Inspired mostly by many posts of the fantastic Dw3t-Hthr, but specifically by this one.
I’ll confess to having somewhat more than adequate navigational skills. I’m quite good at finding my way from point A to point B. I get lost, but I usually don’t stay lost for very long. (I’ve gotten lost twice in Memphis, once on the North side and once on the South side. Neither time for very long – well, if I turn south and keep going straight, eventually I’ll hit Sam Cooper or, oh hey, there’s Jackson Avenue, groovy, home we go! Midtown is a beautiful grid that navigates with great clarity.) And apparently, this is impressive enough that one friend went on a 15 minute ramble to another friend about what a good sense of direction I possess – mostly because after we had wandered through the Gostinii Dvor mall in search of mythical non-pay toilets, I knew in which direction Nevsky Prospect lay as soon as we walked out.
Here’s the funny thing. I can’t follow directions. At the beginning of the program our baby-sitter (program manager) kept trying to give me directions, and I just wanted him to point out the location on the map, and don’t worry, I’ll be there on time. I have to be able to visualize things. If I can look at a map, directions are useful – of course – but directions alone don’t help me much. I think in terms of geometry, not go until you see the two silos, and turn right.
According to a Discover article I once read, years and years in the past, this is the way male brains navigate. At the time, I thought it was pretty groovy that my brain did directions like a boy. Guess what, I still think it’s groovy. And – I can navigate without the Boy Scouts teaching me – hah!
I, of course, take this as personal proof that the male/female categories of gender are hardly as discrete, coherent, and eternal as the majority of people would like to think.
All in all, I’m not good at the whole “girl” thing. There’s a photo of me when I was two or three in a flouncy, pink ballet inspired dress. This is probably the last time I was doing good at being a girl. I’ve fought off the term “young lady” for as long as I can remember. It always felt confining and box-like. Role like, if you will.
– Sit up straight, you’re a young lady!
– But, I’m not a young lady!
I’ll ‘fess up to having gone through a couple of periods during my rapidly coming to close undergraduate career of trying to conform to being a “young lady.” I would try to up the standards of wardrobe a bit. Nice blouses. You know, one’s with pretty gathers, and made of lightweight fabric. Tighter fitting jeans. A pair of capri pants. No fashions that were offensive to my aesthetic eye. Every article of clothing I bought, I liked the look of on my friends, on my little sister, etc. Very pretty, very aesthetically pleasing clothing.
What happened? I felt ridiculously self-conscious in the flipping things. I would feel naked in the loose, flowing fabric. I would be acutely aware of every little crack in the facade. *ack! there’s a bit of my leg I forgot to shave! Wait! My posture doesn’t fit this outfit. They’re going to find me out!* So, inevitably, these pretty, feminine clothes would end up unworn in the back of my closet, whilst I run around in tie dyed T-shirts (or plaid shirts, of course), men’s jeans, and rope sandals.
In one such phase, I told my roommate that I wasn’t allowed to buy clothes from the men’s section and she was to enforce this. (She’s my normal shopping partner, or rather I’m her shopping partner and occasionally buy things for myself.) While following C. through various stores in the mall, I kept finding myself drawn to the men’s section. That’s such a pretty plaid! Look at those pearl buttons! Ah, those pants have so many pockets!
And, it isn’t that I absolutely detest dressing up. I normally don’t do so for classes, because I don’t see the point (I’ve only been to class in pajamas once, I promise), but yes, I recognize that there are situations which require looking neat, put together, and formal. I have one outfit that I tend to use when giving presentations or doing interviews. Black dress pants and a nicely detailed, striped, pearl-buttoned shirt (women’s even). Sometimes, I’ll even break out my high heels to go with it, because I want the extra inches. And, I feel perfectly comfortable in this outfit (provided I don’t need to walk far, but those cases I go for flats). It’s formal. It’s not masculine enough to make other people uncomfortable, and it’s not feminine enough to make me uncomfortable. Structure. Details. (Lace can be a good thing.) But not frills. All is well. I’m confident and ready to take on the world.
So here’s the ironic thing. When I’m “cross-dressing” that is wearing clothes which were manufactured with boys or men in mind or in the case of my business-formal wear inspired by traditionally male fashions, I feel perfectly nature and at home. It’s not a skirt versus pants things. A plain black skirt, mid calf or longer, doesn’t make me feel self-conscious. An awesome, funky skirt (such as the brown, black, orange, and red, huge print on polyester number I refuse to throw out) won’t make me self-conscious – it’s in a category all of its own. Put me in "feminine" clothes and I am going to be a nervous wreck, feeling like a house of cards about to fall down – doing drag and failing miserably at it.
And this has very little to do with wanting to look like a boy, or not look like a girl. It’s just that the things that I like on a garment for my own wear – patterns, straight lines, subtle but present detailing, and a certain level of practicality – show up more frequently in men’s clothing than in women’s. And since I can get away with wearing men’s clothes since I have no hips and am not well endowed in the bust area – why bother with making the distinction?
Showing posts with label clothing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clothing. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Well, I Wouldn't Do It.
But I'm rather impressed by the young woman who was navigating St. Petersburg's icy streets this morning is six inch high heels. Especially given that I nearly fell twice in my combat boots.
And, why on earth is my computer running so slow.
And, why on earth is my computer running so slow.
Monday, September 17, 2007
A Too Much Information Post: On Legs, Shaving, Make-Up, Etc.
Writing from a Dayquil induced haze in Saint Petersburg, Russia . . . A place I’m probably not girly enough to be hanging out in.
It’s now been just over a year since I last shaved my legs. No, I didn’t mark a calendar or anything like that, I just happen to know that the last time I had smooth, ‘feminine’ legs, I was creating a scandal in a knee-length, halter top dress at my mother’s second wedding. But you know, I didn’t see any other dresses I liked (and Crystal and I did the shop until you want to drop dead thing), and – according to my standards – it wasn’t an immodest number, and tell you what, next time I wear it, it’ll probably be with opaque tights. Everybody happy now? Good.
Back to my legs. They are gloriously furry. I will not subject you to photos. Know that I thought about it and tremble. Mwahaha!
So here’s the grand revelation – I quit shaving my legs because I decided that it was a silly behavior for me. I was not getting anything out of the practice except: razor burn, occasional cuts, being twitchy because I missed a spot and I’m mildly OCD, and backaches from twisting about in the shower. Probably a few other unpleasantries.
It was a very pointless practice. My legs are only slightly less hairy than those of my little brother. We both have copies of my dad’s body hair gene. My dad had to shave his face twice a day to keep the stubble down. So if I shaved the legs in the morning, by the time evening comes around they’re at that really horrible sandpaper stage. And I hate the feel of stubbly skin. I’ve actually tried a couple of ways to potentially get around this. Nair – at which my coarse leg hair laughed. At home waxing – at which my thick leg hair laughed.
Adding to the feeling of pointlessness – my usual uniform is blue jeans. Maybe dress pants. On occasion, a long ankle-length skirt. Under normal circumstances, no one sees my legs except for me (and, perhaps, my long-suffering roomie). So, not only was I not getting anything out of shaving my legs, but no one else was getting anything out of me shaving my legs.
So why was I shaving my legs? At some point, I was taught that women shave their legs. I do remember shaving as being a sort of rite of passage between being a little girl and being a young woman that I initially embraced.
But the thing is, I hadn’t been shaving my legs for myself in a number of years. I didn’t enjoy the process at all or the result for more than fifteen minutes. Part of this is that conforming to the aesthetic norms of society just isn’t that important for my psyche. When I look pretty, I don’t feel pretty – I feel awkward, and ridiculous, and like I’m wearing a mask that someone will tear off at any second. If I need to be confident and assertive (say for a presentation) – the worst possible thing I can do is femme it up. Better to break out dress pants, an oxford shirt, and a blazer – maybe a scarf in place of the tie I really want to wear. I get angry when I feel like I have to put on make-up in addition to being neat. I understand the need to be neat and tidy in appearance; I don’t comprehend the need to be pretty. The last important interview that I had, I wore make-up to, and I really think that I felt less confident because I was wearing make-up. I felt obliged to wear make-up – a point that was backed up by one friend conflating wearing make-up with being presentable. Society expects that I will attempt to be pretty. I get that other people feel more confident when they are meeting social expectations, but my brain doesn’t work that way.
(Oddly enough, I enjoy wearing make-up or feminine clothing as a part of an act or a costume. It amuses me – as long as I’m intending to be someone other than my normal self.)
And I can understand how a person can wear make-up or shave they legs entirely for their own benefit. I sometimes choose to wear eyeliner or shadow because I feel like emphasizing my eyes. I like for my clothes to coordinate in terms of color and pattern. And I’d be lying if I tried to claim that I didn’t choose my clothes to project a certain image – for me, it just appears to be more boyish, academic, flat-out grunge, or just strange. I use clothes to reinforce my sense of myself. I think it’s a problem for a person to use clothing and make-up to create a sense of self. But clothing, and make-up, and the act of shaving one’s legs (or other body parts) are neutral in and of themselves. I’m simply not a believer in doing things for reasons other than one’s own.
So, shaving my legs was a charade for me. It didn’t express anything about me, or reinforce any sense I had of myself. It was just a bother, a source of frustration, and literally, a pain. So I quit shaving my legs.
It’s now been just over a year since I last shaved my legs. No, I didn’t mark a calendar or anything like that, I just happen to know that the last time I had smooth, ‘feminine’ legs, I was creating a scandal in a knee-length, halter top dress at my mother’s second wedding. But you know, I didn’t see any other dresses I liked (and Crystal and I did the shop until you want to drop dead thing), and – according to my standards – it wasn’t an immodest number, and tell you what, next time I wear it, it’ll probably be with opaque tights. Everybody happy now? Good.
Back to my legs. They are gloriously furry. I will not subject you to photos. Know that I thought about it and tremble. Mwahaha!
So here’s the grand revelation – I quit shaving my legs because I decided that it was a silly behavior for me. I was not getting anything out of the practice except: razor burn, occasional cuts, being twitchy because I missed a spot and I’m mildly OCD, and backaches from twisting about in the shower. Probably a few other unpleasantries.
It was a very pointless practice. My legs are only slightly less hairy than those of my little brother. We both have copies of my dad’s body hair gene. My dad had to shave his face twice a day to keep the stubble down. So if I shaved the legs in the morning, by the time evening comes around they’re at that really horrible sandpaper stage. And I hate the feel of stubbly skin. I’ve actually tried a couple of ways to potentially get around this. Nair – at which my coarse leg hair laughed. At home waxing – at which my thick leg hair laughed.
Adding to the feeling of pointlessness – my usual uniform is blue jeans. Maybe dress pants. On occasion, a long ankle-length skirt. Under normal circumstances, no one sees my legs except for me (and, perhaps, my long-suffering roomie). So, not only was I not getting anything out of shaving my legs, but no one else was getting anything out of me shaving my legs.
So why was I shaving my legs? At some point, I was taught that women shave their legs. I do remember shaving as being a sort of rite of passage between being a little girl and being a young woman that I initially embraced.
But the thing is, I hadn’t been shaving my legs for myself in a number of years. I didn’t enjoy the process at all or the result for more than fifteen minutes. Part of this is that conforming to the aesthetic norms of society just isn’t that important for my psyche. When I look pretty, I don’t feel pretty – I feel awkward, and ridiculous, and like I’m wearing a mask that someone will tear off at any second. If I need to be confident and assertive (say for a presentation) – the worst possible thing I can do is femme it up. Better to break out dress pants, an oxford shirt, and a blazer – maybe a scarf in place of the tie I really want to wear. I get angry when I feel like I have to put on make-up in addition to being neat. I understand the need to be neat and tidy in appearance; I don’t comprehend the need to be pretty. The last important interview that I had, I wore make-up to, and I really think that I felt less confident because I was wearing make-up. I felt obliged to wear make-up – a point that was backed up by one friend conflating wearing make-up with being presentable. Society expects that I will attempt to be pretty. I get that other people feel more confident when they are meeting social expectations, but my brain doesn’t work that way.
(Oddly enough, I enjoy wearing make-up or feminine clothing as a part of an act or a costume. It amuses me – as long as I’m intending to be someone other than my normal self.)
And I can understand how a person can wear make-up or shave they legs entirely for their own benefit. I sometimes choose to wear eyeliner or shadow because I feel like emphasizing my eyes. I like for my clothes to coordinate in terms of color and pattern. And I’d be lying if I tried to claim that I didn’t choose my clothes to project a certain image – for me, it just appears to be more boyish, academic, flat-out grunge, or just strange. I use clothes to reinforce my sense of myself. I think it’s a problem for a person to use clothing and make-up to create a sense of self. But clothing, and make-up, and the act of shaving one’s legs (or other body parts) are neutral in and of themselves. I’m simply not a believer in doing things for reasons other than one’s own.
So, shaving my legs was a charade for me. It didn’t express anything about me, or reinforce any sense I had of myself. It was just a bother, a source of frustration, and literally, a pain. So I quit shaving my legs.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Seen too many Krystal's Commercial's, I reckon...
So, could someone explain to me why on earth all these Southern "belles" are wearing bleach blonde hair, tanning bed orange skin, and heavy black eyeliner?
It's not just Krystal's commercials. I first really noticed it at a high school basketball games. Out cheerleaders were pale as anything (cause we don't do that tanning bed nonsense in the 'Shire, least we didn't back then) while the cheerleaders for the other teams were tanned to an interesting shade of orange.
But what is up with this? I really don't get it at all. But then, I don't get most things that girls do from blow-drying their hair on out. Seriously, it's a whole recently birthed stereotype. Maybe it's the junior version of most prominent SBC ladies have hair from the eighties. I don't know.
Oh, and I also totally don't grasp the athletic shorts and a freebie T-shirt thing with the hair carefully arranged on top of the head by a headband. I'm all about comfort, mind you, what I don't get is putting effort into looking sloppy. Sloppy is one thing, but it should just happen -- without help. Shoot, if I'm going to spend time on my appearance...
Long live the tie-dye!
It's not just Krystal's commercials. I first really noticed it at a high school basketball games. Out cheerleaders were pale as anything (cause we don't do that tanning bed nonsense in the 'Shire, least we didn't back then) while the cheerleaders for the other teams were tanned to an interesting shade of orange.
But what is up with this? I really don't get it at all. But then, I don't get most things that girls do from blow-drying their hair on out. Seriously, it's a whole recently birthed stereotype. Maybe it's the junior version of most prominent SBC ladies have hair from the eighties. I don't know.
Oh, and I also totally don't grasp the athletic shorts and a freebie T-shirt thing with the hair carefully arranged on top of the head by a headband. I'm all about comfort, mind you, what I don't get is putting effort into looking sloppy. Sloppy is one thing, but it should just happen -- without help. Shoot, if I'm going to spend time on my appearance...
Long live the tie-dye!
Monday, May 7, 2007
But What About the Men?! Modesty Issues
Warning the following is riddled with holes from sarcasm bullets and may contain instances of TMI. Reader discretion is advised. :) (I feel like this should be a sound clip in that sexy voice Fox now uses for the viewer discretion is advised message.)
In some ways, I'm a prude. Please, please, please, my fellow young women, don't come to class with a light swimsuit cover-up on -- your metallic bronze bikini is distracting me! Save it for the appropriate context -- the pool. Of course, the last time I was wearing a dress, I think I managed to scandalize a handful of elders and a coterie of church ladies. It was a nice brown halter-top number. (Yes, there was a reason to be formal -- otherwise my frumpy self would have been in dress pants and a button-up shirt.) Of course, I also suspect that the church ladies thought my roomie was my girlfriend, as there's been a nice cloud of suspicion floating about me for some time. Buying that dress took overcoming six years of active programming to cover my shoulders and back. (I had the same battle with wearing sleeveless tops -- I nearly called someone to celebrate the first day I made it through a whole day wearing one.) Actually, I hate the term modesty. I like appropriate. Dress appropriately for the situation. (If the situation is a nudist colony, I don't care what you wear.)
Yep, so I found a link to a "modesty survey" conducted by one SBC-ish group, the Noble Institute, and endorsed by none other than Albert Mohler of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary -- yah! Having a fascination with such things, I wandered through the survey.
First, I would like to award some fellow, age 26, an award for the best misuse of "feminine mystique."
Second, pray tell, why should I pick my undergarments based on what guy's want? I don't choose the undergarments based trying to be sexy or trying to be modest. I like comfortable for me. So yeah, if I feel like wearing a halter top bra (unlikely) or if I need to remind my bra strap that its supposed to be on my shoulder not my arm -- get over it. (65.4 percent of the males interviewed agreed that a girl adjusting a bra strap was a "stumbling block.")
Third, the lovely text responses on how skirts are more modest than pants because they are more feminine I shall sigh at, shake my head, think how western-centric it is to associate pants with manliness, and be happy that guys agreeing with that are in the minority. No, brain, no, stop it, you can't go on a rant about the catch-22 of if, as a chick, you pay absolutely no attention to trying to dress attractively you're accused on frumpiness and wanting to be a man.
Fourth, why did they even need to ask if bouncing bosoms when a woman is running or jogging is a "stumbling block"? Furthermore, no, there is not nessecarily a lot that can be done about that and kudos to the fellows who commented that they recognized that. Sports bras help, but any lady with larger breasts is going to have to wear two sports bras at once (yes, many, many girls do this). And to the lovely specimen of humanity who decided to use that question as an opportunity to comment, "General tip: Uncomfortable bras probably weren't designed to be uncomfortable, but rather to attract guys," when was the last time you went bra shopping? I wanna know. Obviously you've never tried on a push-up bra, otherwise you would know the things, while obviously intended to mimic the large bust society holds in such high regard, actually aren't uncomfortable. The really tight sports bras that you need to get everything anchored down for no bouncing -- those suckers aren't comfortable, trust me. Push-up bras, not so much. Anyway, the only males I'm taking bra shopping tips from are drag queens, please fax a copy of your creditentials.
It's not even that everything in here is unreasonable. (It's just way more fun for me to mock those that are.) See through clothing that isn't layered is not high on my list of appropriate garments for most occasions. Same goes for showing your underwear (and that goes for both sexes, thank you very much). And if I could do cartwheels, I might do a couple, because I'm delighted that the vast majority of the respondents said that the ultimate responsibility for whether or not the sinned lay with them and not with women. Applause for the respondents!
But -- why do all of these organizations feel the need to focus only on the potentiality that a male somewhere might become arosed (or to break down some heteronormativity -- a female)? Why that phrasing? Wouldn't it make more sense to focus on young women as individual people and frame the idea of appropriate/modest dress in terms of self-respect and self-determination.
Also, I'm not a guy -- surprise! -- but do guys ever get tired of being told that they are just completely out of control and are going to start thinking of sex at the smallest thing -- like the two seconds it takes a girl to slid a finger under her collar and return a bra strap to the proper place on her shoulder? I blame Augustine and his public baths passage from The Confessions. But then, I blame Augustine for a lot of things.
And why is it that apparently only males experience sexual desire? Seriously, I realize that it is correct generalization that males think about sex more than females, but it isn't like women never experience lust. Why don't the men have to work to make sure they don't become a stumbling block for the women in SBC philosophy land? I could totally come up with some rules. No longer, curly hair fellows. And definitely don't run your hand through it in public, because that just calls too much attention to your curly hair. Please, no nice suits -- I'm a hypocrite but, guys dressed to the nines -- hot. Of course, I find guys in grunge get up hot as well. And if you could, stop it with western style shirts. I don't know why I like them, but I do. So, it'd be a great help to me if you would quit with it. Or at least, you know, like test shirts out first to make sure that they don't bring out your eyes. Come on, if I'm supposed to work hard so fellows don't lust, shouldn't they put forth some effort so I'm not tempted to lust! (See, doesn't this sound ridiculous when reversed?)
Basically, I'm sorry that males have been programmed to see females as sex objects. I'm sorry that females have been programmed to adorn themselves as sex objects. I do understand that many girls dress in order to provoke a sexual response from males. But encouraging or even putting girls in "modest" clothing, does not even begin to get to the heart of the issue. And certainly not when the message is phrased in a way that focuses exclusively on the potential to cause a male to "sin."
And now for something completely different: French Press + Good Coffee = Happy Metra.
In some ways, I'm a prude. Please, please, please, my fellow young women, don't come to class with a light swimsuit cover-up on -- your metallic bronze bikini is distracting me! Save it for the appropriate context -- the pool. Of course, the last time I was wearing a dress, I think I managed to scandalize a handful of elders and a coterie of church ladies. It was a nice brown halter-top number. (Yes, there was a reason to be formal -- otherwise my frumpy self would have been in dress pants and a button-up shirt.) Of course, I also suspect that the church ladies thought my roomie was my girlfriend, as there's been a nice cloud of suspicion floating about me for some time. Buying that dress took overcoming six years of active programming to cover my shoulders and back. (I had the same battle with wearing sleeveless tops -- I nearly called someone to celebrate the first day I made it through a whole day wearing one.) Actually, I hate the term modesty. I like appropriate. Dress appropriately for the situation. (If the situation is a nudist colony, I don't care what you wear.)
Yep, so I found a link to a "modesty survey" conducted by one SBC-ish group, the Noble Institute, and endorsed by none other than Albert Mohler of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary -- yah! Having a fascination with such things, I wandered through the survey.
First, I would like to award some fellow, age 26, an award for the best misuse of "feminine mystique."
The way a woman can move, the looks she can make with her eyes, gestures she can make with her hands and poses she can adopt, all of these can add to the 'feminine mystique' that thing which can make a woman very alluring and even seductive.The feminine mystique does not refer to some aura of mystery about a woman designed to entice the boys, but to myths about a particular version feminine fulfillment, especially those linking female fulfillment to husband, children, and occupation: housewife. Thank you, try again.
Second, pray tell, why should I pick my undergarments based on what guy's want? I don't choose the undergarments based trying to be sexy or trying to be modest. I like comfortable for me. So yeah, if I feel like wearing a halter top bra (unlikely) or if I need to remind my bra strap that its supposed to be on my shoulder not my arm -- get over it. (65.4 percent of the males interviewed agreed that a girl adjusting a bra strap was a "stumbling block.")
Third, the lovely text responses on how skirts are more modest than pants because they are more feminine I shall sigh at, shake my head, think how western-centric it is to associate pants with manliness, and be happy that guys agreeing with that are in the minority. No, brain, no, stop it, you can't go on a rant about the catch-22 of if, as a chick, you pay absolutely no attention to trying to dress attractively you're accused on frumpiness and wanting to be a man.
Fourth, why did they even need to ask if bouncing bosoms when a woman is running or jogging is a "stumbling block"? Furthermore, no, there is not nessecarily a lot that can be done about that and kudos to the fellows who commented that they recognized that. Sports bras help, but any lady with larger breasts is going to have to wear two sports bras at once (yes, many, many girls do this). And to the lovely specimen of humanity who decided to use that question as an opportunity to comment, "General tip: Uncomfortable bras probably weren't designed to be uncomfortable, but rather to attract guys," when was the last time you went bra shopping? I wanna know. Obviously you've never tried on a push-up bra, otherwise you would know the things, while obviously intended to mimic the large bust society holds in such high regard, actually aren't uncomfortable. The really tight sports bras that you need to get everything anchored down for no bouncing -- those suckers aren't comfortable, trust me. Push-up bras, not so much. Anyway, the only males I'm taking bra shopping tips from are drag queens, please fax a copy of your creditentials.
It's not even that everything in here is unreasonable. (It's just way more fun for me to mock those that are.) See through clothing that isn't layered is not high on my list of appropriate garments for most occasions. Same goes for showing your underwear (and that goes for both sexes, thank you very much). And if I could do cartwheels, I might do a couple, because I'm delighted that the vast majority of the respondents said that the ultimate responsibility for whether or not the sinned lay with them and not with women. Applause for the respondents!
But -- why do all of these organizations feel the need to focus only on the potentiality that a male somewhere might become arosed (or to break down some heteronormativity -- a female)? Why that phrasing? Wouldn't it make more sense to focus on young women as individual people and frame the idea of appropriate/modest dress in terms of self-respect and self-determination.
Also, I'm not a guy -- surprise! -- but do guys ever get tired of being told that they are just completely out of control and are going to start thinking of sex at the smallest thing -- like the two seconds it takes a girl to slid a finger under her collar and return a bra strap to the proper place on her shoulder? I blame Augustine and his public baths passage from The Confessions. But then, I blame Augustine for a lot of things.
And why is it that apparently only males experience sexual desire? Seriously, I realize that it is correct generalization that males think about sex more than females, but it isn't like women never experience lust. Why don't the men have to work to make sure they don't become a stumbling block for the women in SBC philosophy land? I could totally come up with some rules. No longer, curly hair fellows. And definitely don't run your hand through it in public, because that just calls too much attention to your curly hair. Please, no nice suits -- I'm a hypocrite but, guys dressed to the nines -- hot. Of course, I find guys in grunge get up hot as well. And if you could, stop it with western style shirts. I don't know why I like them, but I do. So, it'd be a great help to me if you would quit with it. Or at least, you know, like test shirts out first to make sure that they don't bring out your eyes. Come on, if I'm supposed to work hard so fellows don't lust, shouldn't they put forth some effort so I'm not tempted to lust! (See, doesn't this sound ridiculous when reversed?)
Basically, I'm sorry that males have been programmed to see females as sex objects. I'm sorry that females have been programmed to adorn themselves as sex objects. I do understand that many girls dress in order to provoke a sexual response from males. But encouraging or even putting girls in "modest" clothing, does not even begin to get to the heart of the issue. And certainly not when the message is phrased in a way that focuses exclusively on the potential to cause a male to "sin."
And now for something completely different: French Press + Good Coffee = Happy Metra.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Makeup Mystique
As I was brushing my teeth last night, my gaze fell over my roomie's make-up and the description of one of the shades in a set she had gotten. i.d. BareMinerals, in case you were wondering.
"Glee captures the look of pure joy on a women's faces when describing their most joyous time in their life, such as their wedding day or the arrival of their first baby." Not to knock such occasions, but seriously -- those are the only two examples of joyous women of which they could think. Futhermore, such makeup can "provide a natural luminosity that is similar to the dewiness of a child's skin." Because, yes, the patriarchy demands that you look like a small child. While entering into lawful matrimony for the production of small children. But you'll be happy -- gleeful -- while doing so!
Umm, feminine mystique much?
"Glee captures the look of pure joy on a women's faces when describing their most joyous time in their life, such as their wedding day or the arrival of their first baby." Not to knock such occasions, but seriously -- those are the only two examples of joyous women of which they could think. Futhermore, such makeup can "provide a natural luminosity that is similar to the dewiness of a child's skin." Because, yes, the patriarchy demands that you look like a small child. While entering into lawful matrimony for the production of small children. But you'll be happy -- gleeful -- while doing so!
Umm, feminine mystique much?
Saturday, January 20, 2007
I'm not even cross-dressing today!
My roomie wanted to go shopping today. I tagged along with her to the mall, contemplating buying a jacket or a lightweight coat, as I managed to leave my coat in Middle Tennessee and Memphis is experiencing a cold snap.
As usual, shopping for clothing put me in a bad mood.
We went to Aeropostale first. I like a lot of the clothing in Aeropostale. The look appeals to me: not frilly, simple lines, basic clothing. In fact, as I walk in, I see a denim jacket that I like. When I note that the top jacket, which from a distance I would have pegged for an extra-small, is actually a medium, my heart falls a bit. But I flip through the rack until I find an extra-large. (When stores have clothing that fits me, I alternate between large and extra-large, occassionally a medium.) The extra-large, of course, is just a bit too small on my large shoulders. Oh well, by this point I'm used to clothing from stores and departments aimed at my age group not fitting me. (By the way, I find it ironic that a clothing brand called Self-Esteem doesn't make shirts that will fit me.) I see a couple of shirts that I like in the girl's section, but a quick holding up of the shirt to my shoulders indicates that a correct fit is not to be found in the store. While my roomie is trying on some pants and shirts that she found I did a quick survey of the jeans section. Most of the jeans in the store were between sizes 0-5. I located about four, maybe five pairs of 11/12 jeans and a grand total of two pairs of pants in the 13/14 size. I spared myself the pain of bothering to try on the 11/12s that were in a style and wash I liked (I'm a twelve in some brands). I doubt they would have fit me. The 13/14s were in a hideously light wash. My suspicions that Aeropostale was being paid off by whoever profits from driving girls who like me are caught between regular and plus sizes to thoughts of becoming a nudist confirmed, I became bored and wandared to the boys side of the store.
I regretted my decision to stop wearing mens clothing. Boys clothing appeals to me for some reason. I have a tendency to go shopping for my little brother and come home with clothing for me. Plaid shirts, baggy cargo pants, proportions that aren't overwhelmed by a large bone structure, (for those of you hearing excuses, I did order a larger class ring than the marjority of the guys in my class), plaid shirts again, boys have all the good clothing. The comfortable clothing, the clothing I like. I looked with longing at the cargo pants hanging on the wall. So many pockets. I love pockets! And there would be pants that would fit me. Not a fashionable fit, of course, but they would fit. 34x34 or maybe even a 32x34. (It's been a while since I bought boys jeans. My last, beloved pair, beautifully broken in pair became capris over the summer.) Futhermore, why do manufacturers give boys a more logical and consistent sizing system? I overcame temptation. But then the plaid shirts began to call my name. They were such a pretty blue. A good blue for me. And I don't have to worry about the fitting being designed for breasts larger than mine! But again, I preserved.
And I don't know why I did. Because I really liked those pants.
So, I don't understand a couple of things. First, why in god's name can't the fashion industry manufacture jeans for slightly larger girls? (I'm always finding lots of tiny jeans 0-7 and lots of larger jeans 16-24. This suggests to me that either the gods of clothing hate me, or there are a lot of young women out there who share a body size with me 11-14ish and consistently beat me to the stores.) Secondly, why do guys get the decent clothes? Damn binary gender construction! Futhermore, why did I decide to stop wearing boys clothing?
As usual, shopping for clothing put me in a bad mood.
We went to Aeropostale first. I like a lot of the clothing in Aeropostale. The look appeals to me: not frilly, simple lines, basic clothing. In fact, as I walk in, I see a denim jacket that I like. When I note that the top jacket, which from a distance I would have pegged for an extra-small, is actually a medium, my heart falls a bit. But I flip through the rack until I find an extra-large. (When stores have clothing that fits me, I alternate between large and extra-large, occassionally a medium.) The extra-large, of course, is just a bit too small on my large shoulders. Oh well, by this point I'm used to clothing from stores and departments aimed at my age group not fitting me. (By the way, I find it ironic that a clothing brand called Self-Esteem doesn't make shirts that will fit me.) I see a couple of shirts that I like in the girl's section, but a quick holding up of the shirt to my shoulders indicates that a correct fit is not to be found in the store. While my roomie is trying on some pants and shirts that she found I did a quick survey of the jeans section. Most of the jeans in the store were between sizes 0-5. I located about four, maybe five pairs of 11/12 jeans and a grand total of two pairs of pants in the 13/14 size. I spared myself the pain of bothering to try on the 11/12s that were in a style and wash I liked (I'm a twelve in some brands). I doubt they would have fit me. The 13/14s were in a hideously light wash. My suspicions that Aeropostale was being paid off by whoever profits from driving girls who like me are caught between regular and plus sizes to thoughts of becoming a nudist confirmed, I became bored and wandared to the boys side of the store.
I regretted my decision to stop wearing mens clothing. Boys clothing appeals to me for some reason. I have a tendency to go shopping for my little brother and come home with clothing for me. Plaid shirts, baggy cargo pants, proportions that aren't overwhelmed by a large bone structure, (for those of you hearing excuses, I did order a larger class ring than the marjority of the guys in my class), plaid shirts again, boys have all the good clothing. The comfortable clothing, the clothing I like. I looked with longing at the cargo pants hanging on the wall. So many pockets. I love pockets! And there would be pants that would fit me. Not a fashionable fit, of course, but they would fit. 34x34 or maybe even a 32x34. (It's been a while since I bought boys jeans. My last, beloved pair, beautifully broken in pair became capris over the summer.) Futhermore, why do manufacturers give boys a more logical and consistent sizing system? I overcame temptation. But then the plaid shirts began to call my name. They were such a pretty blue. A good blue for me. And I don't have to worry about the fitting being designed for breasts larger than mine! But again, I preserved.
And I don't know why I did. Because I really liked those pants.
So, I don't understand a couple of things. First, why in god's name can't the fashion industry manufacture jeans for slightly larger girls? (I'm always finding lots of tiny jeans 0-7 and lots of larger jeans 16-24. This suggests to me that either the gods of clothing hate me, or there are a lot of young women out there who share a body size with me 11-14ish and consistently beat me to the stores.) Secondly, why do guys get the decent clothes? Damn binary gender construction! Futhermore, why did I decide to stop wearing boys clothing?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
