Can you believe that as recently as the last century, men were acting like the female orgasm was a myth? This, of course, being yet another mechanism of control via pleasure denial for women, but I would like to remind you that every time you have an orgasm, a feminist gets her wings. A woman who is fully in control of her body and her pleasure is an asset in the gender war, because freedom for our bodies, freedom for our minds and control of our own sexuality is what men fear most. Why else would they try to take it from us? Do your part for the feminist cause, have an orgasm today.
“My mom still wears makeup, even when it’s just me and my Dad. I don’t get it,” she said over brunch. I tried not to roll my eyes too hard lest they get stuck in the back of my head permanently, but stomaching my eggs over my roommate’s birthday meal while his girlfriend tried to talk about feminism was a bit difficult at the moment.
This is a concept that I run across occasionally during the feminist conversation: the notion that the pursuit of beauty is counterproductive to the feminist cause. As a woman who wears lipstick every day, I would like everyone to know: no, it is not. Just because you’ve decided to stop shaving your legs and looking attractive in a conventional way does not mean that your dedication to gender equality (or female superiority, whichever brand of feminist you are) is more sincere.
It’s easy to confuse young women by telling them that letting their mustaches grow out will help them get more in touch with their femininity, and, hey, if that works for you, then that’s great. However, much in the same way that a man cannot tell a woman that she should shave or wear high heels, a woman cannot tell me not to wear my high heels or shave my legs. It’s the same type of prison, just with a different gender designation. Sure, selling women beauty products is a capitalist trap in and of itself, but the desire to be beautiful – why, that’s just human, my dear.
As much as a feminist as I am, I am still a heterosexual woman, and, even when I’m having my homosexual trysts, I still want to be deemed attractive by my sexual counterparts because, well, that’s how the nature of sexual attraction works. It’s a concept that we learned about in biology class, back in sophomore year, what with the peacocks and their beautiful feathers, or the mating calls of whippoorwills – the drive for sexual reproduction drives the desire to be attractive, and from there we’ve wound up with six inch heels and mini skirts and ass implants. But don’t forget that a beautiful ass is more than a sexual play toy, but also a signifier of a woman’s ability to bear children.
Or maybe it’s the artist inside me that wants to be beautiful. That wants to seek beauty. That wants to create and to build and to make something that can inspire awe in men. It’s a fleeting feeling, but butterflies in stomach are legitimate as well, and if butterflies in stomachs is my medium of choice, then who’s to judge me? Feminists, apparently, but there’s dignity in beauty. There’s desire in beauty, and I’d like to think that looking good isn’t a weakness but a strength that can easily be coupled with my intellectual capabilities. Not to mention, in the long battle of the gender wars, why should women give up one of my personal favorite weapons: the ability to be beautiful? Because heaven knows that men are not blessed with the gift of beauty in the same way that women are, although, sure, if you want to open up conversations about the ridiculous standards of beauty that women are subjected to in America today – but, then again, I’d like to believe that each woman can think for herself and isn’t necessarily a victim to the farcical standards of “who wore what better.” But, rather, that each woman can be beautiful in her own way, and exploiting that for yourself should be an asset, not a weakness.
If you choose to be fine as fuck while fighting this gender war, well, I won’t blame you, baby girl.
My goal here is to churn out some sort of marketable, consumable product in relation to my writing, but I can’t seem to stop waking up every day and spitting out emetic little one-page snack-sized writing turds that add up to just about nothing, mathematically. No plot, no characters, just rapid fire thought after rapid fire thought that build upon each other in no discernible way and bring me no closer to any truth whatsoever. Words spew out like a clock ticks, and my decided inability to self edit seems to be nipping at my heels again. There is no story here, but maybe that’s what makes it true to life. There will be no happy endings wrapped up in magical sunsets, but, instead, a series of pursuing moments that at some points releases the neurochemical reaction of euphoria and a settled sense of happiness, but, as time goes by and the chemical dissipate into your bloodstream, there you will be, again, your happy ending gone out the window and there’s still so much laundry to do. Every day is different, and while I feel very happy about most things, sometimes I just can’t get out of bed. Or I hate my boss. Or I want to move, but there are no solutions, and I guess that, theoretically, it is the writer’s job to figure out “what is this all about?” But I feel like I’m just as confused as everyone else, the only difference is that I have a blog. I could sink into some kind of teenage depression, but today is a beautiful day to go outside and have a picnic, so I think I’ll go for a bike ride and eat some strawberries instead. Maybe happiness isn’t being the most beautiful, smartest, most successful person in the room, but, rather, being able expertly avoid the traps that unhappiness has set for you in the corners of consumption and materiality.
Oh, right, maybe I should write a book. That’s how this whole tangent started. Fuck. That’s obviously not going to happen if I continue rationalizing my sloth with some pseudo-moral invective about the vice of material possessions. But I can solve all this by going shopping.
Supposedly some brand of feminism out there is saying that we have reclaimed the word “slut.” In a manner that has supposedly neutralized the effect of racial slurs and homophobic put downs, this o…
I wrote this piece for Slutist – check it out!