1. It is the exact opposite of the work I was doing during the 2012 cycle-- there is no pressure, I'm working alongside a large team of people, I never have to wear pantyhose, it's almost entirely physical, and all of my tasks are completely black-and-white. For example, there will be a massive pile of empty shipping boxes after a ton of toys have been received, priced, and put away, and I get to take a box-cutter, and turn the massive pile into a tidy stack of flat cardboard-- and then the manager will be like, "Ugh, THANK YOU for cutting all of those down!". It is unbelievable. I'm given a simple, finite task. I do the simple, finite task-- while wearing jeans, a hoodie, and Chuck Taylors, and listening to the dentist-office-adult-contemporary station that plays on the PA system [sometimes they play 80's Cher or Heart, and I LOVE that shit]-- and then I am praised for my work. Sometimes I'm asked to wrap gifts. I do that, hand the wrap gifts to the waiting customers and genuinely wish them Happy Holidays, and every time, the customers are all smiley and grateful. It's amazing.
2. Sometimes, one of the staff will bring in cookies or treats that are kept in the break room. This happened yesterday. Even though I am doing my level best to avoid wheat flour, I had one of those peanut-butter-chocolate-chip-coconut bars or whatever the fuck they were, and WOW. Delightful. Such a simple thing.
3. A lot of the toys that are made for girls perpetuate the worst kind of gender politics and social programming-- the shit that I rant about on a weekly basis-- and even though it drives me nuts, seeing those items is sort of motivating for me. It reinforces my ambition to make things better. Also, one of the product lines has this little set of arts-and-crafts kits that feature drawings of female "rock stars"-- not actual musicians, just illustrations of girls singing or whatever-- and it's pretty awful. Women didn't pick up guitars or sit behind a drum kit, defying male stereotypes and pushing boundaries, to sell a bunch of plastic shit in hot pink packages to little girls. Hey, parents, if you want to introduce your child to actual female rock stars, here's a wild idea: visit a record store or your local library's music collection. Ok. So, you can easily see how this could turn into Something for me. I mean, I could go on and on, and that shit never gets old for me.
4. A lot of the toys offer serious amusement to the irreverent among us. For instance, this.
5. Several of the people that behind-the-scenes-- either in the stockroom or in the shipping department-- are younger than I, and while I usually cannot stand anyone born after 1984, a few of my younger associates have really impressed me. I told Wifey Laura that I was 99% sure I'm supposed to be the spirit guide to a girl I work with. I take this very seriously.
Anyway, so my current job is a pleasant one. However, one complaint. There seems to be this perception that it's a good idea to wear awful, cheap perfume or scented body products to a retail location where there's no fresh air and the furnace is cranking to combat the December chill. Let me the blow the whistle on that. It's NOT. It is not a good idea. I daresay it's a bad idea. No good comes of that, at all. The only benefit is to the wearer, and that benefit is temporary, as the wearer's nose will quickly become accustomed to the scent and then be inured to it. So, then the rest of us have to smell it, whether we want to or not, and some of us get wicked bad headaches from Vanilla Sparkle Paradise or Wonderstruck by Taylor Swift or Beautiful Heat by Beyonce or whateverthefuck it is. To all 4 people that read this blog, please spread the word. Nobody wins with bad perfume except the perfumer. TSwift and Bey have enough money, I promise. So, I left the store last night with a MOTHERFUCKER of a headache, laid down to take a nap around 7:30pm, and woke up at 4am, ready to take shit on.
Cut to now. I read my entire Twitter feed, made coffee and enough brown rice to last me a week [I probably shouldn't be using my big-kid chef's knife before 5am, but those onions weren't going to chop themselves, 'nawm sayin'?], and read some good stuff. Cue my love letter to Lindy West.
* * *
One of my favorite writers is Lindy West-- she writes for a number of different publications, but I'm most familiar with her work for Jezebel. I had read a lot of her stuff, but didn't start paying attention until this piece:
[NOTE: THE FOLLOWING IS NOT MY MATERIAL. LINDY WEST WROTE IT. SHE WROTE THE HELL OUT OF IT. I COPIED AND PASTED IT FROM JEZEBEL. IF YOU ARE READING THIS, AND YOU'RE A LAWYER, AND YOU WANT TO SUE ME FOR COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT, THEN THIS DISCLAIMER PROBABLY WON'T HELP MY CASE BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE A DISCLAIMER, BUT I THINK THE JUDGE WILL BE LIKE, "Y'KNOW WHAT? SHE GAVE IT A TRY, AND THAT'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME. CASE DISMISSED." AND THEN WILL DROP THE MIC. ONCE AGAIN, I DID NOT WRITE THE FOLLOWING. I PROBABLY COULD'VE JUST POSTED A LINK TO IT, BUT IT'S TOO GOOD TO NOT INCLUDE THE FULL ARTICLE. BY THE POWERS VESTED IN ME BY THE INTERNET, I NOW PRONOUNCE THIS COPIED-AND-PASTED ARTICLE DISCLAIMED. IT IS TOTALLY DISCLAIMED.]
Congrats, New Grads! By the Way, You Don’t Know Anything
It's the time of year when the internet is deluged with condescending lists of "advice for graduates"—stuff like "experience Paris" and "learn to wear purple until you laugh until you cry until you laugh"—and since all of that shit is just literal barf smeared on a laptop screen, I decided I might as well take a stab at it myself. Let's help some kids.
1. Experience Paris. Just kidding.
You know what? International travel is great and all, but it doesn't magically turn you into a genius or a good person. If you make it to 30 without ever having had the financial flexibility to purchase a $1000 plane ticket, then you're pretty much just normal—not some barefoot hill-goblin. And you know what? Everything in Paris is fucking covered in gruyere. You're only 22-years-old (or something). Do you really want to get sick of gruyere already? Seriously. You want gruyere in your life for as long as possible.
You know what? International travel is great and all, but it doesn't magically turn you into a genius or a good person. If you make it to 30 without ever having had the financial flexibility to purchase a $1000 plane ticket, then you're pretty much just normal—not some barefoot hill-goblin. And you know what? Everything in Paris is fucking covered in gruyere. You're only 22-years-old (or something). Do you really want to get sick of gruyere already? Seriously. You want gruyere in your life for as long as possible.
2. This is the most important thing of all the things: you think you know stuff, but you don't.
People act like college is this gateway to adulthood, but it's really just more playtime. Adulthood is the gateway to adulthood. It's not that you're not smart, but I'm like a decade older than you and I'm STILL half baby. I only know like two things at this point, and I am literally the Albert Einstein of being in my twenties. You're going to keep learning stuff constantly for the next 50 years or so, so just calm down and let the learning happen.
People act like college is this gateway to adulthood, but it's really just more playtime. Adulthood is the gateway to adulthood. It's not that you're not smart, but I'm like a decade older than you and I'm STILL half baby. I only know like two things at this point, and I am literally the Albert Einstein of being in my twenties. You're going to keep learning stuff constantly for the next 50 years or so, so just calm down and let the learning happen.
3. No one wants to hear about your semester abroad in Thailand.
4. Take all the help. Take it!
Okay, so there are no jobs, you have tons of debt, and everything is fucked. I'm sorry. If moving in with your parents for a while is a viable option, if you have the ability to ease into independence, you should take it. Otherwise, when you actually become independent, you'll have thousands of dollars in credit card debt and a shitty rental record, and then when your car gets towed because of unpaid parking tickets you won't be able to afford to get it out of the impound lot, which means you essentially just went into debt so that you could give away your car. These things affect your credit for years and can come back to screw you even after you've learned your lessons [Ed: After ten years, I'm still dealing with the effects of my just-out-of-school credit fuckery. Take this advice VERY seriously. Don't be me.]. So if you have help available to you, take it. If you can, move in with your parents and get an unpaid internship. Then get another unpaid internship. Write a blog or whatever. Get to know people in your chosen field, don't be a presumptuous dick (nobody owes you shit), and remember that it's your privilege (i.e. parents) that got you here. Your responsibility as a privileged person is to not be a Republican.
Okay, so there are no jobs, you have tons of debt, and everything is fucked. I'm sorry. If moving in with your parents for a while is a viable option, if you have the ability to ease into independence, you should take it. Otherwise, when you actually become independent, you'll have thousands of dollars in credit card debt and a shitty rental record, and then when your car gets towed because of unpaid parking tickets you won't be able to afford to get it out of the impound lot, which means you essentially just went into debt so that you could give away your car. These things affect your credit for years and can come back to screw you even after you've learned your lessons [Ed: After ten years, I'm still dealing with the effects of my just-out-of-school credit fuckery. Take this advice VERY seriously. Don't be me.]. So if you have help available to you, take it. If you can, move in with your parents and get an unpaid internship. Then get another unpaid internship. Write a blog or whatever. Get to know people in your chosen field, don't be a presumptuous dick (nobody owes you shit), and remember that it's your privilege (i.e. parents) that got you here. Your responsibility as a privileged person is to not be a Republican.
5. To the non-privileged people, yes, you will have to work harder than the people in item #4, and that completely sucks.
The world isn't fair. I'm sorry. It just isn't. But take the job you have to take, and try and do the work you love in your free time. Chances are, you're smart and tough and not a dick. That will help.
The world isn't fair. I'm sorry. It just isn't. But take the job you have to take, and try and do the work you love in your free time. Chances are, you're smart and tough and not a dick. That will help.
6. You look really pretty today.
7. Say yes to everything. Take the meeting.
Any job in the field that you eventually want to get into is better than any job that's not in that field. Pay your dues. Nothing is beneath you right now. And be shrewd. Like, if you graduate from culinary school and what you want is to be a fancy chef, it's better to get a job as a dishwasher at a nice restaurant than as a line cook at Denny's. I thought I wanted to be a writer, so my first unpaid internship was at a shitty fake magazine that was owned by these super sleazy Young Businessmen in the Valley. It was basically just a coupon book that kept the dudes afloat while they focused on their real project—inspirational corporate fire-walking. So mostly my "editorial internship" consisted of picking up firewood at a seedy lumber yard and driving it across town to this weird, empty porn-condo that, I guess, was Creepy Firewalking, Inc.'s HQ. Then the dudes would touch my arm and try to get me to walk on hot coals because "it's spiritual," and then they would give me $20 and it felt dirty. It was fucking awful, but I'm still glad I did it, because I totally got real magazine jobs later. Resumes are all smoke and mirrors anyway.
Any job in the field that you eventually want to get into is better than any job that's not in that field. Pay your dues. Nothing is beneath you right now. And be shrewd. Like, if you graduate from culinary school and what you want is to be a fancy chef, it's better to get a job as a dishwasher at a nice restaurant than as a line cook at Denny's. I thought I wanted to be a writer, so my first unpaid internship was at a shitty fake magazine that was owned by these super sleazy Young Businessmen in the Valley. It was basically just a coupon book that kept the dudes afloat while they focused on their real project—inspirational corporate fire-walking. So mostly my "editorial internship" consisted of picking up firewood at a seedy lumber yard and driving it across town to this weird, empty porn-condo that, I guess, was Creepy Firewalking, Inc.'s HQ. Then the dudes would touch my arm and try to get me to walk on hot coals because "it's spiritual," and then they would give me $20 and it felt dirty. It was fucking awful, but I'm still glad I did it, because I totally got real magazine jobs later. Resumes are all smoke and mirrors anyway.
8. Be nice to your parents, because they are going to die and you will be sad.
Unless your parents were horrible, in which case fuck your parents! (Not literally.) One of the best things about being a grown-up is that you get to burn bridges with people who are complete dicks to you. You make your own family now.
Unless your parents were horrible, in which case fuck your parents! (Not literally.) One of the best things about being a grown-up is that you get to burn bridges with people who are complete dicks to you. You make your own family now.
9. That said, you should also never ever burn any bridges.
My dad was literally nice to everyone he ever met for his entire life, and every time shit got complicated some old rando would pop out of the dumbwaiter and be like, "Hey, do you want this job? I love you!" He called it luck, but I call it being fucking nice to people. (Just kidding, we didn't have a dumbwaiter. But maybe you can, once you get one million jobs from being so nice all the time!)
My dad was literally nice to everyone he ever met for his entire life, and every time shit got complicated some old rando would pop out of the dumbwaiter and be like, "Hey, do you want this job? I love you!" He called it luck, but I call it being fucking nice to people. (Just kidding, we didn't have a dumbwaiter. But maybe you can, once you get one million jobs from being so nice all the time!)
10. You are a no-strings-attached person right now. Congrats!
This is your big chance to be responsibly poor, before your poverty starts fucking up anyone else's life. You (probably) don't have kids, a spouse, a mortgage, or responsibilities of any kind. What you do have is the stamina and the drive to cope with a staggering amount of discomfort (i.e. an air mattress in a windowless closet in a garbage shack under the freeway with 13 vegan roommates growing white-people dreads) in the name of freedom (i.e. an unpaid internship supplemented only by your busking salary and plasma sales). Do it now. Because believe me, by the time you're 30, you won't even have the patience to sleep on a fucking couch, let alone share a microwave that smells like the ghost of Braden's ravioli.
This is your big chance to be responsibly poor, before your poverty starts fucking up anyone else's life. You (probably) don't have kids, a spouse, a mortgage, or responsibilities of any kind. What you do have is the stamina and the drive to cope with a staggering amount of discomfort (i.e. an air mattress in a windowless closet in a garbage shack under the freeway with 13 vegan roommates growing white-people dreads) in the name of freedom (i.e. an unpaid internship supplemented only by your busking salary and plasma sales). Do it now. Because believe me, by the time you're 30, you won't even have the patience to sleep on a fucking couch, let alone share a microwave that smells like the ghost of Braden's ravioli.
11. Don't get confused, though: Unless you are actually poor, you are not actually poor.
I know I said "poor" in item #10, but I was being lazy. I'm sorry. What I really meant was "broke." Don't get some chip on your shoulder about how disenfranchised you are because all you have is a liberal arts degree and 100 Top Ramens. It will make you sound silly and careless. Some people have been systemically disadvantaged their entire lives and now they live in their cars and don't even have Bottom Ramen. Here's an easy way to tell the difference: If you got arrested, do you have someone that could bail you out of jail? If the answer is yes, then you are broke and not poor. "Poor" is not a game. You are "broke."
I know I said "poor" in item #10, but I was being lazy. I'm sorry. What I really meant was "broke." Don't get some chip on your shoulder about how disenfranchised you are because all you have is a liberal arts degree and 100 Top Ramens. It will make you sound silly and careless. Some people have been systemically disadvantaged their entire lives and now they live in their cars and don't even have Bottom Ramen. Here's an easy way to tell the difference: If you got arrested, do you have someone that could bail you out of jail? If the answer is yes, then you are broke and not poor. "Poor" is not a game. You are "broke."
12. You should care about politics.
Unless you care about politics too much, in which case please stop caring about politics so much because you're making everyone tired.
Unless you care about politics too much, in which case please stop caring about politics so much because you're making everyone tired.
13. Invest in potatoes.
Potatoes are delicious and they cost almost negative money. Any idiot can cook a potato, and if you're following this guide, there's a good chance you're going to be very hungry for a very long time. Potatoes!
Potatoes are delicious and they cost almost negative money. Any idiot can cook a potato, and if you're following this guide, there's a good chance you're going to be very hungry for a very long time. Potatoes!
14. If you must make art about your own life, go for it.
But don't expect anyone to take you seriously until your life actually has stuff in it.
But don't expect anyone to take you seriously until your life actually has stuff in it.
15. Don't believe anything that someone sitting at a folding table on the street tells you.
They are either a weird monk who wants to give you a "free book" for $15, or they think 9/11 was an inside job, or they want you to sign up for a garbage credit card, or they are Lyndon LaRouche.
They are either a weird monk who wants to give you a "free book" for $15, or they think 9/11 was an inside job, or they want you to sign up for a garbage credit card, or they are Lyndon LaRouche.
16. Your time as a libertarian, Buddhist, and/or bisexual is over.
Unless you're an actual bisexual, in which case I TOTALLY BELIEVE IN YOU. PLEASE DON'T YELL AT ME. I know a lot of you guys are mad at me right now. Shit. I feel like I'm breaking my own rule at #9. But I told you, I'm still learning! (See half-baby, item #2.) And also, libertarians are mean. I am not sorry for that part.
Unless you're an actual bisexual, in which case I TOTALLY BELIEVE IN YOU. PLEASE DON'T YELL AT ME. I know a lot of you guys are mad at me right now. Shit. I feel like I'm breaking my own rule at #9. But I told you, I'm still learning! (See half-baby, item #2.) And also, libertarians are mean. I am not sorry for that part.
17. It's time to figure out your weird sex stuff.
I know that when you were younger you hated yourself for liking anything besides tender vanilla caresses, but hush. If you can only self-lubricate by imagining that your mattress is stuffed with Michael Landon's hair, embrace it! And remember that there is someone on the internet who has an actual mattress stuffed with Michael Landon's actual hair, so you are not even close to being the creepiest Cheerio in the box. Also, if you really just like tender vanilla caresses, that's adorable! Do that! Don't let anyone tell you what to do with your parts.
I know that when you were younger you hated yourself for liking anything besides tender vanilla caresses, but hush. If you can only self-lubricate by imagining that your mattress is stuffed with Michael Landon's hair, embrace it! And remember that there is someone on the internet who has an actual mattress stuffed with Michael Landon's actual hair, so you are not even close to being the creepiest Cheerio in the box. Also, if you really just like tender vanilla caresses, that's adorable! Do that! Don't let anyone tell you what to do with your parts.
18. None of the stuff that you think is a big deal is a big deal.
Like, nobody on the entire earth cares if you got your period and stained your pants. Fuck, nobody even cares if you just SHIT your pants. Just go home and change your stupid pants! People have bills to pay! People are busy! No one is looking at you!
Like, nobody on the entire earth cares if you got your period and stained your pants. Fuck, nobody even cares if you just SHIT your pants. Just go home and change your stupid pants! People have bills to pay! People are busy! No one is looking at you!
19. Don't structure your life based on lists on the internet.
That's crazy. You do you, special snowflake.
That's crazy. You do you, special snowflake.
* * *
Ok, now this is me (Dana) writing again. How hilarious is that piece? LW has pieces with more gravity, certainly, and she gave a pretty powerful speech about internet trolls [if you're not familiar with that term, look it up, but to Cliffsnote it for you, it has nothing to do with bridges or riddles], too, but the legit belly laughs that she gave me from that piece is what cemented my Lindy West fandom. So, anyway. LW's latest piece is about modesty, written in response to some young women in South Pasadena starting Modesty Week at their school. Oy. Here's LW thought about it:
[ONCE AGAIN, I DID NOT WRITE THE FOLLOWING MATERIAL. LINDY WEST DID. AND THEN SHE PUBLISHED IT ON JEZEBEL.COM, AND I COPIED AND PASTED IT HERE BECAUSE I THINK LINDY WEST IS AMAZING AND IT IS VERY IMPORTANT TO ME THAT EVERYONE AROUND ME KNOWS ABOUT HER. DON'T SUE ME FOR COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT. I HAVE VERY LITTLE IN TERMS OF LIQUID ASSETS AND I HAVE NO NEFARIOUS INTENT SO A LAWSUIT AGAINST ME FOR COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT OR THEFT OF INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OR WHATEVER WOULD BE NEITHER A FINANCIAL NOR MORAL VICTORY, AND ISN'T THERE A BETTER USE OF THE LEGAL SYSTEM? BOOM. DISCLAIMED.]
Hey, Girls, ‘Modesty’ Is Bullshit
The Merriam-Webster English Dictionary defines "opening your article with a quote from a dictionary" as "the most bush-league garbage move of all time"—but that's because it's mainly used by pimply baby boys in red states who want you to know howpersonally wounded they are by the existence of Black History Month. In some cases, consulting a dictionary can be legit instructive. Like right now, when we have young women running around proselytizing about "modesty" in the name of women's lib. Um, ladies, no.
Let's consult the dic.
modesty (n.)
1530s, "freedom from exaggeration, self-control," from M.Fr. modestie or directly from L. modestia "moderation, sense of honor, correctness of conduct," from modestus "moderate, keeping measure, sober, gentle, temperate," from modus "measure, manner" (see mode (n.1)). Meaning "quality of having a moderate opinion of oneself" is from 1550s; that of "womanly propriety" is from 1560s.
This is what "modesty" means. The key points here are "correctness of conduct" and "womanly propriety." If we're looking at the concept of modesty in the non-humble sense, it is a gendered term. It means adhering to a paternalistic and historically oppressive moral code. It means "know your place." It means that certain behaviors are "appropriate" for a woman and others aren't—not for a human being (we're not talking about murder or dog-marriage here), but for awoman. It means that ladies need to be covering up their tittayz.
Ladies. You do not need to be covering up your tittayz.
Now, that doesn't mean that you need to be showing them off and waggling them about in church, or splitting the difference by sort of intermittently flashing them like a strobe light. It just means that you get to do whatever you want with them, regardless of any and all 400-year-old notions about "womanly propriety." Barring public nudity laws (which are also kind of silly, but whatevs), the idea that society can tell you how much of your body to reveal or hide implies that your body does not belong to you. The concept of modesty is proprietary and patriarchal and ancient. I'm pretty sure that even the most hardline anti-feminist can admit who owned women's bodies in the 1560s, when the term came plopping out of the etymological birth canal. Hint: it wasn't women.
Anyway, that hasn't stopped the city of South Pasadena from declaring December 3-7 "Modesty Week" (oops, guess you missed your chance to wear your high-necked chemise with your most dour stomacher!), in response to one high school student's pro-modesty crusade:
Saige Hatch, 15, launched the South Pasadena High School Modesty Club in September to combat the proliferation of short shorts, miniskirts and bare midriffs. Hatch blames popular culture and peer pressure for sexualizing women and girls."Women have fought for their rights, liberty, and honor more in the past 200 years than in all recorded history," reads a statement on the club's website, www.modestyclub.com. "Our bright, heroic women are being made the fool. A fool to think that to be loved they must be naked. To be noticed they must be sexualized. To be admired they must be objectified."
Fine, fine, yes, sure, fine. Sounds pretty good so far. I am against the hypersexualization and objectification of teenage girls, and I don't love it when I come downstairs and find my 11-year-old stepdaughter watching The Real Housewives of Gonorrhea Island or whatever. I've done my share of railing against gratuitously "sexy" Halloween costumes. I get it. Also mini-skirts are gross because your vagina touches the chair!!! Unfortunately, further research into the philosophy behind Hatch's Modesty Club makes it clear that this isn't some thoughtful, progressive anti-objectification thinktank—it's more like the South Pasadena High School Slut-Shaming Club, or the South Pasadena High School Uphold the Patriarchy Club. Great.
The club asks girls to pledge they will "wear shorts and skirts at knee length," "shirts and dresses that cover my stomach, lower back, breasts and shoulders" and "not ask, persuade, or allow a boy to do anything with me that will jeopardize the code of chastity."Boys have less to worry about, but are called on to keep "a neat and clean appearance" and "maintain the utmost respect and honor for the virtue of girls."
F-PLUS. CLICK.
To be very clear, I don't have a problem with these kids wearing turtlenecks and having a club and doing whatever the ding-dong they want (I'm trying to work clean here—Hatch's brother made headlines a few years ago for starting a No Cussing Club, no joke). They seem like sweet kids, and I'm sure their motivations are honest and heartfelt. But I take issue with puritanical standards of female chastity and virtue (which are deeply tied up in conservative religious rhetoric—Hatch, perhaps not coincidentally, is a cousin of Orrin Hatch) being publicly validated by city officials.
Obviously "modesty" has shed some of its patriarchal baggage in the long, slow slog toward modernity, but its fair to say that it's fundamentally intertwined with the concept of women-as-property. "Oh no! Don't let other people see my stuff, because then the stuff will get gross and lose its value!" Cover your goodies, ladies, because everyone knows the menfolk are too busy thinking about man stuff—like winning hella bread, and being all of the presidents—to restrain their penises from homing in on your holes like hungry little dowsing rods.
The idea that the onus is on women to "preserve" their chastity by not "tempting" men—instead of on on men to stop themselves from taking it forcefully—is a fundamental imbalance in our society that creates tangible problems for women every day. And it's coupled with the idea that women who DO "give up" their lady-flowers (and maybe even enjoy it) are somehow tainted and less valuable than women who wear knee-length skirts. However subtly, the word "modesty" is pregnant with all of that meaning (sluuuuuuut!!!). "Modesty" is about men, not women—it's no coincidence that patronizing bullshit like this "Guys on Modesty" Pinterest pageis a thing:
Guys on Modesty is a male perspective Blog on the subject of modesty. We aim to redefine modesty from a negative virtue-a long list of don'ts-to a positive: A way of living that woman aspire to be.
That is the purest distillation of "modesty" I can think of. Couldn't have said it better myself. Just like with the Modesty Club, it's the intent and the context that matter. Wearing a high Peter Pan collar is not objectively problematic (and some of the dresses on the "Guys on Modesty" page are fucking cute, goddamnit). The problem is the implication that there's a "right" way to be a woman, and that men—anonymous, strange men on the internet, no less—have some say in what that "right" way looks like. And I'm very sorry, "Guys," but my only "womanly duty" is to myself.
I have no beef with the kids, regardless of how misguided I think their reasoning is. I only take issue with the adults who indoctrinated these girls into the idea that their personal worth is tied up with their "purity" (notice that no such rules apply to the boys—they're only asked to try to not sully the precious womenfolk). The idea that women's bodies are some kind of exceptional holy commodity undermines equality in a million ways—from access to reproductive health care (hey, how 'bout you cover my vagina the same way you cover the rest of everyone else's body?) to the fact that 2012 is a banner fucking year in the America household because we've elected 20 whole lady-senators to the United States Senate (we can't elect any more or there'll be menses blood all over the Senate chamber!). There is nothing wrong with wearing a modest blouse. There is something wrong with wearing a modest blouse because some dinos told you it is your "womanly duty."
I want my kids to understand that they have value beyond their sexual capital—that they shouldn't dress just to titillate (at least until college, or whenever that phase happens), but they don't need to hide under baggy smocks like their knees and shoulders are some sort of irresistible garden of penis-witchery. They get to live their lives for themselves. Not in thrall to some ancient notion about the commercial value of unsullied vaginas.
I am a person. I'll dress the way I want and act the way I want, and if I want to show all of my boobs that is not an invitation or a justification to rape me. And the fact that I had sex out of wedlock does not make me tainted or virtueless or lower my "value" in any way, any more than it lowers some horny little dude's "value." So fuck these kids' parents and especially fuck the city of South Pasadena. Because if any of you really give a shit about women's safety, then how about you make it "Don't Rape Women Week" in South Pasadena? Or encourage your earnest little kids to start an "End Sexual Violence Club"? ...No? Just "Cover Up, Ladies, You're Making the Rapists' Erections Cry Week"? 'Kay, then. 'Kay. Bullshit.
* * *
Back to me again. Once again, LW left me breathless. I couldn't agree with her more stridently. This is an important issue to discuss with young women because we get really conflicting messages about how to present ourselves. And, I hate to bring this up, but for women with more pronounced curves, it's a tougher row to hoe. Two of my BFFs are naturally lean, and therefore have smaller bustlines, so they can wear pretty much anything on top, without issue. Put those ladies in a camisole, and they look gorgeous. But, my sisters and I have much larger bustlines, and it's really easy to make some innocuous garment look full-on slutty. It's tricky! Trying to find professional clothing is a total assache-- find button-down blouses that fit a large bustline wtihout gapping, without drowning the rest of one's frame, is just this side of impossible. Also, if you're curvy, and you put on a pair of heels, guess what: you get curvier! Your butt gets higher, your calves get more pronounced, and your breasts may as well be put on a fucking stage with spotlights and a velvet curtain.
Working in electoral politics, this is a legit thing. Because so much of it is attending events, meeting new people, navigating through groups, whatever, one's appearance is a part of the game. I attended a training last spring with EMILY's List, and there was a designated part of the program that addressed how to dress and groom oneself. Because, for better or worse, politics is a man's game, so the differences between men and women are thrown into sharp relief. If a woman wears a pants suit, she runs the risk of appearing to underplay her femininity and ZOMG-she's-anti-woman-and-she's-probably-a-lesbian-and-definitely-anti-family. If a woman wears a dress, she runs the risk of appearing to sexualize herself and ZOMG-she's-anti-woman-and-she's-probably-slept-her-way-into-the-general-election-and-is-definitely-anti-choice. This past campaign, I attended a ton of fundraisers, and I can say without hesitation, that my appearance played a significant role in how "well" I did. If I wore pants and a conservative sweater or maybe something less feminine, I'd have one set of results. If I wore a dress, and heels, wore my hair down or used a slightly heavier hand with my make-up, I'd have an entirely different set of results. To be honest, I really enjoyed the opportunities to dress up and I imagine that I carry myself different when I'm fully "done", and I struggle with rationalizing that to the militant feminist that lurks within. I never wore anything super low-cut, and I never tried to use my decollete as a bargaining chip, so is that the difference? Like, is that where the line is drawn? I can be feminine or whatever, and it's all kosher as long as I don't throw my cans in someone's face?
I have no answers for this. For Halloween, someone suggested that I dress up as Joan from Mad Men. So, I dd. I altered a day dress, found some spray-on red hair colorant, teased the shit out of my hair and put it into this elaborate twist, etc. And it was pretty fun. I was all proud of myself because I didn't fall victim to the "slutty ______" Halloween costume pressure, but I'm unconvinced that my "pride" is warranted. I even prepared a Rosie the Riveter costume in case I ultimately decided that dressing as Joan was antifeminist. I mean, I still had shit on display, like deliberately. I still wore bright red lipstick, and wore something to cinch my waist, etc. So, where does that fit into a point of view that finds archaic norms about female modesty totally fucking ridiculous, but that also finds slutty Halloween costumes to be repugnant, offensive, awful?
And to be honest, there are times when I wear something lower cut, when I kind of AM throwing my cans in someone's face, and I feel like myself. I don't have a tight waist or an ass that won't quit [but high-five to those of you that do!], but my breasts are pretty spectacular and fairly symmetrical. I have a constant internal debate about whether or not this point of view is healthy.
Y'know, I'm thinking that the main reason I like LW's take on modesty so much is that is validates my desire to bring 'em out more often. Hmm. Like I said, I have no answers for this, only questions.
