Girls

To my great relief, over the course of the past month (since I have resolved the existential crisis of early May) the wanderings of my mind have shifted to slightly less traumatic topics. The most notable of these is the one that I have felt most touched by: the idea that I am to be seen first and foremost as a woman by society. There are many ways in which I might be labeled upon first sight: a blonde, a youth, a caucasian, a person of medium height. Or as a female. Sex and gender continue to play an unnecessarily large role in our society, even after a century or two of (might I add, ridiculously extreme) feminist activity. Though I am certainly very much a part of my gender, I have never felt as though it comprises some disproportionately large part of my identity, or that it completely determines the way I function socially. As a character trait, it functions similarly to my love of music or my argumentative personality or my identity as a South African, as an American, as a Christian. These things are all inherent about me, but they're certainly not things without which my personality would become some massive contradiction. Why am I called a "woman of God" and not a "blonde of God" or a "musician of God" or an "American of God" or, heaven forbid, a "soul of God"? Does my gender truly have such an inexorable impact on my faith life? Yes, I am female. But I have never been fond of the idea that people automatically attach as much significance to that idea as they do. I can associate with people that do not share my love of music; similarly, I can associate with people that are not female. And what's more, there is a very good chance that I might better associate with someone that does not share this love than with someone who does.

I make such arguments not because I fail to understand why some people might make such a big deal out of gender divisions. I genuinely do understand how it works, when I consider it objectively. But it continues to be a source of conflict for me, personally speaking, particularly because I seem to be slightly more gender-neutral than many. I find it so strange that approaching a door, many men awkwardly inconvenience themselves in order to skirt around you in time to open it, instead of giving you the opportunity to open it for them. I've simply learned not to try, because I did at one time, and was met by even more awkwardness than before: hesitation, bumping into each other, uncomfortable smiles. Yes, the custom originated from a time and a place in which it was more convenient for men to open doors, and it was very kind, then, but I am just as capable of doing such a task nowadays as any man. I feel it a disservice to men just as much as an act of sexism towards women to automatically perpetuate these types of customs: giving up seats, pulling out chairs, giving right of way, heck, driving, holding umbrellas. I'm not ungrateful, I greatly appreciate having the door held for me, but I would equally appreciate the ability to return the gesture. There is no reason other than tradition to keep dividing the givers and receivers of these acts of kindness by gender, and I find unnecessary gender division to be dehumanizing and insulting. I don't like people being labeled as something and then exalted or oppressed because of it.

Many people just sigh and tell me to get over myself at this point, because I seem like I'm making a mountain of a mole hill. I plead with you to take a minute to understand my frustration. To aid in the illustration of my point, I call upon a situation in which I found myself a couple weeks ago: we had combined two classes in one room in order to watch student presentations, and there weren't enough desks for everyone to have a seat. Naturally, all the girls got desks and the guys got the floor. On several occasions, I saw guys get removed from their chairs, even after girls came in late: they had to simply get up and give the girls their seats, for absolutely no reason other than that they were male and the others were female. Imagine, now, that the division was not by gender, but by race. That it had been socially decreed that all Anglos would sit on the floor and all minority races would sit in the desks. If any black or Asian or Mexican kid came in the door, they would be able to force white kids out of any seat they chose to, just because of the color of their skin. I don't want to make it look like what happened was some evil, abusive thing, because most of the time, guys willingly offered up their seats, sometimes two or three at once. But I am overwhelmingly inclined to believe that this is merely because society requires it of them. Because boys must come second to girls. Would you be okay with it if whites had to come second to non-whites, if straight people had to come second to gay people, if Christians had to come second to non-Christians? It's racism, it's prejudice, it's sexism. These distinctions should not be so arbitrarily made.

It bothers me likewise that I must put up special social boundaries when interacting with my male friends that I wouldn't have to with my female friends, and for no other reason than appeasing the god of social impression. It is not strange or awkward or inappropriate for two girls to sit closely with each other, to play with one another's hair, to hug one other, hold hands, lie on each other, etc. I wish, and have wished since I was a little girl, that boys and girls could do these things in the same way that two girls can; indeed, that two boys could, without it being assumed that they're gay. I understand that many males are inherently less touchy-feel-y than many females, just like many Americans are less touchy-feel-y than many Mexicans. That doesn't mean that it should be assumed that Mexicans alone like to show physical signs of affection to people they have no romantic interest in. I can't so much as lay my head on my boyfriend's shoulder without being called adorable or receiving ridiculous amounts of attention about it, I can't hug a good guy friend for longer than five seconds without being told off for "PDA" or getting weird reactions. But I might fall asleep in a girl friend's arms or hold her hand for an hour straight and never be suspected of anything romantic, never be cooed at for being cute, never be told off for being inappropriate, even when near everyone present is aware of my bisexual orientation. Once again, I understand why it is this way. I understand that most other people may feel differently about physical signs of affection with members of the opposite sex. But I so greatly resent that no one seems to consider the idea that it may very well be no different at all.

The third way in which gender stereotype has begun to irk me is when people assume that all women share certain things inherently, and therefore, have some instinctual womanly bond that's impossible to find with a man. Actually, no, I don't like gossiping about people's love lives, no, I don't enjoy talking about drama, no, I don't like doing my hair and nails "for the fun of it," no, I don't like perfume, no, I don't like shopping, no, I don't particularly like dresses and shoes, no, I have no desire to have "girls' nights out," and no, I am not less womanly for any of this. "Womanhood" is not concrete, it is not equally manifested in each person, it doesn't even mean the same thing for every woman. I don't necessarily share anything but biology and humanity with another person that is female. Personality isn't always so drastically affected. (My father tells me that my great-grandmother also became irritated by extended amounts of time in wholly female conversation, and even went so far as to tell him once that she preferred his company. Perhaps it's genetic.) It's tempting to say that too much time around females drives me crazy, but that's not true; after all, women are just people, and I genuinely don't pay attention to gender when I'm focusing on the people. In reality, it's only when the femininity is particularly prominent in the atmosphere that it begins to bother me. Chick flicks, nail polish, gossip... When taken seriously, they give me this panicy, unprecedented sense of claustrophobia, an instinctual, irrational desire for escape, as if I've forgotten to breathe correctly. Estrogen Overdose. It diffuses into the air and hangs there in this sickeningly-sweet cloud, waiting to be breathed in and choked on. I get that a lot of people really like that pretty pink cloud, just like a lot of Americans really like flying their Red, White and Blue. But I'm not exactly that patriotic, and I certainly cannot pull off being quite that girly.