10 january 2008
513pm (cst)
austin, texas.
i'm probably ruining my body
with this diet of cigarettes, coffee
and longing.
my eyes burn from the month old
makeup caked onto my lashes
and the incessant stream of smoke
that finds its way into my face.
i sit in starbuck's daily,
with a pen and my observance.
a woman picked up my scrap of paper today.
i wonder if her mind danced around
my question...
"who designed beauty?"
if she discussed with with her
husband/boyfriend/gay...
i wonder if she'll ask herself
that question tonight, before bed,
brushing her teeth in the mirror...
or next week, getting ready for work.
maybe she'll recall it the next time
she sees an add for guess or vodka.
the next time she sees a celebrity
torn apart in the tabloids,
the next time she's in victoria's secret.
or maybe, she put it out of her mind
as quickly as it came in.
we are sometimes so afraid to face
ourselves.
as a culture or as an individual.
i've watched hordes of pre-teen girls sway
their narrow, 70$ jean-clad hips through this shop all day.
abercrombie pants, hollister tee shirt,
5.00$ frappucino, ugg boots, french tips.
1996 birthday, no period, baby bras. double a.
i feel so sorry for these girls.
the moulds that have been poured for them -
by the media, their peers, the constant barrage
of "grow up fast!" messages, hannah montana -
are getting increasingly harder to break from.
so hard that they may never acknowledge
the existence of their cramped boxes.
they don't even realise they're suffocating,
so there's no other known option.
there were two girls doing their homework
at the table next to mine,
as i sat reading "bitch" and occasionally
scribbling notes to myself in my book.
at around 545, one of the girls packed her things
to go.
the other - a tall, lithe, dark-haired girl
with glasses like my own -
stayed.
she'd been staring at me and my reading material
for most of the time,
when she wasn't happily yelling into her cell phone
or laughing with her friend over some
middle school inside joke.
i caught her eye more than once
while i was outside, ruining my lungs.
she finally got up and sort of hovered
around my table for what seemed like minutes.
i'm always hyper aware of someone's prescene
when it gets that close.
i looked up at her and smiled.
i can be inviting when i choose to be.
which is often. i'm nice.
she asked what the magazine was.
i guess the word "bitch" in neon green is eyecatching.
i told her it was about feminism.
"what's that?"
my heart sunk a little.
she's old enough to know,
it's just that no one's ever exposed her to such a concept.
i tried to come up with a concise definition.
told her that it's about women,
our place in society, our experiences.
our differences, uniqueness, similarities.
i told her she should look into it,
since she's a girl and it's important
for girls to know what the deal is.
she stared at me for a minute.
sort of blank, sort of processing.
"my mom would never let me read something
with a bad word."
i told her that if she could get on the internet,
she should. and look it up.
she said okay and went back
to her table, with her sixth grade math homework
and her hot pink messanger bag,
emblazoned with nautical stars and the words
"ROCK STAR!"
written in rhinestones.
i wish i wasn't losing hope for girls
after my generation.
there are times when i think of myself
as existing within the context of this society,
as a whole.
usually, i do not.
i don't consider myself to be "on the fringe,"
because i know i'm not.
but, i tend to surround myself with like-minds,
share ideas with like-minds
and take small steps in swaying strangers
to like-minded concepts.
of course, i'm open to anything
that anyone else has to say, and i never
impede on others' beliefs,
unless they're blatantly harmful to others.
my mind doesn't exist
in the cultural faux-pas
that is deemed "normal."
i fuck girls, help strangers and
leave pieces of my thoughts in public bathrooms,
soaking up water behind the sink.
i involve myself with so much
that wouldn't be considered "normal,"
yet, i still participate in societal intakes
like starbuck's, make-up and ipods.
and catch myself in plate glass mirrors
thinking how imperfect i am.
i think it's hard to escape completely
the generalities that create our society.
does that make me a bad person?
a weak one, perhaps.
maybe just wholly confused.
conscious, but confused.
feminism is such an interestingly
diverse and paradoxical idea.
there is the definition of what a
"feminist" is, as understood
by feminists.
(female/male)
the definition, as understood
by non-feminists.
(female/male)
and smaller, more intricate definitions
within both catagories.
(humans)
within both catagories,
what it comes down to, is that
even self-proclaimed feminists,
who are fighting with the feminist movement,
alongside other feminists,
don't agree on any concrete definitions
of their own label.
not to say that a general idea of
what constitutes "feminism"
is unknown, it is.
it's just that, as with all human constructs,
there are and always will be shifting concepts
and generally accepted, but malleable,
"truths."
it's tedious how thoroughly
we attempt to define ourselves with
preconceived titles.
instead of simply creating connections
with people of similar minds
and existing at times within
and at times outside of those connections,
we make our boxes,
hang out "no ______ allowed" signs
at the entrance to our hearts
and shield our eyes
to dim our consciousness.
not all of "us"
(read: "humankind") -
just a seemingly vast majority.
and the feminist/queerfem cultures
are no different.
as much as we'd like to tell ourselves we are.
and have everyone believe we are.
whatever lets you sleep, right?
we judge each other
and are subject to judgement.
maybe less, but it's still there.
why?
there are still (sub-)cultural impositions
and standards of what is "right"
and what is "wrong."
there is still things left unspoken
for fear of backlash/reaction.
why?
we're all working towards
a common goal,
the second you decide you are
a feminist,
you are on board for all that
title entails.
however, you step out of place,
you admit your eating disorder,
you homeschool your kids,
thus releasing you from the workforce,
you work for a man of power,
and you are thrown by your own kind,
onto your own.
or at the very least, given shit.
for your decisions. as a woman.
although, as with anything,
ideas formed in the synapses
of the human brain are intrinsically
bias.
perhaps, it stems from that.
we all want our own eyes
to be the ones that everyone
sees through. |
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