My oldest daughter, the tall slender blond who was asked to participate in a student film as a perfect American beauty - yeah, that one...She is back in school finishing her bachelors, because her employer wants to offer her a master's. So has been working on the history of the 60s - civil rights, hippies, music, Viet Nam. She has become more aware of gender politics.
She now refuses to wear make up to work, and will not wear stilettos at all, ever. They hobble women, and prevent us from running, moving - they deform our bodies. She told me that certain colleagues are beginning to talk to her about how beautiful she would be if she wore make up. The implication is that otherwise she is not beautiful, we are not beautiful, women are not beautiful. Not without help.
I stayed with S#3 for a few days, years and years ago. I don't even look in a mirror most days - this has been me for most of my life. And she is always beautifully made up, dressed well, hair done. (I still occasionally pull my hair into two braids to get it out of my face...shhhh.) I remember being in the bathroom, washing my hands and looking up. My face caught my attention. There was something wrong. Something missing. I studied my face and realized I wasn't wearing eye-liner. I had been looking at S#3 all week, and her look became normal. Suddenly mine was blah, unnoticeable, wrong.
Something similar happened with my ex. We watched a movie one night - it was Sylvester Stallone and/or Kurt Russell - some over-steroided, off-looking man. After two hours of watching this shirtless wonder, the movie was over, and we were going to bed. My ex took off his shirt. Again, I stopped and wondered what was wrong. My ex was a former swimmer, he was in decent shape - but he didn't look "right" after what the movie told me a man should look like.
I kind of like my inability to not care, but sometimes I think I should start wearing make up again.
But men don't wear make up. They are attractive in their natural state. And they don't wear hobbles! I think we wear make up to look babyish-sexy. We make big eyes (baby) and rosy cheeks(baby), then red-siren lips (whore). We wear stilettos to emphasize out butts, but also to walk like a baby - sort of toddle. I think we are expected to shave because body hair is a secondary sexual characteristic, and it means we are adults. So we are told it is dirty and smelly and unsightly - so we conform and infantalize our bodies.
Maybe Mom is right - my heart is beautiful...ahhhhhhh!!!!! I feel so damned - so damned with faint praise!
But not damned enough to go get the mascara!
You mentioned writing about gender violence - us vs. them. I had a conversation with someone today that led me somewhere strange. (Typical for me, I think.)
I was talking to a man in Europe about bird migrations. He said the swifts migrate back and forth between northern Europe and South Africa. One of their stopping places is the island of Malta in the middle of the Mediterranean. Malta is now part of the European Union, but part of the agreement allowing them to join was that they had to stop shooting the migrating birds. Apparently they were routinely out joy-shooting into the sky simply to see how many they could kill during every migration. They never ate or used the birds. They simply killed because they didn't have enough humanity to understand.
I started thinking about the accounts of wildlife here before Europeans arrived. I have read about migrations that darkened the sky. I have read about abundance - about the buffalo thundering across the plains. And European-Americans ran them off of cliffs, simply to kill.
I get so excited about the migrations. A vee of Canadian geese were moving north across my little piece of the sky this weekend. Their cries called me out of the door. I stood and watched. Today I realized that I am seeing but a remnant of migration. These are the small groups that have survived our kind - European-Americans.
Perhaps the root of this destruction is that feeling that there is not enough. There is not enough for me, and so I must protect what I have, and I have the right - the legal and moral right - to kill you if you touch my stuff.
We protect our stuff from other species, but maybe men are so frightened of women taking their stuff, that they stomp on us, out of fear. So who taught us that there is not enough for all?
Looking through history, it seems everywhere whites go, devastation follows. I wonder why...
I wanted to share one last thing - about my meeting. This happened before my time. But I found a sign tucked away. It said something to the effect: These cans are being collected as a fundraiser for this meeting. But if you need them, please take them. If there's anything else you need, please come and talk to us.
Pretty self-explanatory. Pretty Friendly.
I love you, beautiful woman!
Clare
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