A Feminist Body: Ode to the Fuzzy Ladies

I love to be sexy

I love that this body is mine

But if you 

just sexualize me

you jeapordize a 

chance to dive down 

the depths of my mind

So don't.

Don't get me wrong

I said I love this body

but I'm not just some 

superficial hottie

or naughty 

or gaudy
This body is filled and covered with stories
tales of glamour and grit and glory

I don't shave my legs

or my armpits

or my mons pubis

My hair grows free as the grass

Long and fresh --

Why don't more people do this?

I've been braless

Bare and Braless

since I was barely sixteen

My boobs are my best friend

I'd never suffocate them

because someone says nipples are unseen

I love my body

From the shape

to the skin

to the brain

in the head

which my mane

grows in.

I love my scars

and the stories they tell

Times in paradise

Times in hell

I'm a patchwork person

Look at the stitch marks 

and the skin grafts

Like the many lands

which polka-dot a world map

The blemishes

The stings

The spots

The burns

You could look at me and sexualize me

or you could look at me and learn

and know

and grow

as the grass

in the air

Like my armpit hair.

  

Book Review: The Purity Myth (otherwise titled I'm so sick of the Clean Virgin/Unclean Slut Dichotomy)

Welcome to my first book review rant.

Sooo a few months ago, I read this book called the The Purity Myth by Jessica Valenti. The book takes a critical approach to the cultural narrative told to girls about their sexuality via media, family, and sex education in the United States. If I'm totally honest, it wasn't really a shocker because I come from a pretty conservative family and had to learn on my own that a lot of the religious teachings that constructed my views toward my sexuality were, well, bullshit. I thought Valenti took a harsh approach to these people, judging them just as severely as they judge sexually active women. Yeah, it's a frustrating situation, but when I think of my poor lost family members that gave me advice during my teenage years, I don't see evil puritans... I see people who only want to make their God happy and help everyone around them make it to heaven. It's backwards and wrong, but I think the solution is through empathy, not judgement. Isn't that what we're constantly demanding when we fight to end slut shaming?
Nevertheless, Valenti has good intentions, and to paraphrase The Perks of Being a Wallflower, read it with a filter, not like a sponge. Overall, I did learn some new things, she proved a lot of connections between culture, belief, and the damage of this Virgin/Slut dichotomy that is essential to fighting misogyny. 
Since reading this book, I feel as though I've been put on high alert. I see the dichotomy in movies (ESPECIALLY kids movies), music (I'm looking at you, mainstream!), and, sadly enough, the next generation of Americans.

In my family, I'm known as the open-minded one, and even though conservative families tend to frown on progressive hippies, I can tell you confidently that they don't hesitate to call ME when they're stuck in a pickle.
So this week, I got a call from my cousin who's having boy troubles. She's only in 10th grade, but we've been close since toddler days and so we still talk often even if I'm halfway across the world. She was telling me about her current beau and how actually she's over it. Wants to be single. It's the way of the high school game.
"But I've done stuff with him!" She said to me.
"So?? If you don't like him then... uhh... break up with him!" I told her. And that's when she said something I hadn't heard in years and was hoping to never ever hear again. "Yeah but if he tells, no one will want to be with me. Guys don't want a girl who's used."
I think I vomited a little bit in my mouth when she said it. My cousin is one of the most beautiful, intelligent, athletic people I know and for her to doubt her merit because of her sexuality made me so terribly sad and frustrated for her. And that's exactly what I told her, give or take a few words.
I basically replied that it's absolutely untrue that guys won't want to be with her anymore, and if some dont, they're prude assholes whose parents are obviously raising them with morals from the 18th century and who needs that anyway?

But it did have The Purity Myth alarm bells ringing in my head. I realized how spot on Valenti really was with how deep this dichotomy goes. First my cousin was the beautiful, smart athlete, but a little sexual exploration and BAM -- concrete slut for all eternity. It's not fair. And change only exists in education. We cannot let this mindset go unchecked. So I recommend the book whole-heartedly as a part of the fourth wave foundation.

The Other Night at Natalie's

I'm watching Natalie pace the room and bite her fingernails. I want to reach out to her, but she needs the silence right now. I can feel my heart beating and I know hers is racing twice as fast. I feel nervous and my hands are sweating, but my eyes are locked on her. Her face is pointed at the ground, eyebrows furrowed, still pacing, back and forth and back again. She's holding the phone in her hand. Her hands shake at the idea of pressing the buttons. There's one number, and it's calling her so strongly that one look at that phone and her fingers will betray her.

Natalie knows there is a girl on the other side of that phone line. Even though its wireless, she feels connected to her. This girl is in serious, serious trouble. No, she's not hurt or in danger. But she's standing at a cliff right now. It's a steep cliff and the wind is blowing really hard. Normally there's proper attire and equipment for this type of weather, but this girl has brought nothing, not even a sweater, and the wind has pushed her to the edge.

Natalie knows this girl is crying for help. And people are coming to her rescue! But her fate is being gambled in the hands of people with beliefs that are illogical, unfounded, and close-minded. Natalie knows that she could really help this girl because she's had the same experience. She's been to that same cliff and stepped back. Despite everything around her telling her to jump -- her family and the beliefs they instilled in her, her friends, her boyfriend -- Natalie knew she wasn't prepared to jump. No equipment, no training, no-go. Natalie needs to call that number and tell this girl that she doesn't have to jump either. The wind may be on her back, her legs may be ready to give in, but if her heart is not there yet, there's nothing wrong with waiting. Yes, it's the advice that no one else will give to this girl. But it's advice of empathy, advice of true love. 

I watch her eyes quickly dart at me. I suddenly feel stupid for lying on her bed. Should I sit? Should I go? It's suddenly very hot. I clear my throat and look at her again. Her eyes have moved to the window. She walks over to it in sync with her pacing. Her hand still holds the phone, but she uses the other to wave at the curtain. In the sunlight I can see tears in her eyes. There's a hard lump in my throat and I don't want to swallow. It'll unblock all the tears inside of me. Natalie's fingers touch over the buttons of the phone. I know she wants to call, I know she wants to help. But if she helps, she may lose her own entire family. Suddenly, every relationship she's ever molded, cemented, cracked, fixed, loved, gone! in an instant. One phone call could do that.

But this girl has her whole life in front of her! She's about to graduate college, and almost completely debt free! Why? Because she worked her ass off all through high school AND college to pay off her loans. Yeah. But this girl is even smarter than that. She moved to America from Sierra Leone at eight years old and can now speak both English and Spanish fluently on top of her native French. She wants to go back to Sierra Leone one day and give back everything she's gotten in her life abroad. She wants there to be a future in Sierra Leone like the present she enjoys here. She loves life. She makes jokes. She smiles. That big toothy smile that makes everything feel happy. She's beautiful. She's beautiful because she's worked so hard, and she knows it, and she's happy. And that same girl is now in distress -- serious, serious distress -- and Natalie might be the only one with real guidance to give.

Natalie needs to call that number, but the only thing stopping her is the one thing she cannot bear to imagine: Confessing her secret abortion. Because depending on how this girl takes something as "controversial" as that, a conversation like the one Natalie wants to have has the potential to get back to this girl's boyfriend. And this girl's boyfriend happens to be the cousin of Natalie.

I'm watching Natalie's whole body as it quivers. Her knees give a bit, but her feet are firm. I feel nervous and my hands are sweating. I can feel my heart beating and know hers is racing twice as fast.

This cousin isn't some long lost relative. This cousin isn't just a childhood pal. This cousin is the son of Natalie's Uncle Ben. Uncle Ben who is the older brother of Natalie's father. The best friend of Natalie's father. The mentor of Natalie's father. Uncle Ben who joked about running for congress during Thanksgiving and then bragged about casual lunches with Republican politicians at Christmas dinner. Uncle Ben who is the community pastor with the pious morale of a self-righteous priest. Uncle Ben who held a youth sermon called, "The Only Safe Sex is No Sex". Uncle Ben the passionate anti-choice activist. Uncle Ben whose son has gotten his girlfriend pregnant and is pressuring her into raising a child because anything else is "murder".

And if Natalie calls, she has the potential to end all of this madness.
And if Natalie calls, she has the potential to destroy her entire family.
And I'm watching Natalie pace the room and bite her fingernails.
And I want to reach out to her, but I know she needs the silence right now.

One phone call with the potential to save a life,
One phone call with the potential to destroy another.

What would you do?

My Weird Relationship With Shaving

Coming out again: I haven't regularly shaved my armpits or vagina in almost 10 months.

The boycott started in response to this ad gag:

I got a really bad feeling in my stomach from this ad. And I wasn't the only one. Thousands of comments flooded veet's social media networks complaining that these ads were body-shaming and insulting. I was glad to not be alone. I couldn't imagine how I'd feel if these commercials were written off as "wacky, tongue-in-cheek humor" as Veet said in an apology after the backlash.

Again, it goes back to feminism is the fight for gender equality. I believe gender equality begins by becoming aware of the gender binary, its narrative in society, and the behavioral confines it establishes for people of conventional and non-conventional identities. I believe that my greatest responsibility as a feminist is to challenge these structures and de-sexualize behaviors and attitudes that limit and/or judge people outside of status-quo. It's why I always try to get the little girls and boys I teach to use other colors than just blue, green, pink, and purple during arts and crafts time. (I must say, it's amazing the way a 4 year old has already internalized this outlook of pink=girl, blue=boy). It's why I'm open to men wearing make up. And it's also why I've stopped shaving.

After Veet infamously highlighted the severity of this social expectation, I began researching hair removal for aesthetic purposes and came across some interesting, and disturbing, revelations.

1) The idea to remove hair for beauty did not begin with men suddenly desiring a completely hairless woman and it did not begin with a paradigm shift among women to put hot wax all over them and then rip it off in strips, taking hair right from the roots with it. No, the idea to remove female body hair began with an ad campaign in 1915 for Gillette. The razor company. That's right. Like engagement rings, Valentine's Day, and make up, companies have once again been able to convince us women that in order to be the most beautiful and loved, we need to have A, B, and C (A Bare Coochie).

2) Beyond its shoddy origins, regularly removing body hair also isn't good for human skin for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, shaving and waxing cause microscopic cuts in the skin that irritate it, causing bumps (staph boils) or ingrown hairs later. (We all know those). Perhaps more importantly, let's focus exclusively on the mons pubis (the top of your vagina where the hair grows) and think about how microscopic cuts make it easier to pass STDs..... uhh what?! Ew! Well, correlation does not always mean causation, however, there have been studies which have associated the two.

3) The worst thing I came across was this question:

What people have no hair on their vaginas?

Take a breath and think about it. Yeah, you're right: ONLY little girls.

There's something inherently disturbing about a post-pubescent woman trying to emulate a young girl's vagina in order to be "attractive" for her man. Like really... what?? I talked to my grandma about this once, and she told me she was shocked to learn that girls these days shave their pubes. She told me back in the day (60s/70s) no girls shaved like that! And while there is plenty of evidence to show that removing pubic hair is a result of porn's influence in society, let's think about the basic porn narrative: Some beautiful girl has the shit fucked out of her hairless, labia majora liposuctioned/labia minora clipped vagina (appearing almost like a little girl's) by some ridiculous guy and his artificially giant dick. Add more or less details, but porn creates a lot of misconceptions about true sex and genital beauty that's I'm not sure I want to aesthetically mirror for my bedroom experiences.

So yeah. There's a lot more that goes into this than just shave or no-shave decision you have to make each time you shower.
Can't really blame the companies. We live in a capitalistic society. It's not personal, it's profits. But when they're sending us messages in order to produce anxiety in us that we need to buy stuff in order to ease,  and we turn around and internalize that and absorb these beliefs into our culture and allow porn to intensify these insecurities, I've got a problem. 1915 is long enough that we're having a bit of cultural amnesia, but let's snap out of it.  It's the social limitations we've constructed in our minds toward and against each other that make something as absolutely meaningless as body hair suddenly a subject of insecurity. Shave or don't shave, but it doesn't make you any more or less attractive. And as much as they talk, I can guarantee you, 99.999% of guys won't turn you down because of your natural hair.

BUT......

I have to admit, sometimes I do feel self conscious with hairy armpits. At the end of the day, we're social creatures and when the society rejects you, it can hurt pretty damn bad.
As J Whitehead explains,

If feminism is about choice, then women who make the decision to embrace the Brazilian, in isolation, should be respected (although as we don’t live in a vacuum, such a choice is no mean feat). Those who succumb to peer or partner pressure, body issues or unrealistic images of femininity, should also be respected, at the same time as being treated with compassion and empathy. The politics of disgust are hugely complex and it’s not easy to stand tall and furry while people crinkle their noses in disgust at you.

It's not easy at all. Sometimes I'd conform and feel like shit after shaving. Then I'd swear to never do it again, then a few months later, I'd feel pressured and shave and the whole cycle would start over again. So I've had to really confront myself with this issue and I'm still figuring out where I stand.

But for all of the reasons above, I'll never put a razor down there again. It doesn't mean I don't groom at all, I just do it based on my own comfort level, not on some ideal society has handed me to swallow without remark. I shave my armpits ONLY when I want to. A few weeks ago, I went to the club hairy arm-pitted in a tank top and danced shamelessly. Guys still hit on me and bought me drinks, and I got to dance with my girlfriends and let them see a girl completely confident in her own skin. Two weeks later, I shaved, and now I'm letting these bad boys grow back out. I think I might even dye them. Because come on, dyed armpits are fucking cool.

So no more of this:

And a lot more of this:

 

(And no, Daily Mail, it's not bizarre, it's beautiful!)

So why do or don't you shave? Has boycotting shaving ever crossed your mind? 

(P.S. This article did not discuss legs because I haven't touched those since the 8th grade)