A rant on how my
female identity has been shaped by excuses and lies
When I was 5, I sat on the edge of my chair with my
legs spread. I felt an itch between them, so I reached down to scratch, but my
grandma grabbed my wrist to stop me and hissed: “Girls don’t do that!” I asked
her why, because I had seen my father doing it, I had seen all the boys in
primary school doing it, too. And it itched and I wanted to scratch it. Her
answer was: “It’s just how it is. Girls don’t do that. Also, don’t sit there with
your legs spread like that. Girls don’t do that, either.”
When I was 6, I spent a day on the beach with my
family. I was excited about the new bikini my mum got me, but confused as to
why she asked me to keep the top on when I went for a swim. She hadn’t made me
wear it the years before, but suddenly, she was very fussy about it. “Look,
I’ve got one on, too.” she said to me. And I thought I understood: Women had to
cover their breasts, because they were bigger than men’s’. But I wasn’t a
woman. I was a child. Later, I overheard a talk she had with my dad. “I don’t
want old men to stare at her.”, she whispered. I interrupted them and asked her
why she thought old men would look at me. Her answer was: “It’s just how it is.
It’s because you’re a girl. And men do that.”
When I was 9, I got in a fight with my best friend.
I went home and complained about it to my grandma, who lived with us. She told
me I should have seen it coming. “That’s how girls are.” she said. “A
friendship between girls is always also a competition. Girls are jealous,
manipulative and backstabbing. You can’t trust them.” But I had never fought
with my best friend before and I knew we’d forgive and forget the next day,
anyway. So, I asked my grandma why, and her answer was: “It’s just how it is.
Catfights will happen. It’s normal. That’s how girls are.”
When I was 13, I fell in love with a boy from the
neighborhood. I couldn’t hide my excitement. He was on my mind all the time and
I caught myself wishing we were together, so I could hold his hand and kiss
him, too. I wanted to meet him, get to know him better, and I told my dad about
my plan of asking him out. “Don’t do that.” my dad said. “It’s not appropriate
for a girl to ask a boy out.”
Though I partly agreed, since I had never seen a
woman proposing to the man in a movie, or read about a girl kissing her crush
first, I still didn’t understand what would be so bad about being an exception,
so I asked my dad why I had to wait for a boy to show interest in me in order
to be allowed to openly requite it. His answer was: “It’s just how it is,
darling. The man makes the first move. It’s always been this way. Boys like to
conquer, and girls love being chased.”
I am now 17, and part of a large group of friends.
There’s a boy who admired me. I didn’t like him back, but am not familiar to
anyone crushing on me, so I enjoy the attention. He’d always tell me I was
special. One of a kind. Different. “You’re not like other girls.”, he said.
“You’re not common. You’re funny, laid back, intelligent. You don’t just care
about your nails or your hair. You get my sense of humour. You’re not like most
girls. You’re my best guy friend. But with feminine body parts.” I was
flattered in the beginning, but soon, I started to wonder if his compliments
were any at all. I began to feel disgusted with him.
I didn’t want to be his
best guy friend with feminine body parts. So I asked him what’s so good about a
girl like me, a girl unlike what he called a typical one, and his answer was:
“That’s easy to explain. A pretty model type of girl is good enough to jack off
to, but in the end, a guy wants a drama free female. You’re an exception. The
majority of girls is superficial and vain. The kind of girl you hang around to
have sex with, but leave when you’re ready to settle down. Or they’re just
plain boring and prude. This sounds harsh, but it’s just how it is.”
I’ve come to realize that my female identity has
been shaped by a biased, hypocritical excuse based on ridiculous gender roles:
“It’s just how it is.” All my life, I have asked them why, and all they said
was “It’s just how it is.” And it didn’t matter whether I’ve asked men or
women. Internalized misogyny is just as harmful. There were as many women as
men who said: “It’s just how it is.” But that is not the answer I wanted. Not
the answer I needed. These few words don’t answer the countless questions
concerning my gender identity.
Why can’t I sit with my legs spread? What’s so
shameful about what I keep between them? Why must I cover my breasts? Why am I
being sexualized long before I’m even told when sex is? Why am I being taught
to mistrust other girls? Why do I have to compete with other girls? Why am I
only a good girl when I’m not like most girls? Why do I have to keep quiet
about the way I feel? Why am I not allowed to show affection like men do?
Can’t
I conquer a boy’s heart, too? Why must love be about conquering, anyway? What
if I don’t like being chased? What if it scares me? Why do boys scare me,
anyway? Why do you make me feel inferior to them? And why do I have to like a
boy in order to be liked? Why am I being shamed for being “promiscuous”, them
shamed for being “prude”? Why am I exhausting to be with? Why am I complicated?
Is it because I’m an oversensitive little baby? Is
it because I’m “promiscuous”? A prude virgin? Is it because I’m on my period?
Cause women are just crazy? Cause I am jealous, manipulative, backstabbing,
competitive or any of the other countless negative traits that are immediately
connected with the female identity? All summed up, is it because I’m a girl?
I’ve asked them. And they said yes.
And when I asked “But why?, they said it again:
“It’s just how it is.”
"It" is that context, is a never ending
circle of resigning acceptance of the circumstance that girls are being raised
to disrespect their own gender from their childhood on. I was, and am, expected
to accept the fact that being female automatically makes me inferior, and that
I should be thankful for being treated equally, because that’s not the
standard. I was, and am, expected to appreciate and take it as a compliment
when people tell me that I’m not like other women. Because I was, and am,
expected to look down on women even though I am a woman myself.
But I refuse. I
refuse to adapt, obey and swallow. I refuse to accept that "it’s just how
it is". I refuse to take this as an answer, and I will not stop asking
why. I won’t ever stop asking why. Not because I want people to give me a
proper response, but because I want them to question themselves, too. I want
them to start wondering. Want them to start doubting the concept of the role
I’ve learned to stick to before I knew how to spell my "typically
female" name. I want them to think about it, lose their sleep about it,
until they ask, too: "Why?" And when I asked “But why?” they said it
again: “It’s just how it is.”
In order to eliminate misogynic stereotypes, we must
unlearn to understand them. We must refuse to accept “It’s just how it is” as
an answer, until we forget what “it” stands for. Keep asking why, until nobody
knows an answer anymore. “It’s just how it is” is not an answer. Neither is
“It’s cause you’re a girl”. Or “That’s how girls are”. Because girls can be
everything and anything they want to be. That’s how it really is.
