Photo: Vanya Luvdie

A woman reading Playboy feels a little like a Jew reading a Nazi manual. ~Gloria Steinem

If love is a four-letter word, feminism is rooted in hell – just check in with an unfortunately large number of this society, any society, really. But how do they relate? Love and sex, sex and womanhood, womanhood and love.

Or, step back. Love is sex, sex is womanhood, and womanhood is love. So why am I struggling so to codify my feminist belief system with my desire to be found sexy?

It’s messy, messy, ugly when, on paper, it sure shouldn’t be. As a feminist, I should feel complete and utter power in my sexuality. Isn’t that part of what we’ve been fighting for? But sometimes it feels limited, as in “I’m not supposed to feel my sexuality in any way that is based on patriarchal ideals, or a male perception of what is considered beautiful vs. not, or anything that can later be used against me.”

And by “later be used against me,” I’m referring to both the mysogynistic lens through which every further movement will be seen by men, and being thought of as a part of the problem by women.

I understand this debate has happened time and time again. From the women who think all porn is oppressive of and subjecting to women (painfully strong arguments at Myths of Porn), to straight and lesbian strippers who organize unions to raise power, we have all sides represented in the world of feminist ideology. But sometimes it feels like the only choices are power through sex or power through non-sexuality. Because of the actions of men, and sometimes the overriding sense of them, we are not allowed to just be sexy for our own sakes.

That does not feel like a choice to me.

Society’s threat

Yes, I understand it’s not all about me; I fully comprehend that within my desire to feel sexy “for myself” is a deep-seeded cultural and societal belief system that falling in line with the status quo will make me attractive to men. And if I don’t fit into the societal norm of what is considered sexy, then somehow I am not worthy of being desired, wanted, of being loved.

Photo: Bhaskar Banerji

But for fuck’s sake, isn’t part of being human the want of another, either the opposite or same sex, to want us? To want our bodies, to be so sexually attracted to us that they can’t hold back? Of course, this is best and most honest within the context of trust, love, and respect. Yet, do I have to hold back my sexuality when I don’t have those other things, just for the sake of a man (or woman) classifying me as just a body, less than, a whore?

I’ve come to this crossroads of feminism and chauvinism at a moment where I’m so fucking enraged. Enraged with the rape, female genital mutilation, prostitution, and enslavement of women all over the world. Even in our “equal society” of the West, realities such as these:

“I got the shit kicked out of me. I was told before the video – and they said this very proudly, mind you – that in this line most of the girls start crying because they’re hurting so bad . . . I couldn’t breathe. I was being hit and choked. I was really upset, and they didn’t stop. They kept filming. You can hear me say, ‘Turn the fucking camera off,’ and they kept going.”
~Regan Starr, on the filming of Rough Sex 2

And I’m tired of my own enslavement to closing off myself as an outwardly sexual being. I’m stuck between the sides of sometimes, just sometimes, wanting to dress inappropriately because why the fuck not? it just feels so damn good, AND disgust at how many men feel allowed to give any sort of grunt, salacious look, lick of their lips, or perv comment.

I’ve had that conversation with male friends where they ask why in the world would a woman dress that way if they didn’t want to be noticed by men. My answer is, they do want to be noticed. We all, men and women, want to be noticed.

This particular tactic is employed in part because of ideals implanted in women since the umbilical cord was chopped – this is our main choice to be noticed – backed up by the media every single day of the rest of our fuckin’ lives. And partly because it just makes us feel good.

Men employ tactics too, sometimes the way they dress, sometimes how they speak, sometimes the music they play or the work they do. But their tactics rarely, if ever, make them less of a man in the eyes of women, or other men; make it necessary for them to apologize, cower from word or fist, fear retribution.

Guys, to be grunted at or looked at lecherously is in no way appreciative – it’s simply showing what you truly think of women.

The Age Issue

Every time we liberate a woman, we liberate a man. ~Margaret Mead

Photo: storem

There has been a joke for some time amongst friends that have known me for years – I’m into older men. And well, pretty much since the day I graduated from college, started working at a job where both a 45-year-old barely-separated man and a 60-something doctor who needed help editing speeches made their interest clear, they’ve been into me.

I was in a relationship with my 55-year-old boss when I was 25, dated a 52-year-old professor when I was 27, fell for a 46-year-old web designer when I was 29 (daddy issues, anyone?). When I was 23, I actually had a man in his 80s, I shit you not, pull aside the friend I was with and ask, “Is she yours?” When my friend said, “No,” the guy tapped his cane and said, “Good, ’cause I was gonna take her anyway.”

Take me anyway? And yes, cane.

I admit it – I’ve laughed and felt tinges of pleasure when my friends say, “Man, there’s something about you that has the old guys come a runnin’!” But in the pit of my stomach, I know what it is. It’s my youth. It’s the fact that my skin is still (relatively) taught, my breasts are (relatively) perky [if they ever were], the cellulite on the back of my thighs only shows in certain positions.

But what will happen when I’m 40? Or 50? Shit, maybe 35? After I have a child that provides me stretch marks and sagging breasts? Or no child that increases my chances of ovarian and breast cancers, yet STILL have stretch marks and varicose veins? I somehow doubt the men my age at that point will still come a runnin’. And with the way men dump their wives of 20 years for a newer model time and again, I can say I’m more than a little worried about the outcome of whatever relationship I’m in at that point.

I know I’m a rare case (in many ways) to worry about things so far in my future. “Just enjoy yourself now,” whispers the voice in my head that believes youth=beauty and they both are fleeting – for women. But this issue plays into the heart of what I lament above: women’s power lies in their culturally-defined beauty, and even then, it’s not real power.

What Shift?

Death to all that society says is right
Photo: lanuiop

I know many believe there is a “shift” happening, what with cougars becoming a right of passage that has made its way onto network TV, but have you noticed anything in particular about these “cougars”? None of them look OLD. They all look like they could be 30, and work overtime – in the gym and under the needle, I’m sure – to look that way. Here we are, yay, women in their 50s dating 20-year-olds, go women! But I want to see a real woman, no work done, not rich, to which a 25-year-old man comes panting. Guess what? Not gonna happen.

And I too am guilty of preferring to look at a photo of a young, naked woman as compared to a nude older woman, which I very much believe the media has instilled in my little pea brain. Yes, the same may be true for a photo of a young vs. old man, but I can tell you from experience that an attraction to an older man encompasses so much more than his body. A couple of the older men I’ve been with have had better bodies than an 18-year-old – others, I honestly was a bit shocked initially by the sight. But no matter what, if they weren’t already, they became sexy to me by all of who they were.

We want to be able to be sexy, and thought of that way at 33 and 83, but not by trying to be different than who we are at any given age. I don’t think I should have to be degraded at 30 or tossed to the side at 60. The action is about the whole, and the whole of a man is almost always taken in consideration.

That’s all we’re asking for in return.

I listen to feminists and all these radical gals – most of them are failures. They’ve blown it. Some of them have been married, but they married some Casper Milquetoast who asked permission to go to the bathroom. These women just need a man in the house. That’s all they need. Most of the feminists need a man to tell them what time of day it is and to lead them home. And they blew it and they’re mad at all men. Feminists hate men. They’re sexist. They hate men – that’s their problem. ~Reverend Jerry Falwell