Today in one of my classes my professor asked for a show of hands, “Who put on makeup in order to come to class today?” Approximately twelve people raised their hand, myself included. Her next question “Who did not put on makeup to come to class?” Every single boy in the class (plus an errant female or two) raised their hand. “Now,” she said “Why do you think that is.” Because society says that a girl in her natural state is not fit to be seen in public. But boys? Oh those wonderfully perfect creatures, why would they ever need to hide who they truly are? There is something laughable about suggesting that a man cover up any blemishes to be found on their skin, to darken their eye lids and to paint their lips, to wear a mask that so outlandishly disguises their true face that they become unrecognizable without it. I like makeup, I love the way that eyeliner brings out the blue in my eyes and my lashes lengthen with each brush of the mascara but sometimes, in the early morning when I wake up an hour and a half early for my classes to painstakingly apply each stroke of the brush I wonder, why? Why do I like makeup? Why do I wear it? Is it because I like the way I look or because society likes the way I look? What is the difference and does it really matter? Am I delving too deep into it or, if it truly is a problem and I find the truth, would I be brave enough to acknowledge that all of those years I was raging against being oppressed I was also embracing it fully? The hundreds of dollars I have spent on various products down the drain to a system that doesn’t preach sexual freedom but hidden male control. How deep do the layers go that I might believe myself to be free of all ropes only to be tying the knots myself?
I don’t want to be a boy. I don’t want to be a girl. I want to be a human, without the constraints of preconceived notions of what I can or cannot achieve. The genderilization of products and ideas is so grossly unnecessary for the furtherment of society. There are products that have no reason to be gender specific and yet are packaged specifically for men or women. With constraints on pointless parts of the culture there is no hope to move past the idea of separatism for genders. Equality only happens after we learn to understand that the most basic of human needs are indeed one and the same.
My mother tells me that feminists are radical and I can be strong without being insane. My father tells me that I’m a tough girl and even if I’m not a boy I come pretty close. Both preach a way of life that to me is merely existence. Do not worry about the world for you cannot change it. Both high school graduates who joined the army immediately after receiving their diploma, both served tours overseas, both my greatest heroes and yet I want to surpass them. With no ambition other than to raise and provide for their children they allow their minds to diminish. My parents are smart and I will be the first to preach on their intelligence but they squander it through their contentedness for the way the world is. A wasted mind is such a terrible thing and I believe that this is partly the reason we have many of the prejudicial problems that occur today. People do not reach out to others as they could. They are content to stay wrapped in their bubble lives and to continue on the only path they have ever known, too afraid to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. What they do not realize is that through all our differences we are all still humans, people who can all trace their ancestry back to the beginning with overlapping values in nearly every culture found around the world. We all struggle with the same problems and fight the same wars.
I find within myself the ability to accept the unacceptable through anecdotes of survivors around the world who have fought to become more than they were destined for, those people who rise above their circumstances to battle stereotypes and self-esteem, who take back their humanity, stolen by monsters. I have my own monsters, you see, cancer is a silent killer. All have stories of loved ones who have passed due to the sickening disease found deep within the throws of the body. My mother was diagnosed with Lynch syndrome, a genetic anomaly that raises the chances of cancer to eighty percent for the carrier. My grandfather lost the battle long before I could meet him and countless aunts have struggled, falling into remission only to be attacked again and again until it isn’t the disease that kills them but the lack of hope for a future where they can breathe easier and live without fear. My mother and my aunt are among the first of this family to take proactive measures, being tested every five years for colon cancer, which is the most predominant type to appear with Lynch, and still it was only a fluke that my mother caught it in time. An errant bacteria strain and a switch of insurances prompted her to get all major testing done a year earlier than prescribed.
Now I have begun my life long battle against this family stealer, within the month I will be tested for the gene to see if I too carry the poison in my veins. The knowledge that our bodies are more likely to kill us than any physical enemy has shaped my heritage more than anything else. My sisters’ and I were born warriors, taught to understand what the true problem is so that when we are called to arms we may face the battle with the experience of a thousand men and women before us but for the first time with the technology to actually defeat this foe within our reach. It is not just me that has been shaped by these hard times but my entire family. We have always been like this and will continue so for a long time after. We have accepted within ourselves the potential for destruction and in doing so, overcame it. Imagine a world where we harness the very things that have held us down for so long.
Ownership of oppression gives us the power to say “yes, you used this against me but now I’ll use it for myself,” the power to enjoy something without the guilt of fueling the hate. Take back the word slut. Make it yours and make it proud. Or take virgin, tell them “I’m not waiting for you, I’m waiting for me.” Do not shy away from the sword that has been so often used to cut you down but take up arms so that when someone swings a cutting blow you can block and retaliate with a weapon of your own. We do not have to be nice and dainty in the fight for freedom, few men have ever been. Be a woman and be soft or hard or loud or quiet but always be strong in your convictions and know that no one, not even others in the fight can tell you that what you do is wrong, that how you march on is wrong. So long as you do not sit and watch the world move by you, you are helping.
Today when my professor asked about make up I thought that it was profound, the acknowledgement of an oppressive society in a classroom setting with people who were willing to learn but now I feel as though the conversation was too short. Yes, we were all there to regale the integrity of Shylock versus Antonio but the topic deserved more than a quick poll and a five minute discussion. Because even though makeup may have started off as a construct to keep women repressed it has turned into something that I have accepted. When we discuss whether or not certain items are “allowed” to be worn by women who fight for their rights: crop tops and short shorts, long sleeves and turtle necks, religious garb that covers fully, sexy clothing that reveals a lot, we forget to acknowledge the depth of the human personality. It is a blow to be accused of never thinking for myself, that every decision I have ever made has not been my own. I was told that I was not smart enough to realize that I had fallen into a trap and my very being fixated on the point that I liked to wear makeup. Every person has a different view of what is acceptable and what is oppressive and they are far from all the same. We need to educate on the idea of equality but clothing and makeup are too ingrained into the subset of culture to whitewash and call only one style fit to be worn. That is an oppression of another sort. So I say wear the makeup or don’t but enjoy who you are and fight for the equality of everyone so that someday our choices will not come into question because of who we are born and who we have decided to be.
About the Author
Chelsea Epler is a 22 year old English Major at Marywood University. Raised in a small town, she grew up with two younger sisters who still attend the local high school. She is a member of the University softball team, reigning champions of the Colonial State Athletic Conference. After graduation in May (2015) she plans on coaching a travel softball team and moving out of the area in order to find work within her field. Fifteen weeks ago she attended her first Feminist Writing and Rhetoric class and began the semester identifying herself as a feminist. Now she understands what that means.
Fifteen Weeks of Feminism 