A few years ago, idiotically, I wrote on a forum that I was a feminist but not a raging feminist. A woman asked politely (far more politely than I deserved) what I meant by that remark and I went on to post more about my ideologies - which, when examined closely, meant absolute nonsense. I believed a raging feminist was one that strove too hard for equality, knocking down people in her way, spray-painting big Xs over the men on WOMEN toilets signs. I envisioned a raging feminist to be a woman that pounced on opportunities to point out sexist flaws in movies, books, political speeches, bus stop signs...I believed in something that just doesn't exist.
Not only that, but I was careful not to succumb to this mythological personality trait by spending more time enlightening myself on the social emasculating of the depiction of men on television and in modern media, being portrayed as slobbering, drooling Neanderthals with teeny wives that do everything for them.
To excuse myself a tiny bit (and only a tiny bit, this is still a proper apology) at the time I did have a young son and was his primary influence and was very mindful of his rights as a person and as a male. However, to completely ignore the pressing stereotype of those television wives who are forced to remain attractive, are constantly shown cleaning and tidying, and manage to spend season after season dithering over only two choices that women on television seem to be faced with - staying home or working - I needed to pull my head of my ass and realise that what I was seeing was enraging.
I am a raging feminist. Feminists want equality for humans, and that's what I want.
I was side-tracked by sexual conformity, and confused by how feminism and still being likable worked. Now I know that I am sexy. I am strong. I am not to be ignored. I want my son and my daughter to be equals, and I don't care if that makes someone not like me. Being nice, a mantra repeated to me over and over by caregivers, teachers, employers and everyone else that had an influence over me meant that I was scared of NOT being nice. Of saying no. Of not sharing, stepping back, holding my tongue, hoping I'd always manage to say the right thing at exactly the right time. Little girls are told to be nice too often. We develop a fear of not being seen as nice. A fear of being called a bitch. A fear of being referred to as a raging feminist.
Men are assertive. Women are catty. Men know what they want. Women are being difficult. Men cry on television to appear genuine and appealing. Women who cry on television are hormonal and out of control, emotionally unstable and incapable of maintaining composure. A good man stays home with his kids. A bad mother goes out without leaving supper for them all.
I face sexism every day, whether it is subtle social conformity subtext like being expected to pick out cards and gifts for my husband's family because that is seen as the wife's job, or not so subtle like being whistled at on the street for daring to brush my hair that day. Rather than being annoyed at Homer Simpson on behalf of men, I'm annoyed at big boobs on billboards (not breastfeeding, though, GOD HELP US ALL IF THAT TIT IS LACTATING) and magazines aimed at tweens that tell them how to satisfy their men 365 ways a year. Yes, I know men feel pressure to look good/smell good, etc. That doesn't erase, vindicate, minimise or reduce the pressure women and young girls are faced with. If anything it might lead to the smallest amount of empathy, but usually when a man states that he's under the same pressure it's not to acknowledge what a woman goes through but to insist she look at others instead of herself. That she be nice and realise it isn't all about her.
So, I apologise for being so dumb and uninformed all of those years ago, and hope I'm allowed to start over. I can start now:
I am a raging feminist. It is one of my best qualities.
