Ever since I cast all of my bras into the eternal flame which I usually use to sacrifice the souls of certain men, I have identified as a feminist. I am an advocate for equal rights and opportunities for all. Believe me when I say I wholeheartedly understand the wicked, conniving and iniquitous nature of some of my fellow sisterhood--but if you would rather see some certification of my undying subordination to the gloriously diabolical and infernal movement then behold my legs which I have not shaved for months. Since I have finally become more Wookiee than woman, I have been pondering what kind of feminist, and ultimately, the kind of person I am.
Apart from identifying as a feminist gorgon, I consider myself to be a nice person. No, I am not admitting to being the secret lovechild of Jesus Christ and Mother Theresa. I thank the bus driver when getting off the bus, and keep my elbows off the table, and abstain from removing my shoes in class unlike some of you psychopaths. While this delicious little list has not directed your attention away from the fact that I am addicted to cup noodles and that I eat little babies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the truth is that I am aware of how nice I am because I constantly go out of my way to do so every single day, and I despise it. I hate being nice. Even today, some girls find that they’ve been subconsciously programmed to put the needs and wants of others above their own because we have been taught to be nice. This idea of being responsible for the happiness and comfort of everyone else is so ingrained in the minds of some--and making ourselves likable is just a part of the job.
But, I have noticed that whenever I go out of my way to be nice, I am being a bad feminist. I am a bad feminist when I shave and pluck my eyebrows (sorry Frida Kahlo) because my parents say others would be disgusted if I didn’t. I’m a bad feminist when I politely brush aside each and every single male advance in the nicest way possible, because I “feel bad” for giving him the wrong impression. I am a bad feminist when I trickle my boundless time and energy into someone who is lukewarm towards my existence because I feel that bestowing my emotional support is my moral obligation. Just recently, I noticed the women in my life are more intuitive than the men, and when I think about how we were raised, it makes so much sense. While some girls are raised with dolls to look after, some boys are given balls to throw and toy guns to shoot. I noticed that while boys are taught to be action-oriented and suppressive of emotion, girls are taught to seep our energy outwards, to nurture those around us. It isn’t breaking news that women are almost always more emotionally in tune with the feelings and needs of others.
Sometime last year I was afraid of being called a (B-word) by a cat caller for not responding to his remarks. Thinking back, I find that it was the most absurd thing I have heard of after the fact that frogs vomit their whole stomach and empty it out with their hands when they need to puke. Today, women stray away from the idea of being (expletive) out of fear. One of the most unfortunate ploys of the patriarchy constructed by egotistical men with smaller than average endowments is that men use the term "B-word" to reduce women, to frighten women away from wielding their confidence and dignity. As upsetting as it is, it makes sense--nothing is more intimidating than a woman who lives breathlessly and audaciously, who is unapologetic and pursues whatever she wants. Without the crown title of (expletive) to reign us, this world would be a truly terrifying place where men would be scared to stand up for themselves in the workplace, or walk down the street alone at night and I just can not begin to understand how truly frightening that must be.
I am not implying we should take our shoes off in class (please don’t, no one wants to see your Pickle Rick socks) or stop giving up our seats on the bus for the elderly or stop giving compliments to strangers. Actually, you should give out many more compliments: all directed to me. What I am ultimately saying is that we should not strive to be liked, and we shouldn’t have to make sure everyone is always one-hundred percent okay. Also, it is definitely not our job to cater and hush down mediocre boys (with less than mediocre guitar skills) because we have better things to do like self care and pasta pressing and reading frog facts and total world domination. If being (expletive) means valiantly and unapologetically chasing whatever you want and being nefariously yourself, then I want in, take my debit card, my soul, my left kidney, and my firstborn child and sign me up because I am done with being nice. I no longer want to feel burdened for taking up space or speaking my mind because being myself feels so much more rewarding than sucking it up and being likable. I really mean it when I say… this world can use many more (expletive).
