Confession of a judgemental girl
I grew up thinking that I was a feminist. And on a lot of the black and white issues (the few there are) I am solidly standing for the rights of all Wimmin. I thought that I was a strong woman deep in my blood, a result of listening to Holly Near albums on repeat, and falling in love with Maude and her car-stealing, tree-loving self.
But at some point something changed. And it wasn't until today that I saw it.
At some point, the world of fashion got to me. Or maybe it wasn't even fashion. It was the expectation that there was a 'right way' to look. That if you weren't polished, 'put together', you couldn't expect society to respect you. If you looked a little odd, you were to be dismissed or called out.
I spent much of my youth in second hand clothes, enjoying the wonder of the the world and not even giving a thought to my off-coloured and faded shirts or patched pants, let alone the state of my hair and nails. I was free back then. I was alive and whole and wonderful.
Yet now, when I look back on those times, review the photo albums, and suffer through the home videos, my eye is first caught, not by the stunning joy in my eyes, but by the state of my appearance. I cringe at my purple polka-dot stirrup pants and striped wedge shoes. I die over the lacy homemade dresses that mom just had to make us wear. I try not to see the early signs of pudge, the future of fat. And I am ashamed. So very ashamed of how I look.
Now don't get me wrong. I am not a fashionista. I rarely wear makeup. And I own mostly tshirts and jeans. But while I have come to love and accept my body (or rather, continue fighting to, day by day), I somewhere picked up the idea that I need to look a certain way to be an adult; a woman.
I'm not talking the waxing, the hair products, and the endless kinds of fashion 'necessities' that American society seems keen on pressing on me. I'm talking about... I don't even know. Judgement? the Mean Girl Mentality? I don't even know what to call it, because I didn't even realize it was a thing I was doing until just now, today.
I judge. I judge people for being fat, for being sloppy, for being unfashionable. I judge women for showing too much of their body. I judge women for being 'out of control' because their clothes are just a little too tight.
Me. The same person who starts foaming at the mouth when someone says a woman is 'asking for it'. The same person that believes that a woman should be able to do with her body WHAT SHE WANTS. The same person who believes that we need to love our bodies with all our might.
When did this happen? When did I become a judgemental yuppie that fights for tooth and nail for the right to birth control but cringes when I see a woman who dares show some 'flab'?
If I, as a self-proclaimed feminist, can't keep myself from judging women by their clothing and looks, how can I expect to live a life that teaches others to stop judging us? In fact, how can I even really truly love my own body if someone else's sags make me uncomfortable? Why do I now see 'imperfection' when I should be seeing HUMAN BEING?
And of course, the big question is, who turned me against my fellow women? Who taught me to judge a woman's style and presentability more harshly than a mans? Was it the fashion world? Was it the media? Or was it the endless stream of women in my life that told me that I needed to brush my hair until it was shiny, tuck in my shirt, pull down my dress, and get out of the grass before I got dirty. (Not my mom. Never my mom.) Who has taught all of us women to perpetuate this idea that our looks have a higher value than our being?
Do you know how much more joy life would hold if I found everyone beautiful? Do you realize how much my attitude would change if instead of seeing a woman in a cat sweater and thinking 'ew' I thought to myself, 'wow, she really feels comfortable being herself!'
It's time to make some changes in my life. It's time to question every thing I have ever learned. It's time to find the Wise Woman inside and let her teach me to see clearly.
But at some point something changed. And it wasn't until today that I saw it.
At some point, the world of fashion got to me. Or maybe it wasn't even fashion. It was the expectation that there was a 'right way' to look. That if you weren't polished, 'put together', you couldn't expect society to respect you. If you looked a little odd, you were to be dismissed or called out.
I spent much of my youth in second hand clothes, enjoying the wonder of the the world and not even giving a thought to my off-coloured and faded shirts or patched pants, let alone the state of my hair and nails. I was free back then. I was alive and whole and wonderful.
Yet now, when I look back on those times, review the photo albums, and suffer through the home videos, my eye is first caught, not by the stunning joy in my eyes, but by the state of my appearance. I cringe at my purple polka-dot stirrup pants and striped wedge shoes. I die over the lacy homemade dresses that mom just had to make us wear. I try not to see the early signs of pudge, the future of fat. And I am ashamed. So very ashamed of how I look.
Now don't get me wrong. I am not a fashionista. I rarely wear makeup. And I own mostly tshirts and jeans. But while I have come to love and accept my body (or rather, continue fighting to, day by day), I somewhere picked up the idea that I need to look a certain way to be an adult; a woman.
I'm not talking the waxing, the hair products, and the endless kinds of fashion 'necessities' that American society seems keen on pressing on me. I'm talking about... I don't even know. Judgement? the Mean Girl Mentality? I don't even know what to call it, because I didn't even realize it was a thing I was doing until just now, today.
I judge. I judge people for being fat, for being sloppy, for being unfashionable. I judge women for showing too much of their body. I judge women for being 'out of control' because their clothes are just a little too tight.
Me. The same person who starts foaming at the mouth when someone says a woman is 'asking for it'. The same person that believes that a woman should be able to do with her body WHAT SHE WANTS. The same person who believes that we need to love our bodies with all our might.
When did this happen? When did I become a judgemental yuppie that fights for tooth and nail for the right to birth control but cringes when I see a woman who dares show some 'flab'?
If I, as a self-proclaimed feminist, can't keep myself from judging women by their clothing and looks, how can I expect to live a life that teaches others to stop judging us? In fact, how can I even really truly love my own body if someone else's sags make me uncomfortable? Why do I now see 'imperfection' when I should be seeing HUMAN BEING?
And of course, the big question is, who turned me against my fellow women? Who taught me to judge a woman's style and presentability more harshly than a mans? Was it the fashion world? Was it the media? Or was it the endless stream of women in my life that told me that I needed to brush my hair until it was shiny, tuck in my shirt, pull down my dress, and get out of the grass before I got dirty. (Not my mom. Never my mom.) Who has taught all of us women to perpetuate this idea that our looks have a higher value than our being?
Do you know how much more joy life would hold if I found everyone beautiful? Do you realize how much my attitude would change if instead of seeing a woman in a cat sweater and thinking 'ew' I thought to myself, 'wow, she really feels comfortable being herself!'
It's time to make some changes in my life. It's time to question every thing I have ever learned. It's time to find the Wise Woman inside and let her teach me to see clearly.
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