Femininity is NOT weakness

When Hillary Clinton was running for office, some commented on her fashion, or lack thereof. Hillary dressed in predominantly dark pants suits. She was trying to do everything she could to make America forget that she is a woman. Questions, comments, and queries regarding fashion were never directed to her male competitors.

Showing one’s femininity is considered a weakness that is not suitable for high powered positions. America was distracted by her lack of femininity while at the same time undermining her capability as a strong leader because her womanly proclivities. I understand her dilemma. I dare say that all women experience this double standard. Unfortunately, there are few prominent females that can serve as examples, and they always endure the harshest criticisms.

Respect is earned by working hard, but it’s naïve to think that is the only quality that is noticed. I always feel like I need to be twice as good to gain the respect men receive. Therefore, it seemed to reason, that the way to mitigate this double standard, was to dull the apparent differences between me and my male counterparts. I, just as Hillary Clinton, fell in to the same gender-neutral-clothes-wearing trap.   I used to have a visceral reaction to all things ‘girly’ or pink. It personified all of the things that I was trying to evade. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever owned or wore anything pink until I was in my mid-twenties.

Femininity is, of course, more than just what you wear. Unfortunately, it is often limited to intangible descriptions such as maternal instincts, tender-hearted, soft, etc. The strength in a woman’s power is in its subtleties that are often overlooked and underappreciated. It doesn’t have the same in-your-face aggressiveness which sometimes overpowers the testosterone-filled workplace.  It is more than a just complement to machismo that creates harmony.  But the very nature of its elusive qualities makes it hard to perceive in its own right, let alone appreciate it.

Over the past two years, I’ve had a change of heart of how I identify with femininity. When I look around me, I see girls unconsciously being forced to make the same decision – embrace their femininity or to be taken seriously.  It breaks my heart to see their path being chosen without them understanding its implications.

I choose both.  I no longer try to hide the fact that I’m a woman. (Let’s be serious, I wasn’t fooling anybody and attempting to do so was only harming myself.)  I realized if I don’t make a stand to change how femininity is perceived, then who will? So, I choose to wear pink while boxing; I choose to wear skirts when I’m leading meetings. I choose to let myself be me. Now when I pass girls on the streets, I give them a knowing smile and hope they find their way. There is strength in femininity, and we should feel empowered by that, not ashamed. 

Fight or Flight

Whenever people tell emotionally distressing stories, its natural to think, “What would I do in that situation?” It’s hard to know how you will react in an emergency situation. Despite rationally understanding the proper response, instinct is hard to override.

During graduate school, I attended a self-defense seminar on campus. The participants were overwhelmingly women, and it focused nearly an hour on aggressively screaming “NO!” Even with this lackluster drill, I struggled.  My cries were unintimidating and barely above a library whisper. I always thought of myself as a non-confrontational flight kind of person secretly hoping to be a fighter.

One night, tired of waiting for a ride home, I decided to walk 15 minutes to my home. Just as I turned down my side street, two guys walked past me towards the main road. I noticed that one guy double backed and was now walking towards me. I picked up the pace, but he was faster. He caught up to me. My entire body was tense, my hair stood on its end. He asked me if I needed a taxi. I said no. Walking too close to me, I stopped and asked him to keep walking while clutching my purse under my shawl.  Refusing to walk away, he pledged to me that he is a “peaceful man”.

Frustrated and scared, I kept moving but he grabbed for my purse. “Give me the fucking bag,” he hissed. I growled back, “No, get the fuck off of me.” He swung me into an alley, trying to knock me down. Feeling vulnerable in my dress, I fully acknowledged the severity of my situation.

Still pulling me down by my bag, I struggled to maintain my footing. One of purse straps broke. I swiveled around trying to get out of his grasp. He pulled me back by my hair. He punched me in the throat and upper body. I screamed as loud as I could. Surprised by the ear-piercing shriek, he close-lined me in the throat. Despite the searing pain, I kept screaming for help. He covered my mouth. I could taste the sweat and urine in my mouth. I chomped down on his hand until I heard a crunch. He maintained his position behind me, holding me close. I swung my free arm across my body me to strike him. Releasing my purse, he used his non-chewed hand to stab in the back with a pen. Unlocking my jaw, I released his hand and he stumbled back. Stunned, we stared at each other, trying to assess the situation. He wasn’t expecting such a fight, and quite frankly, neither was I.

Two business cards fell out of my purse in the midst of the struggle. Crouching low, he lunged after them. In that moment, my primitive and territorial instincts took over. When he tried to knock me down, other perils immediately popped in my mind. If I acquiesced and surrendered my purse without a fight, what else might he try to take?  Running wasn’t an option. I was defending my dignity and refused to let him win even the smallest of battles.  

Fully aware of their lack of monetary or sentimental value, I defended my ground. Perched and ready to kick him the face, he recoiled. Confused at which to go after, he switched his target back to me. I punched him and shoved him off of me. Realizing the futility of my actions, I capitalized on my opening and reluctantly ran. Down the dark street, I saw a light streaming out of gate held ajar by shadowed figure. I sprinted to it, towards my refuge. By the time I reached him, I was doubled over hyperventilating. With my hand on my knees trying to keep myself from collapsing, I was acutely aware of the fact that I still may not be safe in the presence of this unknown man.

Arguably, I should not have walked home by myself at night. I should have given him my purse. I should not have resisted. But I was fighting for more than a couple of birr and an expired driver’s license. I was fighting for my right to walk home without being intimidated by drunken men who think they can take what they want from women. Truthfully, as much as I wanted to teach him a lesson, I wanted to prove to myself that I would not be bullied.

I didn’t realize that I would have such a protective and territorial response, but I’m glad I did. While I rationally understand that it is the smart safe response to run, to surrender, I don’t regret fighting. Instinct is hard to override. 

Work It Out

Sweat drips down my face as I determinedly race on the elliptical. As means of distraction from my discomfort and fatigue, I flip through the channels on the television that is propped in front of me for that specific purpose. I cursorily look around the gym and notice the women on other cardio machines looking as tired as I feel.

We all look the same: restlessly trekking on these machines while secretly people watching and counting down the minutes. My pace decreases, so I refocus my attention on the screen ahead and search for the inspiration to continue. Commercials are on every channel. Brawny Paper towels: a calm youthful mother easily cleans up countless spills created by her well-intentioned but oblivious family. Smiling faces of her husband, children, and dog all gravitate towards her while leaving a trail of chaotic mess.

Next commercial. Ziplock bags: a suburban family barbeques in the backyard, with dad dutifully stationed at the grill. His complete attention is on the grill, unknowingly throwing meat into the trashcan until his wife swoops in and catches a steak on a plate.

The not-so-subtle gender norm reinforcing commercials are just as endless as they are exhausting to watch. Media bombards us with images and messages of unrealistic expectations. Women are expected to always be one step ahead and gracefully handle any catastrophe at a moments notice, in heels, with polished nails, and perfect makeup. How did our expectations of women become so out of control?

Women have been forced to carry an increasingly heavy burden on their shoulders. We are silently being crushed under the weight of these demands. Increasing demands confuse our priorities and motivations. The technological era has tricked us into believing we can be productive beyond our actual capabilities.  By trying to have everything, we are not fully engaged in anything. The quality of what we are able to commit ourselves to is limited. Our attention span is compromised and our decision-making capabilities severed.

Overwhelmed by choices, we are terrified to make decisions for fear of shutting the door to other opportunities. We have been brainwashed to believe that our wealth of options enable us to have more freedom.

When we can have anything, what do we really want? If all things are held equal and without judgment, can we really sort through the plethora of options before us? I think most of us go through our lives without actually asking ourselves, what do we value?

There is an assumed life path: go to school, get a job, get married, have children, and preferably in that order. Despite the options available, when it comes to the important decisions, we follow this prescription. We would never expect to follow a one size-fits-all plan for our clothing, yet we do it for the fabric of our lives. Amidst all of those options, we need to become more intentional on how we spend our time. As technology was meant to ease our lives, options are meant to enable us the freedom of choice. Unfortunately, we have encountered that the existence of these additional resources have the potential to be counterproductive.

Even being an independent intentional woman, I still feel myself slip in the trap of society’s gender restrictions. The inspiration didn’t come to me that day at the gym from the propped up television, but it did make me dig deeper. My workout made me refocus my efforts, not just in terms of physical fitness, but my motivations and goals. I cannot and do not want to be that fictional woman that our media portrays as “successful”. Like the television propped up in front of me, those commercials illustrate how we are distracted from allowing us to really delve deeper into what we really want. The pressures are self-perpetuating, and the more we placate those expectations, the more we will be sucked into this mirage of womanhood.

We need to recalibrate our thinking to acknowledge the unrealistic pressures on women; equally, women need to manage their unrealistic expectations to have it all. Rosie the Riveter is an iconic image that invokes femininity with strength. We are powerfully fierce creatures, but we are still human.