Cognitive Dissonance

It's really fucking difficult being a feminist.

I'm coming at that from an interesting position, because aside from being a feminist, I'm anti-baptist living in the South, anti-corporate, anti-mainstream, and fairly vocally a queer. (I know it's hard to tell on that last one, given that the last several people I've dated have been male, but that's because I already have a wife, and one is enough, thank you. This does not change the underlying fact that I find women attractive.)

I've practiced Judaism, and within that, I've been anti-Zionist. My general philosophy is contrarian, and I generally argue the minority position. I'm from Oak Cliff, and I'm white; I live in Texas, and I don't speak even passable Spanish. (I can say "my dog is green," "you're stupider than a donkey," and "this is a robbery.") In a time of hyper-patriots, I've verged on violently anti-American.

None of these tendencies, and none of these labels, has ever gotten me anywhere near the same amount of flak as the term "feminist." Talk about rock and hard place. Socialization is against you. Men are against you. Women are against you. Even other feminists are usually against you.

"Feminist" has become as distasteful a term as "nigger."

Thing is, I don't even know what I'm supposed to be doing most of the time. The Romie Exception saves me more often than not, but not in my own head. I've decided recently to try a more feminine appearance, simply because you can't be androgynous if you spend all your time being masculine. (Also, I can't find any trousers, so this has a practical application.) I like skirts; I always have. I like shoes with a bit of a heel because the added height makes me feel more powerful.

I know that I haven't sold out. I know that I'm dressing up because I enjoy it. But it brings up that same unsolvable problem: by presenting an image of semi-traditional femininity, does that mean that I'm reclaiming it, or that I'm furthering the belief that it is the only way?

I know that I haven't sold out. That's the second time I've used that sentence in this entry. It's hard. I have a hard time with looking good. A really hard time. See, I'm pretty, but I'm also smart. Very smart. Society has the idea that you can't be both. I was fine until 6th grade, and puberty, when the other girls pulled me aside and told me that I either had to stop wearing dresses or stop talking up in class. I wore jeans and t-shirts for about 7 years after that -- especially if they were too big. I gained weight so that I wouldn't be perceived as so much of a threat -- and so that I couldn't be mistaken as someone who valued boys above philosophy.

I'm better now -- somewhat better -- because I live with Valancy, who is always beautiful and always intelligent. (People give her a hard time about it too.) Patrick has noted that I tend to surround myself with beautiful women, and I have one word for him: camoflage.

That's actually unfair and mostly untrue, but I enjoy being glib from time to time.

All I know is that I'm in good shape now. I'm in good shape, because I'm in Kung-Fu. I am, in fact, one of two female yellowbelts in the entire school -- one of five female non-whitebelts. Thing is, people who see me walk by don't know that. Other women look at me with disdain and even anger for being one of the "skinny girls" who happens to conform to a social norm. Even worse are the ones who just sigh and hate themselves. And it isn't as though I can stop and explain to everyone I pass that I'm not trying to marginalize them.

I feel guilty for looking good. Guilty and manipulative and shallow.

But then, I feel guilty when I look bad, because I'm not using my power to its full advantage, and I'm denying a part of who I am.

Worst of all, I come off as a whiny white girl either way.

I do surround myself with beautiful women. They're the ones with enough self-confidence to be my friends -- beautiful, extremely intelligent, and quirky. They're also more likely to be artistic, because of this confidence. (Weirdly, I don't have the same issues with their being beautiful as I do with my being beautiful; when it comes to people other than myself, I view beauty as a trait/skill on the same level as logical thinking or musical aptitude -- one that should neither be over or under valued.) When I'm not around them, I'm with computer geeks and/or music geeks, because they don't care as much about appearance.

I think I need to stop here, because otherwise I'll run in rhetorical circles indefinitely.

Forgotten

You may recall that last weekend brooked some fairly depressing entries, Status Update and Under the Round Table. (If you can't remember, just go to my page and scroll down. Ahhh, the glory of archiving.) What you may not know is that last weekend I was stood up by effectively everyone I know who lives within two hours' driving distance.

This is not an exaggeration.

Delia & Mavis stood me up, although they may not realize they did and can therefore be forgiven. Leann stood me up too. Patrick stood me up at least twice. In fact, people I hadn't even met managed to stand me up, including a couple of guys and an entire teahouse. There were other people too, but I stopped counting when I got to 7 incidents.

All of these people, of course, waited until the last possible moment so that I was unable to formulate alternate plans.

I dealt with it. I was hurt, and angry, and basically broken, but I dealt with it. I put on a lot of makeup. I went to Sonic and got tater tots. I played Trivial Pursuit. I accepted the fact that I'd been stood up by everyone who had a fragment of an opportunity to stand me up, even though I'm supposedly this incredibly amazing person who it's pleasant to spend time with.

They all had good reasons, of course, and I am self-effacing and understanding. I aplogized to them for being a stressor.

Week goes by. We're now in present day.

I've just been stood up by Val. I've just been stood up by Val after agreeing that it made more sense for us to stay in town this weekend so that she could work on her Dickinson project. I've just been stood up by Val after I spent my entire afternoon waiting for her to show up.

She says she tried to call, repeatedly, and couldn't get through. I believe her.

I just don't care particularly.

Especially since later in that phone conversation she implied that she might be standing me up for tomorrow, too. She says "might," but I know it's "will." I'm to the point where I don't expect Tom North or Arielle to show up, even though I've seen their flight iteneraries.

And now I've been stood up by even livejournal, since my internet won't connect properly. I think I'll twine flowers in my hair and walk into the creek.