In Which I Do My Best to Tiptoe Around Using Colorful Language In Order to Relieve My Gender-Role-Based Angst
First order of business: Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m done with school for ever and ever—until August… but still, WHEEEEE!!!!!!
Second order of business: Apart from this partial ecstatic joy, I’m experiencing some angst about which I will write today. How can I write an angsty post when I just got out of school for the summer, you ask? Because I’m listening to Depresstival while I do it, of course. And who is this Depresstival character, you ask? Why she is only yet another reason for me to spend all day every day on the youtubes. She’s a lovely, angsty, depressing girl with a beautiful voice and wonderful writing talent and also the ability to make practically anybody depressed and angsty and never want to stop being depressed and angsty because they don’t want to stop listening to her sing. She is satan! Anyway, I’ll be cured of this by Thursday when I go to fencing.
Third order of business: I apologize for the decline in eloquence and coherence- quality in this post because I tend to decrease in coherency (is that even a word?) when I feel so strongly about something that I don’t have the discipline to take myself down a notch; so, anyway, bear with me. WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS MATERIAL THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR VIEWERS WITH A NEED FOR INTELLIGENT WORDING OF THOUGHTS.
Fourth Order of Business: I promise to write about things that are a bit more interesting to persons of the male variety (I no talk pink in next post, for those of you that need a translation *wink*) in my next post. Like fencing!!!!!!!! I actually wanted to make a post detailing some of the conditioning and drill stuff that we do at practice because I’m terrible at describing physical things like that and… anyway, it’s useful for fencers and other athletes as well and if you don’t fence, well, you should. And also other things, too. Manly things, like My Little Pony- I hope the bronies out there will appreciate my Fluttershy clip, by the way. Anyway, so that’s what’s coming up over the cyber-horizon in the next few weeks- for those of my imaginary friends who I like to pretend actually care about this.
And now to plunge right into the depths of my enraged psyche:
It’s horribly selfish, but the societal issue that urinates me off the most right now is the image of femininity that is presented to and expected of girls today. I know I should be madder about starving children and girls who can’t go to school without getting acid thrown in their faces and whatnot, but right now, this is what I’m angry about. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I watched an episode of What Not to Wear followed by Say Yes to the Dress as per the request of a certain conventionally effeminate sibling of mine yesterday. I usually hate watching What Not to Wear because it’s just so painfully frivolous and because every single woman that goes on the show is re-arranged to adhere perfectly to this image of The Perfect Pretty Girl. I hate how they embarrass these poor women who simply don’t spend six hours in front of the mirror because they just don’t give a flying frakk whether the cloth (I wrote the word drapings here and that dotted red line appeared under it and one of the spelling suggestions was droppings- just had to say that because I haven’t grown out of poo-poo jokes yet) drapery on their bodies accentuates their best physical assets (or arses). I hate how they act like these things define a person. And what really, really, really infuriates me is how the standards for a woman’s attractiveness are oppressive to her- exhibit A: high heels are painful and I doubt that wearing them on a daily or even weekly basis is any healthier than wrapping your feet or neck in metal, not to mention you can’t do shit(ake mushrooms) in them. I hate the fact that women are supposed to go through all of this stupid frakking poo to make themselves “appealing”, to wear clothing and makeup and pay for operations that are useless and paralyzing and uncomfortable and dangerous and time-consuming in order to be considered attractive; while men are allowed to wear clothes that they, personally, like and enjoy wearing for their own sake and not because they’re expected to- comfy T-shirts with sarcastic or offensive remarks on them, sneakers, jeans.
I understand that some girls believe they actually enjoy wearing conventionally effeminate clothing and going through all of that excrement, but- and I don’t care what you say about this- they don’t really. Women do these things because they believe that if they don’t, they’re ugly, unnatural, not feminine. And it irritates the hay out of me. Why can’t we look at a woman who doesn’t cake chemicals onto her face or fork out thousands to have her ta-tas embiggened or turn herself into a sex robot and think, she’s pretty— no, not even that, why can’t we just think, she’s a person. Not God, she should wear lipstick, or What is that ungodly growth on her face, she should cover that up, or she has a nice figure, it’s a pity she doesn’t show it off more, or she probably thinks she’s better than me ’cause she’s so pretty- what a meanie. NOOOOO!!!!!! Girls are people. Why can’t we just look at each other as people who have thoughts that are almost always much more interesting than what we look like, and interact with each other on that level? Why it it just ok for men to require all of this shi(r)t out of a potential partner? I mean, I don’t ask guys to go out and have their thingies injected to be made bigger, or that they learn to walk on stilts or whatever- I mean if guys work out to be attractive that’s fine, it’s actually good for them, and they usually genuinely enjoy it- I know I do, because I do it to be a better fencer and because I like feeling tough and I imagine I’m not the only one who does. Anyway, you’re probably wondering what sparked this little outburst of mine. Wave hello to public enemy number one, everybody: Rima Freaking Fakih.
I’m just so frakking sick of seeing girls all around me buy into this shet(land pony), and torture themselves with needing to look like a cardboard cutout and feeling insignificant… and you know when I say I sometimes feel like I should have something to show for every inch of my being? Well, it’s because of this, the Rima effect, as it will be known henceforth, this thing that tells me that if I don’t look like a fantasy goddess I have to compensate for every physical imperfection with some sort of accomplishment or virtue, and..and I just want to stab something repeatedly!!!!! If I wasn’t sick as a dog (oh, yeah, that’s another reason I’m not reeling in exuberance at the fact that it’s the last day of school) I’d go to fencing and actually try to hit everyone for the first time just because I’m so pee-peed off!!!!!!!!Allow me to explain. I have actually lived among Arab girls. I’m sorry, but the Arab world is just a toxic environment to raise an adolescent girl in. Toxic. (Before you read the rest of this, understand that this does not mean that there are not wonderful, empowered, strong Arab girls who have managed to rise above all of the stupid societal pressures to become interesting, real, three-dimensional individuals; or that I didn’t meet them. I am blessed to have had some wonderful friends over there who I dearly miss and who did just that- it’s just that it’s not right that they should have to deal with any such pressures.) Women can’t frakking drive their own cars. The fascinating thing about modern Arab culture is the juxtaposition of two extremes: the hyper-repressed, hyper-traditionist-puritan-zealot-ized, hyper-religious-ized facade, and behind it, the hyper-westernized, uber-sexualized, spoiled, rich, drunken, rebellious underground. This is toxic. There’s no other word for it. The girls I knew were torn between these two oppressive extremes, and when forced with the choice, what teenage girl wouldn’t choose the latter? So they become sex objects, laboring under the delusion that they are being independent, liberated, modern. It’s frakking depressing. And now along comes Miss Rima F**k-mih (like my dirty little pun there? And yes, I switched up the cutesy little sound-alike this time), and tells these broken girls that yes, you, too, can and should be proud of the fact that you mean absolutely nothing more to the world than this does:
Anyway, so today we learned that girl+ crown = ground beef. Class Dismissed. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about how I wish I was an elf.
UPDATE: This post at the Mary Sue expresses all this and more much more intelligently: http://www.themarysue.com/looking-for-a-few-good-chells/