On Empowerment

I've been watching America's Got Talent against my better judgement. I should have signed off when Boy-Shakira made the cut to the top 20, and the Redneck Tenors who were actually decently talented were cut. The judges are apparently more interested in having an entertaining show than they are showcasing the most talented acts.

One such case is The Glamazons a group of overweight women who sing (off-key) while dancing around the stage in lingerie. When interviewed, the women talk about how empowering it is to allow themselves to be sexy in public. I have the impression the judges are thinking "good for you for making a statement to society that you are OK," and vote them through despite grating vocals and mediocre dancing.

I have no problem with overweight women feeling sexy, dancing, or singing. However, I think that to choose this venue to publicly insist you are sexy is degrading to all women, not empowering. People who truly feel sexy don't need to prove it, and these women claim empowerment by demanding approval & recognition from others. Needing others to remind you how great you are is not empowerment, its enslavement and social prostitution.

The other night, The Colbert Report parodied the trend toward women taking pole-dancing classes and defining it as feminism because "its empowering." While Colbert made the point that these women are subscribing to cultural misogyny in a hilarious fashion, the program was interviewing real women straight-facedly claiming that by catering to male sexual fantasies for approval they were being empowered.

Sorry ladies, taking classes so you can compete with strippers in order to prove to society that you can be as sexy as a college student who works nights at the Gentlemen's Club is begging for outside approval. It's degrading, and it hurts the efforts of those of us who want to be taken seriously as human beings instead of as sex objects. Empowerment comes from within, not from the consensus, and while feminism has fought for public acceptance of what is female, public acceptance in & of itself is not the same thing as feminism, especially when public acceptance is bought by sexualizing yourself.

This is certainly not to say that if you want to install a pole in your bedroom that you are degrading women, because it isn't as long as your behavior is safe & mutally satisfying for both you & your partner. What is degrading is the women who take their pole dancing public to insist on being seen & heard as a "feminist" as defined by crossing the line between normal person & sex-kitten. In the case of the Glamazons, why the lingerie? You can sing or you can't. You can dance, or you can't. The world renowned dance teams I've seen have yet to perform in lingerie, even on the sexy songs, because its in poor taste. If you are trying to overcome fears about your own personal sexuality, dance in lingerie in group therapy, but on a talent show please have your costume be relevant to your talent or get off the stage because you are taking the rest of womankind with you on your stupidity ride.

Actual feminists say "I can do anything & be great" and aspire to benefit society by being free to cure cancer. We are women who want to make the same amount of money as males in our professions. Then Miss-The-Boat shows up in her skanky lingerie claiming "I can do anything & be great" and aspires to dance around naked for men to notice and say "Damn, she's hot!" Since when have women ever been oppressed from dancing naked in a male dominated society? They've been encouraging that all along, its certainly not empowering to be allowed to do what the guys have been begging you to do since pre-pubescence and "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

The feminist movement has been earmarked by chauvanistic men telling women to get back in the bedroom & the kitchen--and now we are aspiring to pole dance & wear lingerie on stage? Men certainly aren't going to compete with us there! In my health class my freshman year in college, the guys refused to even do pelvic tilts in the ab routine because they saw it as too sexual & publically degrading. Picture Donald Trump, the worldwide symbol of male empowerment as one of the "Honey Bees" dancers on the new game show, The Singing Bee. Not gonna happen, because its not empowering, its degrading. But now, its what women aspire to, and define as feminism. What next, women begging to give blow jobs, followed up by serving a homemade hero sandwich while saying, "yeah, I'm a feminist, I can do whatever I set out to do!" Guys raised on a misogynistic media-diet of MTV and the Man Show are going to loooove that version of feminism.

MommyK blogged about Carmen Electra's recently published a book on how to be sexy, purporting that confidence and personality are rooted in a sexy figure, great hair, & makeup. Certainly we may feel better about ourselves when we put our best foot forward, but seeking attention by basing your personality on sexual impressions does not feed self-confidence. Rather, it places control of how we feel in the hands of people who would judge us based on how we look. You want people to take you seriously, take some responsibility for yourself and stop putting your control in the hands of others with questionable motives! Empowerment is giving birth, creativing art for its own sake, and believing there is more to us than our appearance & the sexual favors we can do for people. So why are we clamoring to pass out sexual favors for attention? Ladies, please!

Witch Hunts

We have found a witch...may we burn her?
(burn her burn her burn her)

How do you know she is a witch?

She looks like one
(yeah, yeah, yeah)

bring her forward

i'm not a witch, im NOT a witch

but you are dressed as one

THEY dressed me up like this
(bah, no we didnt, no we didnt)

this isnt my nose, its a false one

well?

well, we did do the nose

the nose?

and the hat...but SHE'S A WITCH
(yeah, burn her, burn her)

did you dress her up like this?

NO, NO, No, yes, yes, a bit...she has got a wart

what makes you think she is a witch

whuh, she turned me into a newt

a newt?

(pause) i got better
(BURN HER ANYWAYS, BURN HER BURN HER)

quiet, quiet, QUIET...there are ways of telling if she is a witch...





are there? what are they? tell us, tell us

tell me, what do you do with witches?

BURN BURN BURN BURN

and what do you burn apart from witches?

MORE WITCHES!!
(ssssh)

Wood. so, why do witches burn?

(long, lengthy pause) uh...because they're made of wood

gooooood...so how do we tell if she is made of wood?

build a bridge out of her!!

ahhh...but can you not also make bridges out of stone?

oh yeah, yeah sure

does wood sink in water?

no, no, no, it floats, it floats!! throw her into the pond!!

what also floats in water?

bread. apples. very small rocks. cider. great gravy. cherries. mud. churches. lead...

A DUCK!
(whooooooaaaa)

ex....actly!

so...logically...

if she...weighs the same...as a duck...she's made of wood.

and therefore?

(pause..) A WITCH!!!!

-Monty Python & the Holy Grail

The other day as I was visiting with a friend and she mentioned to me that she'd made a tincture of juniper from her yard combined with vodka for the purpose of banishing mold from her home, it struck me: a few hundred years ago most of my friends and I would very well be considered witches. Except of course, that none of us weighs the same as a duck.

The word witch has the same linguistic roots as the words "wisdom" "wit" "wise" etc. Originally, a witch was a wise woman. This was considered a threat to the security of the Vatican and male dominated offshoot religions that had subjugated women as seductresses & sinners who inherited their evil nature from Mother Eve. (As opposed to primitive Christianity which revered Mother Eve and her choice to embrace mortality as a purposeful and wise choice.) So, along with slavery and various other movements to oppress that have enforced their control by enforced ignorance, women were strongly encouraged (under penalty of death) to be submissive, silent, and less-than intelligent.

As a disclaimer this is not intended to be inflammatory toward the Catholic or Protestant sects, certainly no one would argue that the Vatican has not always been under the control of righteous men and there were mistakes and misconceptions made throughout the history of churches in the middle ages-this being one of them; without doubt hundreds of innocent women were slaughtered in the name of religion.

Fast forward to today. I am surrounded by animals as my familiars. My home smells of "potions" or as I call them essential oils diffused into the air for their healing properties. I practice kinesiology to diagnose and treat my family's ailments. I'm starting to consider my houseplants as beings with personality and as part of my devout faith in God, I sense a deep spiritual and physical connection to the earth, the moon and its cycles, and I can sometimes sense when things are going to happen. I don't consider myself psychic. I certainly don't practice Wicca or define myself as a witch. Most certainly though 300-600 years ago I would have been considered one.

With all my peculiarities and my beliefs in Karma (which I define as something controlled by God with traditional scriptural references to back up my belief), I can walk down the street or even talk about these things without the bat of a passerby's eye. Nearly everyone has experimented with alternative medicines, accupuncture, homeopathy, midwifery to some degree, its not unusual. I have friends who have studied under Reiki masters to learn energy healing. They talk about it openly and its not shocking or shunned as Eastern ideas about energy and health become more widespread.

I see this as an indicator that we as women are on the right track. Yes things often seem far-gone, with the American Psychological Association issuing a severe warning about the over-sexualization of girls in our culture and the harmful effects, we certainly still have work to do. But, that feminine concepts such as intangible energies are being widely accepted is a sign that things are getting better. So, while I continue to explore the power of God, (or nature, or energy--whatever you choose to call it) I hope my explorations will lead to more empowerment and greater freedom to birth our ideas from within rather than from the framework of a male-oriented power model. After all, our true power is the power we hold within ourselves: an inheritance if you will.

The Body I Earned

Mom-O-Matic blogged a month or so ago about shame & blame and how she knows she will not drop the extra pounds until she comes to term with being shamed publicly.

Then last night I found myself scrutinizing pictures of "Plastic Surgery Gone Wrong" on the covers of various tabloids. I watched a piece on Discovery channel about airbrushing, photography, and how none of the celebs and models look like that in person.

We have a cultural dichotomy between what is real and what is not in terms of bodies. Thousands of men and women nationwide are fighting the shame and blame games from both embarrassing past experiences and just the flat fact that they are fat in a society that worships thinness.

Having grown up in close promixity to professional dancers, and spending the better part of my teenage years watching them rehearse in studio (and wishing I had a body like that) I learned young that 500 situps a day does not give an already uuber-fit person the tummy texture we call six-pack abs--surgery does. A close friend growing up ditched a career as a professional gymnast because she refused to eat the required maximum lunch of half an apple, and the required maximum breakfast of a piece of toast and a tsp of jelly. I've seen dancers lose jobs over 8 ounces of extra weight, and not get auditions because of their weight on their printed resume be listed as 2 lbs above the cut-regardless of bone structure, or talent. They are told to skip more meals and come back when they aren't so fat. Jobs in chorus lines are given to girls who match down to height, weight, bone structure, and lipstick color. Once they match your physique, only then do they consider your talent.

I am not fat by any means. I weigh 2 pounds more than I did when my oldest child was conceived and 10 lbs more than my all-time-low adult weight. I eat whatever I want and as much as I want. I've retired from feeling that my goodness and wholeness as a person is contingent on being a size 2. I can tell you truthfully that in the dance world I would be considered a good 30 lbs overweight and my arms are too short, my torso too long, and my shapely legs are way too white to parade on stage.

Yesterday I saw a woman that in earlier months I would have compared myself to and felt the burn of shame at my body. I would have envied her long, tanned legs, tiny waist, large breasts and small circumference of her rib cage. But I don't envy her at all. From spending time around extremely thin and fit people as a teenager who worship their bodies and what they can do, I know she isn't real. She bought her body-her breasts, her rippled abs, hair extensions, and even her suntan.

I earned my shapely breasts that remained buxom after pregnancy and breastfeeding. Sure they aren't as perky as they could be with a little silicone, but they are beautiful and a hospital nurse deemed them "perfectly shaped" for latching on a hungry infant. My torso is textured, not with liposuction induced ripples with but zebra like stretch marks where my daughter liked to poke out her bottom, and the place where my son's feet liked to press-my stomach markings are badges of honor. Her arms are long and very thin, my biceps are large and strong from hoisting toddlers and grocery bags. I doubt she could drag a 400 lb dresser to the other side of the room without assistance like I did yesterday. I can't wear high heels, and this woman wears nothing but; however, I have a college degree and a promising career track-one that regards my looks with a grain of salt but considers the aptitude of my mind and abilities foremost.

She probably turns heads with her shape and heavy eyeliner. I'm sure she has a lot of sexual attention from men. I know her well enough to know that that is what she's all about. With or without a man in my life I know I would be OK, I'm not so sure she would. So no, I'm not ashamed of the body I earned, I'm proud of it.

Your Proctologist Called...

I think he found your head.



Today I had the less than delightful experience of being a bystander of stupidity. At some point, people have to realize that walking around like that could be the reason their neck hurts.

A colleague of mine is infuriated by an email I sent him and my direct supervisor to address an issue under his control two weeks ago. I sent it to him because he is the only person who can resolve it, and to my supervisor (who is not in a supervisorial role to him) who would then know why my work performance has been inhibited. Basically the crew he supervises keeps taking over my workspace, and legal deadlines are making it imperative that I have a place to work in his building. I've seen him since then in passing and he's been perfectly friendly. The necessary changes have been made and I've finally received access to the resources and rooms I need from his department.

Today however, he seized an opportunity to corner me and attempted to rip me a new one, apparently its been stewing for awhile and rather than dealing with it like a civilized being he attempted to victimize me by bullying me into conceding his point. I conceded that he probably took my email the wrong way, in an attempt to be congruent and move forward in a professional, assertive manner. I emphasized that regardless of how he took the tone of my email, he can't deny that the problems existed and his responsibility to ensure me adequate work space. Since his goal was apparently to bully and harrass me into submission, congruence didn't appeal to him, and he set out his list of demands, which included two specific requests: one which clearly breaks federal law, and the other which sets me up for extreme personal liability.

Please note that when I say requests, they were framed as orders, and I particularly relished the fact that I'm not his direct subordinate, and I (politely) refused on both counts. I continued to be assertive, calm, and as congruent as one can be while telling another person I will not put myself and my employer in legal jeopardy for his personal convenience. What I wanted to say was that in an ideal world he would regain control of his department before it implodes. (I restrained myself on that one, but I am stocking up on popcorn to munch on while I watch the implosion.)

Then I had the pleasure of watching him implement his grand scheme of how it would all come together, his way. As long as my legal bases are covered, I'm not picky about location and I had a client waiting so I agreed to use the area he recommended. He personally escorted us there. The room was completely empty, deserted, and freezing cold. He flipped on the lightswitch and nothing happened. I stared at him expectantly, and watched his face get redder. Finally the florescent lights kicked in, and he grunted, then went off in search of a table to use for workspace. He came back in with 24 inches by 18 inches table. I looked at the table and looked at him. His face got redder, and he grunted something about possibly needing a larger table. I said, "thank you, that would be nice," in a tone as sweet as sugar. Another grunt. He came back with a table. I did not offer to help set it up, I stood and watched. Of course, he had to make another trip in and out for chairs as well.

It is probably perverse that I enjoyed this so much. I have a hunch that the table & chairs will be removed by Monday when I go back. Is it wrong that I plan to revel in popping my head into his office to let him know I need them back? The best laid plans of mice have a way of providing karmic pleasure for us bystanders.

Vehicles of Patriarchy

High heels, I loathe you. Oh sure, you are pretty. You make my calves and booty look so voluptuous, yet you make my toes and arches ache and blister. Who decided that open toed sandals should be made of shiny leather which will rub, rub, rub the skin off my feet? You can't wear socks or hose with them, you can't even put on a bandaid for padding without it showing through. Who was that man, I'd like to punch him in the face. And you know it was a him. You know a woman would have considered toe friction and bunion avoidance. She also would have considered arch support and a surface to balance on wider than a pencil. She also would have considered that if your right leg is 1/32nd of an inch longer than your left, this manifests in incredible pressure on your right big-toe joint in high heels. The male designer of course, never got past the idea of calves and booties.

I can't get away with wearing my Columbia hiking shoes except on casual Fridays anymore, people are starting to talk. My flat oxfords don't cut it with summery skirts and capris, so I bought some lovely, bone colored open toed dress shoes for work. They were beautiful, feminine shoes that would have done Minnie Mouse proud. I envisioned the women at work saying "great shoes!" I thought about how I empowering it would be to be two inches taller. I put on the shoes and they felt decent at the store. When I got dressed this morning I realized that there was going to be some serious pain by the end of the day. By breaking out the bandaids I was able to spare my pinky toes. I thought the joint by my big toe would be OK, but as the day wore holes into my feet, I came to rue the day I found them on display at Shoe Pavillion.

Of course today was also one of those wild goose chase days at work. I couldn't just sit at my desk and slide the shoes off except for when I walk down the hall to the vending machines for bottled water. No, of course I had meetings outside the office. I had to walk up and down the stairs six times, carrying my 30 lb briefcase with me. Chivalry is dead, none of the office guys so much as glanced at my case let alone offered to carry it, but high heels survived the feminist movement to curse us into our graves. And of course, my meetings were no shows so I had to back and forth it up and down the stairs all day long. You can't walk quickly in them because its too painful. Walking slowly means more steps with the inane rubbing with each step. Hans Christian Anderson was prophetic of high heels when the Witch told the Little Mermaid her every step would feel like knives slicing her skin. I think she would have thought twice about becoming human had she realized it was not an exaggeration.

Some of my third-stage feminist friends claim makeup is a vehicle of patriarchy, a snare set by men to keep us subservient and superficial. No, I love Estee Lauder and Mary Kay. They have never prematurely aged me. They have protected me from melanoma and give me some color on days when I feel like the walking dead after a long night with a sick toddler. They let me experiment with a new look for a $14.95 tube of lipstick instead of $90 cut and highlights and they are completely reversible. Men of the metrosexual persuasion are even catching on to the benefits of tea-tree oil and concealer for the occasional unsightly blemish.

High heels however, have given me nothing back. They have sent me to the choiropractors office for an adjustment and a $120/hour sacro-cranial massage to relieve the headaches that travelled up my sciatic nerve to my skull. They slow me down to the pace of a tortoise forcing me to do my work twice as fast to make up the time. And when I walk in the door and I see my husbands eye travel up me from ankle to shoulder I kick the infernal things off in disgust. Not on your life after the day I've had with these blasted shoes. Please pass the ibuprofen, and honey, next time you catch me glance at the spring shoe display at Macy's please steer me toward Sephora instead. You'll thank me later, I promise.