stories from the Realm

It is therefore useless to trap women into giving an exact definition of what they mean, to make them repeat [themselves] so that the meaning will be clear. They are already elsewhere in the discursive machinery where you claim to take them by surprise. They have turned back within themselves, which does not mean the same thing as ‘within yourself’. They do not experience the same interiority that you do and which perhaps you mistakenly presume they share. ‘Within themselves’ means in the privacy of this silent, multiple, diffuse tact. If you ask them insistently what they are thinking about, they can only reply: nothing. Everything.“

This is, perhaps, one of the most infamous passages of French feminist Luce Irigaray’s essay “The Sex Which Is Not One.” It has been criticized for prescribing to the same patriarchal ideology that Irigaray attempts to dismantle — that is, it defines women as irrational, illogical beings, who use “contradictory words” and are “crazy to the logic of reason.” In doing so, Irigaray fails to redefine women and instead locks them back into the same repressive discourse they are already trapped in.

And yet, when I read it, I feel as though Irigaray has touched on an undeniable truth of what it means to think like a woman. I have often tried to explain to men that the way I think simply does not fit into a linear, neat little box, that when I say one thing I could also mean any number of other things, that their insistence on logical, measured discussion fails to take into account the fact that women “do not experience the same interiority that you do and which perhaps you mistakenly presume they share.”

Because society has dictated that logical discussion is the only kind of discourse that is valued, I have tried to mold myself to adhere to that rule. Which is why perhaps this essay is even more poignant, even if it is flawed: Irigaray recognizes the paradox that women must embrace in order to be taken seriously, and in reading it, I remember a little bit of what I have lost in trying to change myself.

Yesterday I got into a public argument (see the comments) about feminism and rape culture. It left me frustrated and depressed. I spent my entire night thinking about it and dissecting it, and I’ve come to a couple of conclusions about it.

The original NYU Local post was about an article in the Princetonian, but the comments section quickly erupted into a discussion about victim-blaming. One guy in particular was taking issue with what he perceived as a double standard: he thinks it’s unfair that men are held responsible for knowing how drunk their dates are, while women can get away with claiming rape to get out of an embarrassing situation.

Ok. Obviously, a woman who falsely accuses a man of rape is doing a despicable thing, and she is exploiting a flaw in the system that gives women an advantage. I see that. However, I think this issue pales in seriousness when compared to the larger issue at hand, which is: rape is bad, and it still happens in alarming numbers, to both men and women.

In general, I like and respect this guy. But whenever we try to talk about feminism, he completely misses the mark. We’ve been able to agree on a few specific points (equal pay is good, rape is bad, etc.), but whenever the discussion moves beyond basics, it gets messy and we end up mad at each other.

I’m pretty sure the reason for this is that we’re actually having two separate conversations. Read the rest of this entry »

So, I’m really not a huge fan of Lady Gaga’s music. It’s the kind of contrived, electronic pop replicate that I can’t stand to waste my time on. BUT. Her videos. HER MUSIC VIDEOS. They’re amazing. And not just for the visual elements, which is what people usually notice. No, Lady Gaga’s videos are amazing because of the underlying feminist themes that run through them.

Before you scoff at me, watch these videos back to back and then read the rest of the post:

Now, Gaga’s been really adamant about not calling herself a feminist in interviews. Sadly, she follows the same misconception that many young women do: that calling yourself a feminist automatically means you’re a hairy, unattractive man-hater. (Not true, by the way.)

But, these videos speak to a different underlying opinion. In both, a woman (played by Gaga herself) is harmed by a man (via domestic violence in Paparazzi and, this may be a stretch but I’m going with it, sex trafficking in Bad Romance).  But Gaga owns her fame and her sexuality, and uses them to get herself out of trouble and get her revenge. Both videos end with the death of the man who tried to take advantage of Gaga. I’m pretty sure that’s a message of female empowerment, albeit taken to an extreme: Gaga is saying that a woman can own her sexuality, that she doesn’t have to give in to a guy if he treats her poorly. (I say it’s an extreme because in ordinary circumstances a woman shouldn’t have to kill a man in order to make this point.) The message is more subtle in Paparazzi but very overt in Bad Romance, when Gaga is actually auctioned off to the highest male bidder, and later kills him in bed with some sort of pyrotechnic bra.

Now, I’m not sure if these feminist themes are being integrated into her videos because of a conscious decision made by Gaga, or whether they are just an accident or the result of her art team’s direction. I’m tempted to say that, because this has happened twice, Gaga must be aware of the messages her videos are conveying. I certainly want to believe that one of the biggest current pop stars believes in something other than the typical misogynistic fodder.

Jezebel did an examination of Bad Romance that you can read here, but I couldn’t bear to just re-link without saying something about it myself.

Cheers, and Happy Thursday.

Today I read this essay, by a woman named Melissa McEwan, which was both enlightening and extremely frustrating. The author managed to articulate, quite well, several sentiments about feminism that I’ve been struggling to put into words for the past few months. Please read it – all of it.

One of the elusive sentiments that McEwan put into words deals with the challenge of being a female with male friends. I generally do not play well with girls. I’m not sure why. But for some reason, beyond the presence of a vagina, I have found little in common with the NYU gals I’ve met so far. So in my quest for friendship, I often hang out with guys. I just get along better with them. But in order to do that, I often have to passively accept the casual sexism that permeates most male-dominated settings.

Thus my challenge becomes this: when faced with a joke or an offhand comment about women only being good for sex, or women being bad at sports, or women being illogical, emotional creatures whose lives are determined by PMS, I have two options:

1. I can laugh, and preserve my friendships and my status as a bro, but in the process maybe come away with a bitter taste in my mouth, because I AM a woman, and the suggestion that I’m only good for sex doesn’t exactly make me feel comfortable, or respected, or well-liked.

2. I can protest, thus reminding my friends that I am a woman (and therefore not a person), and risk ostracizing myself by standing up for my beliefs.

As McEwan aptly puts it, should I “swallow shit, or ruin the entire afternoon?”

I usually say nothing, and that’s because I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’ll get mocked or laughed at. I wish I could be as resolute and staunch as McEwan is in her essay. I wish I could forcefully insist on a cessation of sexist jokes. But often, I’m not even completely sure that I’m really offended by these little things. When is a joke just a joke? Should I overlook this because these men are otherwise nice, funny, caring people? I can’t get over this ambiguity. On the one hand, this could be the patriarchy molding me back into a tolerant, submissive woman-creature. On the other hand, I might really be taking some jokes too seriously.

I don’t hate men and I’m not interested in shaming them into submission simply for possessing penises. I just want them to get it; I want them to understand, as McEwan writes, that discussions about equal pay and rape culture and domestic violence are not mere abstract exercises, they are the stuff of my life. Workplace discrimination is still very real. Even casual jokes can sometimes have real effects. But I let them slide because I don’t know what to do. The instant I bring up feminism in a group of guys, they immediately go on the defensive, and no longer want to listen to anything I have to say. How am I supposed to explain that these jokes and little slights and offhand comments might be offensive in a way that’s going to make them listen – instead of shutting down and attacking me for being “too sensitive” and “taking things personally”? My boyfriend says I should use humor. But what is the equivalent male-bashing joke to tell when one of my friends insists I should “get back in the kitchen, where I belong,” instead of participating in intellectual discussion with the boys?

Usually, I settle for “fuck you.” I think this is as far as my humor goes on this issue.

I wanted to post the McEwan’s essay on Facebook, but decided against it because I realized I would be tempting fate. I know far too many people who will dismiss it as just another instance of women complaining about nothing. And I don’t want to hear it. I’ve been hearing it for most of my life. I am sick of people telling me that I should stop caring about women’s rights, because women actually have it pretty good these days and feminism isn’t really necessary anymore and blah blah blah.

Sometimes I wish I were a man, because then I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit. But then I remember that I like being a woman, and that wishing for a sex change is only escapism. It doesn’t solve the root of the problem, which is that half of the world’s people are still viewed as second class citizens, just because we were born without the “right” genitals.