really excited to be leader so we threw the position at him. He started us off the way most people who shouldn't be leaders do, he tried his hand at comedy: "Now ladies, you just sit back and let us men handle the discussion."
The polite response in this case is to politely giggle. I don't really giggle and apparently I wasn't raised politely, so I did not politely giggle. Instead, I did one of the rudest things imaginable: I just stared. It wasn't just any stare, it was an offended stare. Offended stares scream: LOOK AT ME! I'M OFFENDED! No one can ignore a screaming face, so naturally every face in my small group was turned toward me. Our overly enthusiastic leader, tried to make amends: "No, I was kidding! It's funny, right?" I thought my screaming face was also screaming that I didn't find him funny. Since this message wasn't getting through, I used my voice: "No, it isn't." And the next thing I knew I was leaving. I was down the stairs and in the foyer of the church, outside the sanctuary waiting for my mom to get out of Bible study. I had no idea how I had left. I didn't make a conscious decision, I just did it. Nike just took over my body. I tried to look less like a suspicious loiterer, skipping youth group as I waited. I read the prayer requests. I pretended to read my teen study Bible. Finally, my mom came out of Bible study and I melodramatically announced: "I'm never coming back here again." She didn't argue, as she was used to my over dramatic tendencies.
While my mom was fine to drop the incident and not ask questions as to why I refused to go to church again, I couldn't drop the situation. I started looking for every other instance of someone telling me that girls can't do things. I was convinced that the Youth Group Incident was not isolated.
My first discovery was in sports. Why had my mother put me in ballet, gymnastics, ice skating, sports that required spandex, glitter, and occasionally tulle. She put me in princess-y sports while she put my brother in T-ball and basketball. Even as I got older, I apparently couldn't quit spandex because I moved on from ballet to volleyball but kept the gymnastics. What makes these sports feminine? Is it because it's easy to sell gymnastics as sexy? It's a bunch of physically fit girls wearing spandex leotards demonstrating athleticism as well as grace, poise, and flexibility. I didn't realize gymnastics was considered such a "feminine" sport until I got to college and started playing rugby. Suddenly I was considered more masculine. Why? Because I hit people and wore men's shorts? Even rugby, though, is starting to be more sexualized. There are commercials of women rugby players in tiny spandex shorts and crop tops. Why must we sexualize women's sports? Even when women are being active they must also look sexy and desirable.
We ingrain this idea into women from a young age. When I was a toddler, I had my first ballet recital and was incredibly ill. However, since I wasn't throwing up, my mom was taking me to that recital. I remember feeling absolutely disgusting as my grandmother put my hair into a ballerina bun and hairsprayed the shit out of it. I remember feeling a little better as the bristles of her make up brushes tickled my face. Everything was going to be ok because I was pretty. Even if I felt horrible and didn't want to do anything but go to sleep, I was pretty so the recital and ultimately life would be great. Our looks tell the world more about ourselves than anything we could ever say. Why do we believe this? And more importantly, why do we perpetuate it in our judgments and actions?
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