Why I’m a Feminist
November 5, 2007
I went antiquing with my friend Mónica today. I came across a Varga girl pinup from November 1948. The image depicts a leggy brunette in a two-piece bedroom set and matching kitten heels. The caption reads, “I’ve got a brand new platform, that’s sure to elect me one day; I’m strong for the Two-Party system — one on Saturday, one on Sunday.”
You might ask why I’d want to hang such a thing on my wall. After all, who would want to memorialize the days when those in charge believed that the furthest extent of women’s political understanding should be a “charming” bewilderment and an overriding concern with pretty social occasions?
This isn’t the beginning of my obsession with 1950’s iconography. Anyone who has been in my house can plainly observe the voluminous collection of 50’s douche ads that adorn my bathroom walls.
I enjoy these ads not out of a masochistic desire to return to the way things were, or even as a reminder of how much the female condition in America has improved over the last 60 years. I keep them on my wall as a reminder of what the anti-feminist backlash mentality wants us to return to.
The basic message of the ads — one of which essentially encourages women to douche with Lysol — is that vaginas are dirty, smelly places. They talk about “germicidal protection” and “embarrassing odor” and promise “feminine daintiness” and “solution[s] for your most intimate marriage problems.” That last quote is particularly relevant because it implies that a woman couldn’t possibly have any attachment to or interest in her vagina outside of its implications for her marriage.
That’s the exact mentality being pushed by anti-sex, anti-choice activists who say that women should have to “pay the price” for having sex for pleasure by getting — and being forced to stay — pregnant. It’s the same mentality that leads DJ Michael Smerconish to declare with outrage that feminists “want to keep ‘vagina’ all to themselves”.
I’m a feminist because I know that my mind, body and spirit — vagina included — belong exclusively to me. There is no situation in which I am “asking” to be raped, no matter how skimpy the outfit. There is no situation in which I am “asking” to be stalked, no matter how much information about myself I put online. There is no situation in which I deserve to be treated as anything less than an intelligent, articulate professional because I am young and attractive. I refuse to take responsibility for the sick, sad behavior of people who can’t or won’t respect me for who I am.
All of this brings me back to the Varga girl. It’s true that we’ve come a long way. In November 1948, a woman’s place was at a cocktail party. In November 2008, we could elect our first woman president. The Varga girl hangs over my desk, the space where I sit to articulate my political views. She serves the same purpose as the douche ads that adorn the space where I take care of my body.
She reminds me of what’s at stake.
Teresa:
You know, it bugs me when you bring up issues like this. No, wait, hang on my friend, don’t get upset. It’s not because I don’t like you talking about them, in fact, I think it’s wonderful. It’s because I, as a deeply empathic person, can NEVER identify with what you will go through most of your life. And that’s incredibly frustrating for me.
I spend a great deal of mental effort attempting to see things from other people’s perspective; but the female experience will always be denied me. There’s simply no basis for me to identify with it. I can definitely understand it; I can even stand behind it and encourage you and other women. I simply can never speak from a position of authority on it.
I recognize that.
The one thing you said that I do seem to be able to identify with is this part:
I suppose the reason I can identify with that (pregnancy issue aside) is because that approach - telling you to hate yourself for something that is completely natural - is a very common approach by those people, not just about women’s issues.
I grew up devout Christian and the concept of original sin was very much pounded into me. My eventual realization of its utter evil goes along the same lines of your statement I quoted.
You may not be able to understand exactly what I’m dealing with, Patrick — and I find you very dear for trying — but you can understand your own experience enough to empathize. After all, patriarchy hurts men as well.
You’ve gotten messages your whole life that rely on the same false gender dichotomy. Stuff like, “real men don’t cry,” and “men want sex, not relationships.”
If you’ve ever shed a tear or felt emotionally connected to someone you just made love to, you know that’s not true. And yet it’s impossible to live in our culture without internalizing at least a little bit of that mentality.
If you can root out your own experiences of those falsehoods, you can start to understand the inverse of a woman’s experience.