Thank you, Caitlin Moran!
In my stack of summer reading which, let's face it, really isn't that seasonal, there is fiction, memoir, classic, spiritual thought, more memoir, and a few re-reads that include texts I had to read for history classes at school. (Go ahead. Judge me.) Wedged between C.S. Lewis and Alain de Botton is Caitlin Moran's How To Be A Woman. I read a synopsis, then previewed selections from the first few chapters. After a few laughs, it was added to the stack of books then devoured this past weekend. As I expected, it made me laugh. It made me think. It made me address issues I'm conflicted about. And it made me write her a long-winded e-mail of gratitude.
Previous to reading the book, I tended to avoid engaging in any serious talk on feminism because I had encountered largely negative stereotypes. Remember my crazy English professor?--the one that called an audible and switched Brit Lit to Scottish Literature the first day of class?--because they're all part of the UK?--because he loves Scotland and has been there five times? Yeah. He was a feminist. And I hated him with pulsating hot waves of passionate rage. Any exposure I had to self-proclaimed feminists was extremely abrasive. Did being a feminist mean I needed to be angry all the time? Be a man-hater? Walk around exclusively in itchy-looking trousers? And that whole bra-burning business...no. Just no. My internship in the fight against human trafficking had opened my eyes to attitudes at home and abroad that are still largely against freedom for women. My small office was full of strong women focused on justice, and my assumption is that they identified as "feminist." But we never sat down and talked about it. I left my internship more aware of sexism and misogyny, but still wary of that thing called feminism.
After the first few pages of How To Be A Woman, I came to realize any of my previous interactions with feminism had been with a warped version interpretation of the movement. And I'm not just referring to my crazy Brit Scottish Lit prof. This false version of feminism told me:
1. I shouldn't want true love (because love is weak and I need to be strong)
2. I shouldn't want marriage (because marriage is a prison where I will slowly rot)
3. I shouldn't want kids (because children are a trap and must be avoided at all costs)
And so I spent my 20's running from them, because I needed to make womankind proud. I did not want to be the weak link.
But How To Be A Woman took me in, without condescension, and explained a few things. Somewhere between talk of shaving rituals and death-defying acts in platform heels, I found acceptance. I found someone who feels the same way I do about the way women are photographed and plastered on magazine covers and portrayed in ads. I'm not empowered by submissive poses. I don't feel free upon seeing gravity-defying PhotoShop-enhanced cleavage and pouty lips. I usually feel a rant coming on. And ladies, a good point: you look much more appealing when you smile. How To Be A Woman made me smile a lot. It offered another facet. It made me laugh. It made me think. It gave me permission to accept myself. My quirky geeky-ness. My hopes and dreams. Having someone who taught her toddlers to cry "Damn you, the patriarchy!" talk about her husband and kids gave me permission to admit I'd like to fall in love, get married, and raise a family (of budding feminists, of course.) I needed to hear that in wanting those things--love, marriage and family--I am not spitting in the face of the feminism. My hopes and dreams are not in discord with freedom for women. Or humanity for that matter. As it is said: "Thumbs up for the six billion."
So thank you, Caitlin Moran. Your candor in addressing feminism eased my fear and trepidation surrounding the topic. It was disarming and I wasn't even preparing for a fight! I've always envisioned our foremothers staring sternly down their noses at me, shaking their heads in disappointment, whilst I mumble "I'm tryyyyying" in exasperation. For the life of me, I can't keep a job. Three times, companies I've worked for "reorganized" and eliminated my position along with those of my entire team. What do you do? I usually shake my fist in the air, then dust myself off, and start over. Sometimes, loathe as I am to admit it, I get weepy at movies. Star Wars is a chief offender. "Return of the Jedi" gets me every time. And as if random tears at the end of a sci-fi trilogy aren't enough, I still don't know what I'm doing with my life. I think my 21-year-old self intuitively knew my 20's would be a bit tumultuous, and I created a "30 Things To Do Before I'm 30" list to keep myself from drifting into despair. The only rule was that the items on that list could only depend on me. Hence "get married" was not an option. But "try sushi," "go skydiving," and "fly an airplane" all made the list. (I also said "publish a book." I have 327 days. Mehhh.) As I crossed into the twilight of my 20's, I took a more philosophical approach to the list. I realized I don't just want a life; I want a life well-lived. I want to spend my time gathering experiences. As far as my career goes, I spent my 20's doing what I assumed to be "practical"--things that would make women proud, like chasing corporate jobs, wearing power suits, mastering heels, and acquiring an MBA. Things that, in my head, would make people take me seriously. After a decade of struggle, I'm finally embracing what I always deemed as my non-practical, creative side; my truer self. I can't tell you the last time I used anything I learned whilst pursuing my MBA. Finally accepting myself for who I am sans heels may turn out to be the most practical move yet. After all, my experience has taught me to not rely on a job. I cannot place my faith in a corporation; I cannot place my sense of self-worth in a title. I've lost too many jobs in the name of a company's bottom line. However, I can find my identity in my value as a woman. In fact, I can revel in it. I'm a woman, and that's pretty awesome! Now that I've cleared that up, I can really get to work. How To Be A Woman crossed my path at precisely the right moment during this mental renaissance I'm experiencing. (High five.)
Because of you, I am embracing feminism. I'm not afraid of it anymore. No more "I'm kinda sorta...maybe a feminist?" I have over 50 pages of notes from chasing thoughts your book provoked. I'm wearing my glasses more and giving the contacts a rest. I don't always shave my legs and I'm not straightening my hair everyday. I dug up the old sketch book and made a commitment to write everyday, whether a tweet, a blog post, a journal entry, or creative stuff. I am determined to master yoga's crow pose, the "kakasana." Maybe along the way, I'll meet a good guy who isn't afraid of feminism. Or yoga. Who also likes accumulating experiences. Who thinks climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro sounds like a good adventure and isn't afraid of kids. He'll never make me choose between Han Solo and Indiana Jones and he'll be confident enough to accept the fact that I occasionally require alone time to function properly. (It also wouldn't hurt if he can cook. I'm kind of like the Muppets' Swedish Chef in the kitchen. Börk börk börk. Part of my aforementioned warped feminist understanding was that knowing my way around the kitchen was a slap in the face to those who have gone before. I'm slowly learning, but gosh I am hungry a lot.)
So. All of that to say thank you for sharing your experiences with honesty and humor. Well done. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Previous to reading the book, I tended to avoid engaging in any serious talk on feminism because I had encountered largely negative stereotypes. Remember my crazy English professor?--the one that called an audible and switched Brit Lit to Scottish Literature the first day of class?--because they're all part of the UK?--because he loves Scotland and has been there five times? Yeah. He was a feminist. And I hated him with pulsating hot waves of passionate rage. Any exposure I had to self-proclaimed feminists was extremely abrasive. Did being a feminist mean I needed to be angry all the time? Be a man-hater? Walk around exclusively in itchy-looking trousers? And that whole bra-burning business...no. Just no. My internship in the fight against human trafficking had opened my eyes to attitudes at home and abroad that are still largely against freedom for women. My small office was full of strong women focused on justice, and my assumption is that they identified as "feminist." But we never sat down and talked about it. I left my internship more aware of sexism and misogyny, but still wary of that thing called feminism.
After the first few pages of How To Be A Woman, I came to realize any of my previous interactions with feminism had been with a warped version interpretation of the movement. And I'm not just referring to my crazy Brit Scottish Lit prof. This false version of feminism told me:
1. I shouldn't want true love (because love is weak and I need to be strong)
2. I shouldn't want marriage (because marriage is a prison where I will slowly rot)
3. I shouldn't want kids (because children are a trap and must be avoided at all costs)
And so I spent my 20's running from them, because I needed to make womankind proud. I did not want to be the weak link.
But How To Be A Woman took me in, without condescension, and explained a few things. Somewhere between talk of shaving rituals and death-defying acts in platform heels, I found acceptance. I found someone who feels the same way I do about the way women are photographed and plastered on magazine covers and portrayed in ads. I'm not empowered by submissive poses. I don't feel free upon seeing gravity-defying PhotoShop-enhanced cleavage and pouty lips. I usually feel a rant coming on. And ladies, a good point: you look much more appealing when you smile. How To Be A Woman made me smile a lot. It offered another facet. It made me laugh. It made me think. It gave me permission to accept myself. My quirky geeky-ness. My hopes and dreams. Having someone who taught her toddlers to cry "Damn you, the patriarchy!" talk about her husband and kids gave me permission to admit I'd like to fall in love, get married, and raise a family (of budding feminists, of course.) I needed to hear that in wanting those things--love, marriage and family--I am not spitting in the face of the feminism. My hopes and dreams are not in discord with freedom for women. Or humanity for that matter. As it is said: "Thumbs up for the six billion."
So thank you, Caitlin Moran. Your candor in addressing feminism eased my fear and trepidation surrounding the topic. It was disarming and I wasn't even preparing for a fight! I've always envisioned our foremothers staring sternly down their noses at me, shaking their heads in disappointment, whilst I mumble "I'm tryyyyying" in exasperation. For the life of me, I can't keep a job. Three times, companies I've worked for "reorganized" and eliminated my position along with those of my entire team. What do you do? I usually shake my fist in the air, then dust myself off, and start over. Sometimes, loathe as I am to admit it, I get weepy at movies. Star Wars is a chief offender. "Return of the Jedi" gets me every time. And as if random tears at the end of a sci-fi trilogy aren't enough, I still don't know what I'm doing with my life. I think my 21-year-old self intuitively knew my 20's would be a bit tumultuous, and I created a "30 Things To Do Before I'm 30" list to keep myself from drifting into despair. The only rule was that the items on that list could only depend on me. Hence "get married" was not an option. But "try sushi," "go skydiving," and "fly an airplane" all made the list. (I also said "publish a book." I have 327 days. Mehhh.) As I crossed into the twilight of my 20's, I took a more philosophical approach to the list. I realized I don't just want a life; I want a life well-lived. I want to spend my time gathering experiences. As far as my career goes, I spent my 20's doing what I assumed to be "practical"--things that would make women proud, like chasing corporate jobs, wearing power suits, mastering heels, and acquiring an MBA. Things that, in my head, would make people take me seriously. After a decade of struggle, I'm finally embracing what I always deemed as my non-practical, creative side; my truer self. I can't tell you the last time I used anything I learned whilst pursuing my MBA. Finally accepting myself for who I am sans heels may turn out to be the most practical move yet. After all, my experience has taught me to not rely on a job. I cannot place my faith in a corporation; I cannot place my sense of self-worth in a title. I've lost too many jobs in the name of a company's bottom line. However, I can find my identity in my value as a woman. In fact, I can revel in it. I'm a woman, and that's pretty awesome! Now that I've cleared that up, I can really get to work. How To Be A Woman crossed my path at precisely the right moment during this mental renaissance I'm experiencing. (High five.)
Because of you, I am embracing feminism. I'm not afraid of it anymore. No more "I'm kinda sorta...maybe a feminist?" I have over 50 pages of notes from chasing thoughts your book provoked. I'm wearing my glasses more and giving the contacts a rest. I don't always shave my legs and I'm not straightening my hair everyday. I dug up the old sketch book and made a commitment to write everyday, whether a tweet, a blog post, a journal entry, or creative stuff. I am determined to master yoga's crow pose, the "kakasana." Maybe along the way, I'll meet a good guy who isn't afraid of feminism. Or yoga. Who also likes accumulating experiences. Who thinks climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro sounds like a good adventure and isn't afraid of kids. He'll never make me choose between Han Solo and Indiana Jones and he'll be confident enough to accept the fact that I occasionally require alone time to function properly. (It also wouldn't hurt if he can cook. I'm kind of like the Muppets' Swedish Chef in the kitchen. Börk börk börk. Part of my aforementioned warped feminist understanding was that knowing my way around the kitchen was a slap in the face to those who have gone before. I'm slowly learning, but gosh I am hungry a lot.)
So. All of that to say thank you for sharing your experiences with honesty and humor. Well done. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
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