The other day I was munching on my lunch and flipping through the Martlet when I came across a read so compelling, I nearly walked into a truck, two people, and summarily ended up falling into a pond (I’d say puddle, but no one calls something two feet deep a puddle). I am, of course, referring to “La femme de la revolution.”
Upon reading that women aught to “rise up against oppression, reject society’s definition of beauty and revolutionize how we view ourselves,” I snorted. Then, I made it to the line in which I’m told females need “to stop being objectified, sexualized and judged” and I gagged a little. By the time I reached the part where I’m told that I “must drastically alter the misconception that females are subordinate and powerless” and that I, in fact, “hold all the power to define [my] fate” I could taste the banana bile. At this point, I was so absorbed by the informative properties of the article that I had completely forgotten that my feet were still swimming.
I don’t know who the author is, but Jesus, does she ever have her cotton panties in a bunch. Though I must commend her thorough research (who knew that Ariel Levy believes women have become “chauvinistic pigs?”) and ability to avoid broad, sweeping generalizations, I simply can’t imagine why on earth someone would go through the trouble of dating themselves by comparing Playboy to genital mutilation. After all, I came into the article believing I was about to learn to which point “female dignity, pride and respect” is vanishing, but ended it with a vague feeling that I had just completed last centuries Intro to Women’s Studies.
Although I wouldn’t dare suggest that perhaps the author aught to untangle her panties, I do wonder what exactly she suggest I do. Should I begin ignoring the critique my “chauvinistic” female professors have for my work? (Though I’m not sure I’ve got the balls, ironically.) In the name of condemning “unrealistic societal ideals,” should I stop applying makeup post kickboxing class and throw out my revealing dresses? My high heels? What about my bras? Society has been pretty hard on chicks that don’t wear them lately. Hell, maybe I aught to give up showering completely. I’m fit enough, why should I listen to the rest of what society has to say?
Though I do appreciate the nod made to women in positions of power (think Hillary Clinton and Michaëlle Jean), I fail to see why other women should not wear fitting dresses or dance naked. I myself have been known to wear my rugby spandex underneath short skirts while going shot for shot with my guy friends and scream at spiders I find lifting couches. I have to wonder if the feminists of the last century meant not to create a society in which men can become strippers or women can vie for presidency, but rather to establish one in which my fellow females are required to forgo feeling “womanly” and men must ignore the assets we were born with.
In retrospect, I applaud the Martlet for continuing to publish such exquisitely informative articles. The past couple of years have really shown me just what types of individual expression and freedoms my fore“mothers” fought for in the ‘60s and ‘70s. It’s liberating to know that I can count on the women of UVic to be just as outraged as I am upon being checked out. How dare men appreciate my fashion sense or styled hair?
Upon reading that women aught to “rise up against oppression, reject society’s definition of beauty and revolutionize how we view ourselves,” I snorted. Then, I made it to the line in which I’m told females need “to stop being objectified, sexualized and judged” and I gagged a little. By the time I reached the part where I’m told that I “must drastically alter the misconception that females are subordinate and powerless” and that I, in fact, “hold all the power to define [my] fate” I could taste the banana bile. At this point, I was so absorbed by the informative properties of the article that I had completely forgotten that my feet were still swimming.
I don’t know who the author is, but Jesus, does she ever have her cotton panties in a bunch. Though I must commend her thorough research (who knew that Ariel Levy believes women have become “chauvinistic pigs?”) and ability to avoid broad, sweeping generalizations, I simply can’t imagine why on earth someone would go through the trouble of dating themselves by comparing Playboy to genital mutilation. After all, I came into the article believing I was about to learn to which point “female dignity, pride and respect” is vanishing, but ended it with a vague feeling that I had just completed last centuries Intro to Women’s Studies.
Although I wouldn’t dare suggest that perhaps the author aught to untangle her panties, I do wonder what exactly she suggest I do. Should I begin ignoring the critique my “chauvinistic” female professors have for my work? (Though I’m not sure I’ve got the balls, ironically.) In the name of condemning “unrealistic societal ideals,” should I stop applying makeup post kickboxing class and throw out my revealing dresses? My high heels? What about my bras? Society has been pretty hard on chicks that don’t wear them lately. Hell, maybe I aught to give up showering completely. I’m fit enough, why should I listen to the rest of what society has to say?
Though I do appreciate the nod made to women in positions of power (think Hillary Clinton and Michaëlle Jean), I fail to see why other women should not wear fitting dresses or dance naked. I myself have been known to wear my rugby spandex underneath short skirts while going shot for shot with my guy friends and scream at spiders I find lifting couches. I have to wonder if the feminists of the last century meant not to create a society in which men can become strippers or women can vie for presidency, but rather to establish one in which my fellow females are required to forgo feeling “womanly” and men must ignore the assets we were born with.
In retrospect, I applaud the Martlet for continuing to publish such exquisitely informative articles. The past couple of years have really shown me just what types of individual expression and freedoms my fore“mothers” fought for in the ‘60s and ‘70s. It’s liberating to know that I can count on the women of UVic to be just as outraged as I am upon being checked out. How dare men appreciate my fashion sense or styled hair?
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