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Not to bring out the dead again, but to those who found Hillary Clinton a disgrace to end all disgraces when she stayed with the Notorious Philanderer for planting Flowers, partaking in a tasty cigar and trying to keep up with that Jones girl, I'd like to say, well, she showed them. A triumph, clearly, that she will be serving her first term as a U.S. senator. A triumph that she worked her butt off to get there. A triumph of which women--who have a modicum of independence coursing through their veins--should be infinitely proud.
The bottom line, it seems, is we can run with the boys, but we just can't be one. And don't you forget it, say too many of our male counterparts.
I'm not categorically claiming men beat down women in education, in careers, in love, in marriage. But they do, sometimes. It isn't exactly a woman's world.
We live in the Big P (patriarchy, yes?), and it could take centuries to actually, as we keep saying we're trying to do, level the playing field.
It's a tall order and as a woman, it's hard to put yourself in alignment with any one political faction or belief that cuts the straightest path to that end. It seems, as this recent election of sniping and griping would demonstrate, difficult enough declaring yourself a Dem or a Republican.
Declaring yourself in political terms as a woman, and advocating for rights as such, is a whole other can of really slippery worms. The fact that we have to--advocate rights, that is--is discouraging and also par for the course, depending on your mood.
Catching a recent interview with a well-known Hollywood celebrity, she declared herself an "equalist." As opposed to feminist. But you see, things get tricky, here. Is equalist actually anti-feminist? Is femininity a sure sign you're a sheep in wolf's clothing? Is "feminist" actually anti-male? Is acceptance giving up? Is giving up giving in? Is it a legitimate struggle or a conspiracy? Depends on whom you're asking. And what role you're supporting at any given moment.
Consider the options: daughter, sister, lover, friend, partner, spouse, wife, working woman, stay-at-home mom, homemaker, housewife, mother, grandmother, and all those that apply specifically to any and all careers we now hold, once held or hope to hold before we die. Have I left out anything? I have. Woman.
Women have been at the receiving-end of the proverbial short stick for a long time. And if this sounds too much like "playing victim," I'm only stating the obvious. There's death in that sentence, but I'll take the chance.
Take, for example, the tale of Adam and Eve, in which we could be blamed for a lack of good judgment that resulted in the collapse of what we've never known as paradise. So the world tumbled, according to a story, and we're to blame. Who wrote the book that was to make Eve the target of temptation? We've become fruit-chasers of a kind, lusting after what we can't have. Remember Snow White? Remember that Evil Queen who couldn't stop looking in the mirror, admiring her chilling good looks? I imagine, sometimes, that men are like that queen, getting under foot with the gift of a shiny, pretty apple that in one bite would knock you clear on your ass.
It's kind of a harsh take on fiction, but look around, survey popular culture, the mainstream media's overdose of what's good for us is good for you. And consider that both men AND women are perpetuating popular myth. I didn't come up in the feminist movement, and I'm not trying to tear down the colony, but sometimes, it would seem progress is akin to Sisyphus with his big rock.
Look around, see what I mean. It's not pretty. Or maybe it's all about pretty. Sexy. Ultimately, consumption. And if you look good but don't taste good, they'll spit you out. And if you don't even look good, you're going to have to try that much harder to get noticed for those hidden glories.
Sometimes, it's just plain ridiculous, this lack of voice. As I write this, even, it's a struggle to continue ... my gut feeling tells me to bring this litany to a screeching halt; is my voice really important?
Therein lies the problem. Why shouldn't it be?
Okay, so not too long ago a former employer--who shall remain nameless, though I know my editor would rather I pay homage by calling his ass on the carpet--shared with me the fact that if I weren't a woman, I would not have had my job. I really didn't know what to do with this information. It took a while to sink in, and then anger followed in abundance. This was, in fact, truly outrageous.
What could I have done?
Now, how to remedy the unyielding problem?
Going out to a bar alone calls to mind the argument often used to exemplify the girl who is "looking for trouble." Wear a mini-skirt--thank god the A-line, hanging at the knee, is back in fashion--and you're all but walking around on all fours with your panties hanging out of your teeth. Go to a bar by yourself, and what do you suppose men might think you're looking for? Right! Sex. While men can cozy up to the bar to have a solitary conversation with Jack, talk politics with a stranger, even, we're expected to abide by the childhood rule that (a) we don't talk to strangers and (b) adult men have cornered the candy market.
As if--as if--we wouldn't know what to do if someone asked us to go home with them, let alone asked us our names. And what if you did go home with someone--what if that was the intent? Poor her, stupid her? Silly girl, tricks are for prostitutes? What about our right to liberate in that fashion?
Or, if we so choose, to tell you politely (the first time) or with force (anytime thereafter) to find a bar stool in another time zone? Our "voice" becomes another prop in a dramatic theater performance conjured up for the sole purpose of helping men rise to the occasion of our supposed seduction.
We must be careful, cognizant of all the monsters in this world. Then again, why is it that we seemingly become more sexually available in this venue, guilty as charged for, perhaps after a drink or two, being friendly and thus, wanting you?
The fact that we continue, inadvertently or no, to live through and by the male perception is a point of endless irritation.
Okay, now I broach the "guilty as charged" segment of our talk. Yes, I have wittingly and willingly used coyness and charm as part of my working routine. Sometimes it's fun, sometimes it helps ease into a situation that otherwise would be like trying to engage a grizzly bear. I have flirted shamelessly in a bar. I have embraced what my mother would charge as "immoral behavior" for the sake of adventure.
Knowing all the information, still, I have taken several steps back on behalf of my sisters, the worst of it, consciously. It's all a source of guilt. Is that cheating? Is that succumbing? As if there weren't enough things to worry about on a daily basis, enough reasons to launch into a panic attack, without having to recognize every minute of every day that we're representatives of the gender, the sex, the culture. Bad behavior at the individual level is one giant leap in the wrong direction for womankind.
And speaking of guilt. Just when I think it's safe to leave behind the very sour taste of many--if not all--of the mandates of the Catholic Church, otherwise known as the Boys' Club whose mantra is the Blind Leading the Even Blinder, I can't even get a word in edgewise about choice.
Yes, that choice. I'm not quite ready to put a "Government Property" tag on my uterus, and at this moment, it's still not clear whether my sentence is a pardon or well, in Texan tradition, the frequent alternative. You voted, you know who you are, your day of reckoning will come. But really, it's still taboo to be the woman who--in acknowledging that circumstances can sometimes yield results we didn't expect or advocate--finds herself faced with that choice.
And really, wouldn't it be so much easier to have that decision made for you? After all, a ready-made solution imposed upon the individual in question (whose body is it, anyway?) would cut out all the unnecessary teary deliberation. And then, when we bring a new person into the world, we can struggle to figure out how the hell we're supposed to financially support that new being. Emotional havoc becomes a moot point, as prescribed by That Man. Obviously, this is not an argument about money. But without choice, and without a system that recognizes the effects of having no choice, our voice is null and void. And then we'll just have to "go out and get a goddamn job." (Kudos to all the blood relations who voted in favor of such travesty.)
And finally, on the subject of appearance, whether we're sporting a gunny sack, a turtleneck and knee socks, or a silk gown, does it really matter? Apparently. So what. So what? Well, it goes to the end of self-consciousness that wrecks all women to some degree. Show me a woman who doesn't tend to her appearance in some way and measure sexiness/susceptibility through coverage and the "maintenance factor," and I'll break her spirit with my broken spirit. It's inevitable.
Fashion is fun--often a trademark, sometimes an extension of personality--but what about the naked truth? Is it possible to get up in the morning and not--consciously or subconsciously--equate that at which you are staring in the mirror with, ultimately, your attractability to men? We're worse than the stock market in terms of losses and gains, and it doesn't help that we are--whether we like it or not--in the business of attraction. There is no way to turn it off.
Men have fantasies, and we're allegedly in the service industry. Cracks about ugliness, homeliness and weight issues are common practice among men and women and, while there's nothing wrong with the art of attraction, there's definitely something foul in the air where lofty standards supplant making the "big connection." Where there's static, there's a line down.
And now, back to Hillary.
Voting for Hillary because she's a woman draws fire from those who tout "the most qualified" should win. As if she rode in on her great big Sympathy Stallion. Voting for Hillary because she was the most qualified is like admitting she had any merits of her own on which to run her campaign. Some refused to vote for her because she wasn't attractive, stayed in a marital situation that some would dare judge rather than turn introspective, and perhaps because they thought she was resting on her laurels. Since when has any woman had laurels upon which to rest?
Her circumstances are conditions of existence. Being the president's wife, a mother, running for political office--those are choices. Being a woman is not. Campaigning for success as one is. And in this world, that takes talent. To say there's some consternation surrounding her most recent accomplishment would be like saying smoking won't eventually kill you. For some, it's just too much that she ran with the boys, ran against a boy, and stayed the course until she hit the top. It's truly pathetic that while history is being made, she's still suffering whiplash at the hands of those who find her determination and fortitude despicable for a "lady."
Screw the polls. Campaign the best way you know how.