the patriarchy: you can’t live with it….that is all | The Second Awakening

Greetings, ducks! Sorry about the delay since yesterday’s post, but I had to call a carpenter in–it seems my (quirky, writerly, rolltop) desk had developed a mysterious dent ever since I started using Google Reader to search for stories with the keyword “feminism.” Oddly enough, the dent seemed to fit my forehead perfectly, and got deeper after each one of the mysterious headaches I seem to be suffering from–strange.

However, in any case, I now have a nice shiny new desktop, and it’s time to take a look at what Google brought me today–oh. Oh, dear. Something titled “Hating Feminism.”

Well, let’s not be hasty; maybe it’s a feminist response to people who hate feminists! My heart leaps! See, it starts well:

I know to a degree where she’s coming from. A lot of the feminist-bashing is nothing more than people taking their personal problems and putting a political spin on it. But, of course, NOW is not responsible if you can’t get sex or can’t get your wife to respect you.

Well, not great, but not bad.

We’ve all seen those people. All their stories are about someone taking advantage of them. But even before the stories started, we knew just by looking at them that we are about to deal with a loser.

But that doesn’t negate that feminism has become a cancer. Many of the complaints against the feminists are the same as against Civil Rights warriors.

Oh dear.

Women will acknowledge that a big, tall man who’s in great shape is stronger than they are. What they don’t realize is that a 5-foot-3 110 pound high school boy is still vastly stronger than any woman who’s not taking steroids (aka male hormones).

Riiight…I forgot, that high school kid can whup Laila Ali one hand behind his back–because he’s stronger than every woman in the world.

Women get into an aggressive pose if you ever say that they can’t do something as well. But of course you can’t do some things as well, and you can’t do anything on an exceptional level (historic inventions, Nobel prizes).

Even when you look at things that women do much more than men (write poetry, cook, design clothes), almost all the great ones are male.

Right, because of ten millenia of denying women access to education, devaluing all work they do, and institutional sexism wherever people (read: men) do work for money that women traditionally have done for free, that in no way invalidates your argument. It’s all about the biology, right? I can take comfort in that, scientifically proven….wait a second.

I’m not exactly all about the biology, you know.

The worst outrage (other than the claim by feminists in Sweden that men should be forced by law to sit on toilets like women rather than stand) is the feminist demand that all men’s room become unisex while the women’s bathrooms remain for females only. The logic is that women always have to wait in line and men don’t, so that’s just unfair.

Okay, seriously? Do not take a trans person on about the bathroom.

No society treated women as well as the West. White men didn’t put you in wooden shoes to make your feet unnaturally small, didn’t cut off your clitoris, didn’t “Honor Kill” women for being rape victims. Whether a white woman chose to be a nun or a prostitute or anything in between, she was treated with at least some level of respect.

I’m going to laugh here. Because this has to be satire, right? Because we all know how well prostitutes are treated in our society, right? I mean, they have respect, which is why so many upper-class women have traditionally turned to prostitution; you know, Victorian gentlemen went on the Grand Tour, Victorian ladies went On the Job.

Is there any way you could make your satire richer?

(Update after this was already written: I was originally thinking of writing “whore” instead of “prostitute”, but decided not to because I thought people would react to it negatively. Upon re-reading this, I realized that this in and of itself made my point – Westerners do not accept gratuitous degradation of even the lowest class women.)

I think…I think you need to, I don’t know–I was going to say “take a women’s studies course” but I think I’ll start with, “meet a woman.”

I’ll just…just read a little more…I’m feeling woozy…

Just as blacks have a very special way of looking at things (black-dominated NBA is good, but white-dominated swimming is an outrage), so too do the feminists. That they dominate the Angry Bitch Studies and departments like Sociology is just taken for granted, but all hell breaks loose every time feminazis find out that engineering or physics departments are mostly male.

*thump*

Wow, look at that–there’s already a new dent in my desk.

I think I better keep that carpenter on speed-dial.

I wear makeup. Almost everyday. In fact, I’m writing this from a nail salon, where some nice ladies are tackling my feet with a belt sander.

Now, when I say makeup, I mean just any old cosmetic. Most days, it’s just some lipstick, and long-wear stuff at that, so I don’t have to touch it up during the day; when I have to do a client visit, or am going out on the town, I’ll add some blush and eye makeup. The whole deal takes about five minutes.

I wasn’t always so minimalist. When I first began to present as female outside of my apartment, I wore a lot of makeup. Some of it was by necessity: beard shadow is tough to hide, so heavy foundation was usually called for. Some of it, of course, was just wanting to wear makeup, because most of the time I didn’t allow myself to.

Since those days, I’ve done various things (like electrolysis) to make my life easier. Yet I still wear makeup, and as I am an introspective feminist, I wonder about what it says about me that I do.

Part of the reason is definitely to avoid any “OMGITSADOOODLOLZ”. The last time I went out of the house without wearing lipstick (about a year ago) I got “clocked” (picked out as trans) rather nastily. At six a.m. Before I’d had any coffee.

Such trouble, I don’t need.

Another reason is that I actually like to wear makeup, at least some of the time. I like the way it makes me look. I like the way that liking the way I look makes me feel, just as I like how I feel when I think I’m wearing a nice-looking outfit.

This is obviously a bit more problematic.

Because there’s no doubt that doing so feeds into negative stereotypes of how a woman is supposed to look, dress, and act. There’s little doubt in my mind that most of these are patriarchalist; that many are demeaning to women; that they constitute an ongoing backlash against women who dared be more than adjuncts to male sexuality.

I mean, hey, I’ve read Naomi Wolfe, I get all that.

But in my case it’s even more complicated. Because, you see, I never had a girlhood; I didn’t spend my childhood having lessons about what is proper or popular drummed into my head; and because of that, my relationship to fashion and cosmetics is a lot less complicated than most women my age.

I’m a bit like my friend Joanna. (Not that it matters, but she’s not trans.) She didn’t spend her high school or even early-adult years worrying that much about the latest clothes, the hippest trends. But around the time that I began to become interested in finding clothes I thought made me look good, instead of clothes that just made me look like a woman, she became interested in fashion. And she’s now one of the most fashionable people I know, though not trendy or consumed with a passion for the next unattainable fashion accessory.

For both of us, our clothes, our makeup, our appearance is a lot more about the pleasure we get from it than a pressure to fit in. I won’t deny that pressure exists–of course it does; but we both feel a lot more comfortable resisting it.

Or like I said before, we dress the way we do because of how it makes us feel, not because of how we feel we have to.

Ariel Levy said something in Female Chauvinist Pigs that I think gets at what I’m saying:

Monitoring her appearance and measuring the response to it have been her focal point. If her looks were a kind of hobby–if dressing and grooming and working out were things she did for pleasure–then the process would be its own reward. But she spoke of her pursuit as a kind of Sisyphean duty, one that many of her friends had charged themselves with as well.

I guess what I’m saying is that I definitely don’t feel the Sisyphean duty part of that equation.

But by the same token, I can’t help thinking about exactly how much I’m co-opted with the use of standards of beauty to repress women, that I can’t help but think that while I may feel good for wearing certain clothes, that’s only because the patriarchal culture around me tells me that I should, that these shoes/skirts/jeans make you feel good, and those (comfortable) shoes/(not-tight) skirts/(loose enough to breathe in) jeans won’t. It’s hard to sort out and the only thing that comforts me is that a lot of other women my age struggle to sort it out too.

But I’m still going to wear lipstick. Because more than one “LOLZURAGUYYYY” is too much. Hell, one was already too much.