Dress code violations have captured my attention. Every day it seems there is a new sweet girl
being sent home for:
Baring shoulders
Baring backs
Shirts too short
Yoga pants
Leggings
Or simply just daring to own the female adult form.
So I was reading this one and it was about this gorgeous young
woman whose dress violated dress code. The article had pictures. My first thought, “That dress accentuates her
love handles.”
W….T….FUCK. Yep. I thought that. And then I got so angry at myself for being
stupid and small. And then I got so
angry for the oppression of woman being so big.
So big that it has programmed me to judge woman if there is a little
extra flesh. Judge them if they show
it. Harshly judge them if they flaunt
it. How dare they… go out in to this
world and not be:
Perfect.
Pretty
Just right
Covering any flaws
And I am angry. And what
I realize now, is sexism is going nowhere.
Why? It is an industry. We rely on women to feel small and insecure. We rely on women to feel their self worth is
defined by their size, hair, beauty.
Sexism has not only been institutionalized it has been commoditized.
So why would/should men care. I am going to bottom line it for you. You should care because your sex life is
suffering. Big time.
I can still remember the first time making out with some
sweet boy and he placed his hand on my belly.
I panicked. Not because I did not
want to negotiate where that hand had intentions of going. No… because he had
his hand on my BELLY. What if it was too
soft? What if he stopped liking me? What if… I stopped being good enough?
And this stays will me still. As my sweet husband wraps his arms around my
midsection, I instinctively pull his hand up and away. He has seen me naked. He has seen me give birth to two healthy
children. He has seen the stretch marks
and loose skin. But it is a raw
insecurity that I cannot quell. What if
he feels my flesh and stops loving me.
So instinctively I
learned to navigate intimacy the way a quarterback navigates opposition, Duck,
move, distract, dazzle. But never, ever
surrender to the moment.
How many times have I
“been too tired, “ “tomorrow,” “just
cuddle me” over the lack of desire to feel a need to keep my body and all it
secrets hidden. Did I shave my
legs? Is it a fat day?
And it is a
shame. I was not meant to be a quarterback. I was meant to be a lioness. I was meant to devour you and roar in
delight, leaving you breathy and confused.
But I block. I worry.
I negotiate. Always distracted
from the moment. No roaring lioness. A meek kitten at best.
Simply to sell me one
more pill, spanx, push up bra, lighter, highlighter, bronzer, eyeliner,
mascara, perfume, deodorant, hairspray.
Simply because me just
being a women was not enough.
Or too much.
