I’ve been working enthusiastically these days on my highly anticipated zine “Lady Bits.”*
It took me a long time to land on the meaning of this zine. It’s still coming along but I’m excited to see the parts move into place during these clutch few weeks before it debuts at the Chicago Zine Fest.
I was inspired to write a tell-all girl talk kind of zine that, with each issue, would share, from one girl’s perspective (primarily), all the inside information she had to learn the hard way in life about being a girl.
It’s an important idea but one it took me a long time to be able to focus on and feel clear about.
I was raised by women, my mom and my grandma, but felt so ignorant my whole life about how I should be myself as a woman. Defining what I liked, selecting what worked for me, and knowing when I just sampled other people’s styles and ideas that didn’t fit. I was a little lazy at points but also afraid to be challenging when I knew what I wanted that wasn’t mainstream.**
The truth is that I’m happier and more comfortable and confident when I ignore this idea that a girl SHOULD be “this way” and just do what comes naturally. It’s advice that you hear that all the time but I’m going to define what it means to me so the cliche makes more sense.
I think the biggest hurdle is — if you want boys to like you but you want to do things that boys probably won’t like — to just say fuck it and do your thing anyway. And not in a “WELL FUCK YOU!” kind of way but in that way where you say “fuck it” and it’s such a relief to be doing what you want that you don’t mind bearing the consequence of it. Somehow when you’re a hormone-riddled teen that seems like the hardest thing in the world to do, suffer consequences and eventual death by prolonged virgin-ing, so you act a little unnatural.
My grandpa died when I was in middle school and I inherited his clothes. I WAS PUMPED. Baggy sweater vests and polyester pants in a bunch of colors. I loved that stuff. And I wore it. But probably not well because I was still hung up on this idea that I wanted the shapeless figure AND interest from boys. And I knew boys in my town back then weren’t with girls who wore hand-me-down polyester pants from their dead ancestors. But I did it anyway, half-heartedly, and just kind of lived in this denial/discomfort place that is so unattractive.
I’ve been this tall (5’7″) since I was 14 and have had developed breasts for as long if not longer but was too embarrassed to “own” them because that’s what sluts do. I had trouble wearing anything lower than crew neck for about the first 20 years of my life and spent most of my tween years hunching to hide them. I now have HORRIBLE posture. That is insane, right?
I think the trouble is, I wanted people for a very long time to like me just because I was me, funny and creative and talented and nice, so that should be enough. Why would I have to look good too? I wasn’t going to have sex with anyone. Looking good is for people who want to find sex partners, I thought. I couldn’t give a fuck. Diseases terrify me.
I haven’t changed much personally over time. I’m drawn to the same things (comedy, bright colors, things that don’t match, weirdos, IDK — lots of stuff) but I’m a bit more flexible with my ideas now and I talk to people more. But for a long time it bothered me that a simple makeover had the potential to earn respect and I didn’t want the favor of good styling to have any bearing over the way people treated me. It felt like a cheat and it seemed like a thing that would only draw dishonest interest from hapless people clearly bent on one thing — the thing I’ve always been most guarded about.
But the truth is that people treat you better when you look good. Or passing good, anyway. And maybe at heart you’re someone who likes looking good and that’s fun for you. I didn’t explore the idea that styling was fun and creative, save buying a pretty dress for weddings, for a really long time. But I’m glad I came around.
Coming into yourself is a process and overcoming ideas about gender is also a huge deal. It’s the truth.
I imagine some people have a guide in life who takes them out and trains and challenges them — a bossy friend or cool aunt or knowing magazine — but in terms of self-styling I didn’t really have that. It took me a really long time to find my look and I guess I’m still defining that since I’m new to the game.
When I was 20 years old I studied abroad and for the first time tried parting my hair on the side. The hair resisted but I trained it and I loved my new look. I felt so pretty. I called my boyfriend and told him I was parting my hair on the side now and he said, “I don’t think I’d like that.”
That’s the worst part about boyfriends is they often think you’re not going to keep coming into yourself, trying on new looks or ideas, and ultimately becoming better and more true to the person you always have been — which is who you thought they always liked but I guess not now? Lots of relationships fear change and breed contempt at the sight of it.*** It’s tough to be so giving without worrying that person will evolve away from you.
Back to my point: If you’re someone who doesn’t want to look like a slut, you dress plain; if you’re someone who wants to date, you dress conventionally; if you’re someone who wants to be in a relationship you must never change; if you want to talk to someone cool you must know they will think you want to kiss them. These are the ideas about womanhood I had to overcome to be who I am today.
I was so excited a year ago (or more?) when I found The Hairpin. I don’t get into it now as much as I used to (a bit too much Jane and not enough Edith for me) but when we met it was kismet. It totally supported and encouraged my own ideas about womanhood and I realized that was something I lacked, needed, wanted and wasn’t getting anywhere else. It was validating and encouraging and for the first few months I read every word of that site and those words meant something to me.
Funny and obsessive and pretty and cool and open and chatty and more about being fun than being straight-up sexual or trendy or feminist. It fits my idea of womanhood completely: It doesn’t make you a tart to wear makeup when you think wearing makeup is fun; it doesn’t make you a slut if you like sex because having sex is fun; it doesn’t make you a tease if you try talking to people because making and having friends is fun; wear clothes you like because feeling good is fun.
I’ve been thinking a lot more about this stuff because of the hotness contest. Five years ago I’d never be involved in something like this. Not just because I wasn’t hot but because I would never have felt comfortable with the idea of me being hot. I would have just died to think I was a finalist in something like this. It would have gone against everything I wanted for myself, which was to be liked because I’m a fun and caring person. But beauty can be an aspect of fun too, for someone like me. I accept that now.
For someone else beauty might be a lifestyle or commitment or a statement. It might really mean, for some women, that they are just looking to get with someone, like I thought when I was younger. But the way they use beauty shouldn’t color what that thing means for me, when I do it, and I get that now.
We shouldn’t be judgmental about why people choose to look good because it’s narrow-minded. And whatever it means, to play dress-up or make a good impression or hide out in a crowd or turn someone on, that’s okay. I hope they get what they want.
I’ve been recording a lot of personal stories for this first issue of “Lady Bits” that I hope send this message across without being exacting. I think it’s an important idea to encourage — this idea of fun. Creating fun for yourself and the people in your life. Becoming happy and keeping people close who love and support the idea of you being happy.
I learned recently that a male friend and professional acquaintance was valuing me on hotness and found me lacking, probably because I never seemed interested in him as a partner. I was and still am so annoyed by this and I’m working to forgive him even though he doesn’t know I’m mad. He doesn’t even know I know he said this stuff about me.
I’m mad because, while I treated him like a friend, he treated me like I was a girl he could get stuff from who wasn’t hot. That’s what our relationship looked like to him. I wouldn’t even try to forgive him if we didn’t have to work together sometimes. What a waste.
How can you trust and love and support someone who just wants to hold you down with stereotypes? Is this someone who NEEDS to be physically attracted females to call them friends? Friends until he fucks them or the favors run dry. I guess so.
*Two of my friends seem eager to read it.
**Especially in Sioux Falls. Minneapolis has been way more flexible and accepting.
***Don’t worry, Adam, we’re doing just fine.
