Sunday afternoon thought break: tattooed professors

I’m knee-deep in end of the term business — papers and exams and grading and fun! — but I’m taking a break to ponder tattoos and academia.

Why would you ponder that, Martina? Good question, blank computer screen onto which I’m projecting the thoughts of my potential readers!

The answer is: because I just scheduled a consultation for my next tattoo. The plan is for the first line of Mary Oliver’s poem “Wild Geese” to be inked onto the inside of my left arm, just below the elbow. And I’m pretty damn excited about it. But there are those who are not so excited about tattoos, especially visible ones, and their impact on one’s potential future employment. So here, in no particular order, are my thoughts on the matter.

1. If my tattoo is really the thing that keeps me from getting a job, they probably wouldn’t have liked me as an employee anyway. It’s highly unlikely that the kinds of places that are strictly and officially anti-body art would even be an option for an academic like myself. I mean, this Jew-with-a-gay-mom-who-writes-about-abortion-and-the-apocalypse thing that I’ve got going on pretty much takes me out of the running for working at a school like Missouri Southern State University or George Fox University. And no love lost there for me!
2. The question is whether institutions without formal rules banning tattoos will nevertheless be biased against me if I have tattoos. Good question. People are judgmental about a whole lot of things, especially bodies. But if I can successfully cover my wrist tattoo (can and occasionally do!), then I think the middle of my arm should be easily concealable. And truly, I think that the face of my field is changing such that a tattooed English professor isn’t really a concern for most.
3. The further question is: what will my students think. Easy answer: they’ll think whatever the hell they want to think. And I’ll still be the one who gets to grade them at the end of the term! Blamo: teachers have the power! But really, studies have shown that many students actually respond positively to tattooed faculty, so I’m not actually concerned about it. Plus, I try not to show off too much of my body to my students as is, so they might never even see the new piece of work, and since I’m a curvaceous woman, they’re probably more likely to be fixated on (ahem) other parts of my body than my arms.
4. The truth is, it’s my damn body and I’m going to mark it and decorate it and dress it and love it however I damn well please. And adding this piece of artwork to my arm is a way to mark, decorate, dress, and love myself that feels sanctified and right. So I’m going to do it and when I look at it, I’m going to love myself, and that is worth the time, the money, the pain, and whatever judgment I might get. I truly don’t understand why I shouldn’t honor my life’s progress and process in a physical way. I like making manifest what is otherwise intangible; I like the idea of writing my life onto my skin, inscribing upon myself my joy and sadness and triumphs and failures. I like when Margaret Cho says that she “love[s] heavily tattooed women” because she “imagine[s that] their lives are filled with sensuality and excess, madness and generosity, impulsive natures and fights. They look like they have endured much pain and sadness, yet have the ability to transcend all of it by documenting it on the body.” I like documenting. So I’ve chosen, for the second time now, to document in flesh and ink and word and color. Good.

Those are my thoughts, inarticulate as they may be.

But what I really want to know is this: what do you all think? Are you tattooed and, if so, what has been your experience wearing your skin out into the world? Do you want tattoos, or want to add to your collection? If so, why? What do they mean to or do for you? And of course, if you’re not so hot on tattoos, I’d love to know why that’s so!

Update: in case you’re reading this (and aren’t a subscriber to the blog) and are wondering “did she do it?”, then check out this follow-up post to see the low-quality picture of my beautiful new tattoo!

the small victories

Tasks
1. so much work!
2. Friday evening funsies — tonight is my department’s quarterly wine-and-cheese event, which always means belligerent fun with super smart people. It might sound like a fancy affair, but really it’s just wine out of plastic cups and a lot of laughter. So, you know, my idea of perfect.

Trappings

jeans – Old Navy Sweetheart blouse – thrifted scarf and boots – vintage

Tales

This was a surprisingly difficult teaching week; my students were all really great and are trying really hard, but I found myself feeling really worried about all of them. I think the hidden secret about teaching is how much we (most of us) care about our students. I want so badly for them to succeed, but this is the part of term where I realize that some of them might not. The truth is, that’s really out of my hands; they’re the one’s giving themselves the failing grade. I just have to be the one to assign it. But still. I worry, I fret, I want them to pass, I want them to go out into the world prepared. It’s a heavy load to shoulder sometimes.

But. There were some small victories this week with those students that made a big difference to me.

There was the moment when I taught my whole class how to mimic a Jamaican accent (these skills are the remnants of a misbegotten youth in the theater) as a reward for their hard work. Their hooting-and-hollering laughter was my reward. Pro tip: to learn on your own, just follow this schema and don’t forget the diphthongs!

There was the moment, after I showed them an example of my revision process (complete with scanned images of my work in progress paper), when one said “what class is that for?” and I got to explain what it is that I do when I’m not teaching. And they looked shocked, as if they were thinking “that’s a job?” Yes, friends: the best job.

And then there was the moment when I went off script and had a real conversation with them about something I really care about. As a scholar, an activist, and a woman who benefits from white privilege, I’ve thought long and hard about the issues of Native American representation and cultural appropriation. The frequent hipster headdresses and “Pocahottie” costumes I see in this here Pacific Northwest town make me sick, angry, and fired up. But I tend not to bring these conversations up in my class, for a variety of reasons — not wanting to insult anyone, not wanting to use my privileged position to colonize someone else’s story, not wanting to start conversations that cannot be finished within the confines of the course, not wanting to reveal my own biases, etc. However, I decided to give the students a sample argument about the harm of Native American sports mascots to use in practicing different kinds of appeals (appeals to authority, emotion, etc). I was hoping that it would be a chance for them to try on arguments that they might never have considered without devolving into a rant about culturally oppressive representation. Here’s how it turned out: my students tried on the argument. They made useful connections (Native American mascots are similar to minstrel shows and blackface, for example) and had an interesting conversation about the negative impact that the Braves might have. And then… it happened. A student made the “but what about the Celtics” argument and the conversation became about more than just how to write cogent argumentative essays. I put my lesson plan on the back burner and we spent 40 minutes — in a class about argumentation! — talking about issues of cultural appropriation, about how even “positive” stereotypes work insidious damage, about the dearth of representations of the contemporary lives of Native peoples leads to global misconceptions about who they are and what they want, etc. I’m really pleased to say that my mostly-white class had come to the consensus, by the end of that discussion, that dressing up like Pocahontas means so much more than just imitating a Disney movie. They came to the consensus that there was a difference between the Brave and the Celtic. They said they’d never had that kind of conversation before, that they just hadn’t ever thought about the kinds of images we see of Native peoples. I might not have taught them what they were supposed to learn, but I definitely helped them unpack some of their own misconceptions about cultural appropriation and that makes me seriously glad to be doing this job.

contrasts

Tasks
1. early morning blood test — raise your hand if you, like me, love nothing better than starting the day off with a fasting blood glucose test!
2. work work work — it’s a grading day… again

Trappings

dress – Gap (ancient) boots – Hunter tights – Target sweater – H&M men’s department (ancient) belt – vintage

Tales

Here are the contrasts of this day:

1. the fasting of my morning in contrast with the coffee binge I’m on now
2. the floaty pink dress I’m wearing in contrast with the heavy duty boots and chunky men’s sweater
3. the gorgeous spring weather of the weekend (60′s and sunny and mild!) in contrast with the grey drizzle and threat of snow of today
4. finally, here’s my hope: the unproductive weekend in contrast with a day of getting things done!

So, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get my bitch on and get stuff done.

fire-bomb

Tasks
1. all the little things: paperwork and grading and research and etc.
2. I believe Friday nights should probably be celebrated with drinks at some point

Trappings

jeans – Old Navy Sweetheart blouse – Old Navy boots – Hunter, thanks to a giveaway from Eleanor of Bonjour, Bbydoll

Tales

So, the title of this post: a man on the bus today — a creepy man, let’s be clear on that one — walked past me and said with a weird chortle “fire-bomb!”

I mean, I get it: red hair. But fire-bomb? Isn’t that a little redundant? I mean, aren’t all bombs kind of fiery? By his logic, would old blue-haired ladies (sidebar: I totally intend on being an awesome blue haired lady some day) be water-bombs? Ice-bombs?

Come on, creepy man, at least be logical in your weird lechery.

In other news, these boots are the greatest ever. Seriously, Hunter rain boots: you are totally worth the money. Even better, because I won a Shopbop gift card from Eleanor of Bonjour, Bbydoll a few weeks ago (read: months ago, before my life went all pear-shaped), these were fully worth the $25 they cost. Glorious! I’m never getting wet feet again… Also, they’re much more navy-blue in real life than they appear in these pictures. If I actually knew how to photograph effectively, perhaps I could have remedied that. But I don’t! And thus, on with Friday, fellow bombs!

wordy: some thoughts from my classroom on bodies, perceptions, and teachable moments

Camp is over now. My tenure in the classroom, with these wonderful and invigorating and frustrating kids, is over for this summer. And as much as I hope I taught them a thing or two, I’m mostly still thinking about the things they taught me. Wednesday, I had an interesting moment with some of my students and I’ve been thinking about it since. And since this space is supposed to be where I reflect on teaching and self-representation, I think it’s a pretty fitting time to bring it up.

Some background: one of the courses I’m teaching this summer is an introduction to media literacy course that I’ve titled “Reading the World Well.” The overall goal is to help students learn how to read media images more critically and become more analytical, skeptical, and conscious consumers. Our first week focused on advertising images and my students proved to be amazingly adept at discerning the hidden messages that advertising sends us about our bodies, our selves, and our society. In this second week, we look at how we represent and “sell” ourselves, focusing on how  internet platforms like facebook, twitter, and personal blogs change the way we present ourselves and interact with others.

(click for link to the source)

This image — from a recent Ralph Lauren campaign — is one that we discuss at length. One of the things I try to get my students to realize is that we see images like this and we find them disgusting, horrible, and repellent. We see this and we protest the unreasonable, unattainable, inhuman images pitched to us by advertising firms that are banking on our self-loathing spurring us to spend money on their product. But we only challenge what we notice and we only notice stuff like this image, where the model has been so drastically photoshopped that she looks like a praying mantis. What we don’t notice is the subtle alterations that blanket our media landscape and that may be the biggest problem.

(click for link to the source)

We spend more time on this image and the subtle, skilled photoshoping that’s been done to make Katy Perry “acceptable” for the cover of Rolling Stone. We discuss how much time, energy, makeup, lighting, etc., went into making Perry look how she does in the before, how demonstrably beautiful she is, how unattainable her body is for many women. And then how even despite all this supposed perfection, the physical Perry isn’t good enough and she must still be digitally altered and transformed into the impossible image we see on the cover. Is this not as troubling as the Ralph Lauren ad?

So in this class we try to make the connection between the images of bodies (and female bodies in particular) and how we feel about our own bodies, how we imagine our selves: on Wednesday, we spent time talking about how we want to be seen and what we do to make that happen. Do we de-tag pictures of ourselves that we think make us look unattractive, that make us look boring, that make us look fat? Do we edit ourselves to make our image acceptable, to others and to ourselves, to fit into that impossible beauty ideal? For example, I told them all that it’s important to me that I am seen as smart, so I try to use proper grammar, a large vocabulary, and I make reference to myself engaging in “smart” activities (like reading the New York Times, being a Ph.D. student, or enjoying poetry). I think my candor helped them open up about how they, too, are doing this and we got a very interesting discussion going.

It was during this discussion that a student said something I was, am, and (I expect) will continue to be floored by:

“I want to be seen as confident in my body,” she said, “but I’m not skinny or fat enough.”
I paused, completely unsure of how to respond. “I’m sorry, can you explain that to me?” I asked.
“Well,” she elaborated, “it’s like, if I was really skinny and pretty, I could be confident in my body, because I’d be pretty enough, you know? Or, since we all, like, know we’re not supposed to feel bad about our bodies, I could be confident if I was bigger. But I’m, like, just a normal size, so I feel like it looks weird if I am all, like, confident and strutting my stuff and whatever.”

I didn’t know how to handle that statement. I just stood there, mouth agape, looking at this young girl. She’s 13 years old. By my eye, she’s beautiful, with the kind of coltish enthusiasm and awkward grace that I can already see growing into the real beauty of womanhood. Moreover, she’s someone who I would call thin. She looks healthy, well taken care of, comfortably growing and changing and turning into an adult. And yet. And yet she feels unsure of how to treat her body because she’s just, well, just healthy. Because the images of beauty and of ideal femininity that she sees most often do not look like her, do not resemble her body. And yet she feels like she cannot be confident because her body — healthy, average, etc. — is not something she sees regularly.

I think I missed a real teachable moment here, because I couldn’t articulate just how sad, astute, and important her statement was. Because I couldn’t imagine how to stand in front of my classroom and say that yes, I, too, wonder where the women who look like me are. That I, too, wonder what exactly a “healthy” body is supposed to look like, what an “able” body is, what it means to feel “pretty”. That I, too, sometimes look in the mirror and hate my body — a body that treats me well, that works the way I want it to, that exists in a comfortable equilibrium with itself — and then, on the same day, look at pictures of myself on this blog and love what I see. That I, too, am uncertain of the standards I’m holding myself to.

I talk to my students regularly about what a “good” body is. I repeat, over and over, that a good body is the body that we’re in. That a good body is a body wherein the cells continue to split via that miracle of mitosis, wherein the blood still delivers the lungs’ oxygen to our muscles and our fingertips and our brain. And yet. And yet this idea of what a good body and a good woman and a good image might be is not so simple as just rejoicing in the efficacy of our physical selves because it’s absolutely bound up in how those selves are sold to us.

I think back on the girl I was at her age and think, yes. Yes I hated myself, then, for being neither so thin that I was acceptable nor so strong that I could not care. And I’ve regularly looked back at pictures of myself in embarrassment, unsure of how to love myself in retrospection when I still feel the sting of the shame and self-loathing I foisted upon myself then.

We moved on. I lost the moment. I didn’t say anything to this girl. But her statement stuck with me such that I sat there that day, typing that explanation, that question, while students in my next class were writing their short stories. While the class was imagining something new, crafting fictive worlds of their own creation, I was thinking back on that one girl in that one class and wondering what the world will look like for her, for them, as they all grow up. And now here I am, reading over these words, days later, and wondering what I could have said then, to her and to them and to myself at that age, about how we know ourselves, how we see ourselves, how we relate to ourselves and why, sweet goodness, why we are being taught to so very much loathe ourselves.

keeping us company: my dear, darling Caitlin

While I’m off and away, teaching the youngsters and generally finding myself in way over my head with this whole teacher-student-haver-of-life balance thing, I invited some friends (some from the blog world, some from the non-blog world) to keep us all company here at The Life Academic and share their solutions to my current conundrum: outfits appropriate for teaching-studenting-living in the hot, hot summer heat.

Today, one of my dearest friends in the whole world — who I met in college and who has loved, supported, and put up with me ever since — has come to join us. In fact, Caitlin (who does not blog, by the way, much to my chagrin as she is fabulous and hilarious) has come from across the whole world to join us — a full 7638 miles! Anyhow, I’ll let her explain the whole thing:

When Martina asked me to contribute to her blog with my own work appropriate outfit I thought “why not, I wear clothes to work all the time.” (Editor’s note: seriously, do you not see why I love this lady?)  Actually, I have been thinking about what I wear more than usual lately.  I work for the US State Department* and this summer I am in Doha, Qatar.  Qatar (located right next to Saudi Arabia) is hot, humid and conservative.  Like 110 degrees hot, so humid your sun glasses fog up and at least half the women you see in public are covered head to toe in black robes.  Basically I have two kinds of outfits I wear, those for working at the Embassy and those for when I have meetings with locals.  This I is an outfit I wore on an Embassy only day:

Top: Banana Republic, thrifted.  Skirt: Mango.

The skirt covers my knees and the shirt covers my shoulders, so it is acceptable for wearing in public.  However, as a young woman who already has to work to be taken seriously in the patriarchal society here, I tend to go for pants for outside meetings.  This skirt, however, is way more comfortable in the heat.  Also, this shirt doesn’t require ironing.  I hate ironing, so this is a major plus.

Shoes: Geox, thrifted.

Finally, I love these shoes.  I got them at thrift store in New York.  I’m pretty sure they are a sample because they don’t have a size on them, but they fit me!  They are really breathable and have just enough heel to make me feel fancy without making my feet hurt.  Also, they are the same color as the ubiquitous sand/dust here so it doesn’t show as much when they get dusty.

Being here has really made me realize how much my work clothes are a demonstration of my American/Western-ness.  The messages that I send with my clothes in the US don’t necessarily translate to other cultures.  As I move on to more countries in the coming years I guess I will have to continue to balance the standards of US professional dress, local professional dress and manage to stick my own style in there somewhere.  Hopefully the results will be awesome. (Editor’s note: Caitlin is always awesome, so by the transitive property, all her activities should be. Really people, this is science.)

*The views expressed here are mine alone and do not reflect the views of the US government or the State Department, who I imagine are pondering issues of greater significance than my clothing.

So, how much do we love Caitlin? And don’t we all think that she should start a “bad-ass State Department women” blog so that everyone can love her, too? Yes. The answer to all of the above is definitely yes. As ever, Caitlin my dearest, I treasure your sarcasm, silliness, and style in my life. Thank you for gracing my blog with your lovely self and now PLEASE come home soon so that we can have a play date, okay?

book week: for the love of goodness, friends, read stuff and tell me about it!

This week, in honor of a certain bookstore that I loved and the unparalleled joy of reading on long summer days, I’m offering reviews of some of my recent reads and humbly requesting recommendations for new books to love.

I’m not one to gush unless I feel very strongly about something. Okay, that’s a big ol’ lie. I gush all the time (that was the greatest ice cream I’ve ever eaten!) because I feel strongly about a lot of things. So maybe I should start this review this way: I’m not one to admit that I gush and fawn and hyperbolize (new word I just made up) unless I feel very strongly about something and want to mark that feeling with a such a caveat. So now this: I feel very strongly about this novel.

Anna North’s debut novel America Pacifica is one of the best things I’ve read in a while. Set in an absolutely brilliantly rendered world after a cataclysmic ice age has left only a tiny fraction of humanity alive, struggling on an island to retain the old ways of life, North’s story is at once a very simple whodunit and an exploration into politics, sociology, class, and the powerful desire for stasis that we human animals have. The mystery plot is an absolutely original take on the genre; our protagonist, Darcy, is searching for her mother, the only family and only community she has, who simply failed to return from work one day. Darcy, realizing that she is alone and that she alone can find her mother, sets out to bring her home and, in doing so, discovers hat deeper mysteries are at work below the surface, mysteries that could upset the whole political rhetoric and balance of the island.

But beyond just the mystery, beyond just the political, this novel is about a desperate world seeking that balance after the disruption of everything familiar. This dystopic, post-apocalyptic element is simply stunning. The claustrophobia of the island, the reek of the seaweed, the sweltering tropical heat, and the incongruity between old-world imports in new-world settings are all so well drawn that I often felt physically affected by North’s descriptions. North’s invented industries and “what if?” game playing with the island setting is impressive; I read a lot of speculative fiction, and nothing I’ve read recently compares to how real and believable North’s world is. At times, I felt like I could smell jellyfish being fried in a barrio, feel the mold and mildew of the “seaboard,” taste the damp, fetid sea air.

Not only is it a remarkable well-realized dystopia that features both the Island at the End of the World and the Next Ice Age tropes, but it is one of the best character studies I’ve ever read. And unlike the Hunger Games (which, no joke, I loved while reading), I feel like the description of a young female protagonist just learning that she has power as a woman and as a symbol was both organic, believable, and had feminist power to it, instead of devolving into an excuse to not give a woman real agency. As much as I enjoyed Hunger Games and it’s depiction of an ass-kicking heroine, I was often frustrated at the main character’s lack of insight, foresight, and agency; why doesn’t she wake up, I kept thinking! Moreover, Hunger Games still in many ways centers on a romantic, heterosexual match that, while being well developed and powerful, is nevertheless remarkably myopic. North, on the other hand, allows Darcy to seek not for romantic love but for family, for stability, and though the acknowledgement of possible romantic connections is addressed (chillingly, at times), the purpose of the story, of Darcy’s quest, remains directed towards her mother.

Anna North’s insights into her protagonist’s power — Darcy’s ability to perceive and imagine her way into other people’s lives, which allows her both empathy and manipulative control — is so seamless and elegantly crafted that I never felt surprised at Darcy’s abilities, never felt like she wasn’t headed for something big even when she herself didn’t know it. It’s hard to describe the skill with which North writes without giving away the plot and that’s something I absolutely don’t want to do, because the plot is so brilliant, but I will say that the basic premise — the search for Darcy’s mom — very skillfully gives way to a larger story with really amazing insights about the human condition and the state of humanity “after the end.” I’m absolutely convinced that this book is doing something

fittingly friendly friday

The brilliant Katy Rose at Modly Chic links up fashion and beauty bloggers via the FBFF google group, asking weekly questions about blogging and life. Check it out here.

1. Do you keep some kind of fitness routine? Why? I have a genetic defect in my knees and a long-term injury in my back, so I have to be pretty delicate with certain aerobic activities (running, for example, pretty much wrecks me); the upside is that I’ve learned to love yoga and try to go at least three times a week. However despite my physical restrictions, I love moving, sweating, and working it out, as long as there’s a good beat or song playing to keep me engaged. I’m a firm believer in living-room dance parties, mostly when I’m alone and need an energy boost, but I’m also fully invested in getting my Beyoncé on and dancing for a workout. This term I joined the YMCA (because it’s quite literally across the street from my apartment complex) and I’ve been really enjoying taking step aerobics and zumba; again, it’s about the music and the dance-type movement and, let’s face it, an instructor to keep my ass moving! Basically, what I’m saying is that I really like to move and work out, but if there’s not some bad-ass music (or a secondary motivator), I lose my focus pretty fast. So does anybody have a winning workout music playlist that they want to recommend to me? The second part of this question is the why and, well, I work out so that I can feel good in my skin, so that I can bike to work and school and the grocery store without getting winded, so that I can be healthy and face my future with compassion for and commitment to myself. And so that I can eat whatever I want (which usually doesn’t include six donuts in a row or anything) without guilt.
2. Has working out, maybe training for a marathon or something of that
nature, helped with your own perception of body image? Absolutely. For me, it’s not about my weight or the relative size of my hips, thighs, etc. Certainly when I’m smaller in size I fit into the beauty ideal a little more and get accolades for that, which I’ll never deny liking. But the truth is, no matter my weight or size, I feel better in my skin when I know how far and hard I can push it, when I know that I’m in command of my physical self. The self esteem benefit is, I think, as potent and powerful as the benefit to my heart, lungs, muscles, and brain.
3. When you are hitting the gym or just going out for a long walk what
do you wear? Is it about functionality or fashion? I’m all about functionality. Particularly because I have, to be delicate, a lot of lady lumps (are the kids still referencing that song or am I hopelessly out of date?) to corral and need a good deal of sports-bra action.
4. Do you feel there is a cultural perception of what you ‘should’ be
doing for your own physical fitness? Yes. The female body is a contested space, one that is constantly being interpreted and appropriate by society (and congress), and I don’t believe that women can exist outside of ideologies and assumptions about our physical personhood. Bummer. And things are pretty complicated for American women right now. Not only are we supposed to be thin, we’re supposed to be fit, and treat it like it’s effortless and fun, and have rah-rah girl power high self esteem, be healthy eaters instead of finicky dieters (but still be skinny), and be totally blasé about the fact that these are not organic, autonomous choices. So yeah, when I admit that I work my ass off at the gym so that I can eat cheese and cookies (usually not in the same meal, except for special occasions), I feel like I’m breaking the rules. When I admit that I have a complicated relationship with my body, I feel like I’m breaking the rules. When I admit that I do not always find going to the gym fun, rewarding, or entertaining, I feel like I’m breaking the rules. But I still go, I still try to keep fit, because the truth is that even though all of these rules and assumptions exist, keeping fit is still the best decision I can make for myself.
5.  Dream big… what would be your ultimate fitness goal. I honestly don’t have any fitness goals other that I can articulate, because I mostly just want to get to a phase where I feel like I’m committing myself to myself as much as I need, and that’s a nebulous, mobile emotional space. As a grad student, I don’t get to spend much time just giving kindly to myself, so I treat my fitness routine as an opportunity to show my body and my life some respect and love. And I want to be able to do that as much as I want! Although I’d really like to be able to do that Beyoncé dance all the way through…

dress — GAP (circa 2008) sweater — Target

Well, darlings, it is absolutely pouring, hailing, storming outside, but I’m not going to let that stop me from donning my most wedding-appropriate dress (albeit, an utterly casual one) in anticipation of tonight’s Royal Wedding Watching Party. The lovely friend hosting this event is a wine buyer, so we even have the official champagne of the royal wedding! I’ll be wearing my best imitation of a tux and promise photos tomorrow. Did any of you stay up late / get up early to watch the royal wedding? Are any of you planning viewing parties? So enjoy your Fridays, stormy or not (and for any readers from the Southern States, my heart goes out to you and I hope you and your loved ones escaped harm).

Daily Dose: friendly Friday and feminism

Alright, what are the FBFF questions?

1. Do you think there is an incompatibility between feminism and a
love for fashion? Yes and no. I’ve posted about this before, but I stand by my assertion that there are no neutral choices and so, at some point, we have to decide to live our lives regardless of how coded our behavior and appearance is. So yes, I think my feminist ideologies and my love for the self-expression and the fun of fashion are incompatible in that all of my life choices are incompatible with the kind of equality I strive for. But no, they are also not incompatible, in that they both function to allow me agency over my self and my personhood, even if all that agency can do is to prove to me just how very much we are all subjects of the dominant ideologies we live within.
2. There is more to each of us than a love for fashion, how do you
incorporate every aspect of yourself into your blog? Hmm. I struggle with this, but I think that because this experiment isn’t just about highlighting and displaying my fashion choices but is also about exploring the why, when, wherefore, and what of those choices, I am able to incorporate much more of myself into my blog. I mean, I talk about books and school and occasionally share photos of myself as a child, so I feel like you folks get the chance to see more than just my daily outfits. Plus, I will attest that what someone wears shows a whole lot about who they are and what they identify with, if only we’re able to look with a critical and analytical eye.
3. With the fashion industry still being a male-dominated profession,
how do you think it would differ if women played a larger role? This is one of those unanswerable questions that I spend a lot of time thinking about. The fashion industry is predicated on hundreds of thousands of years of social norms, all of which adapt to fit their particular historical context. These norms work to perpetuate the status quo and support the systems of power that are already in place. But what if, right? I spend a lot of time on the what if. So my answer here is that I can’t answer, that there’s too much at work for me to give any one answer.
4. How is your self-image and the way you carry yourself informed by
your beliefs? I think I carry myself with a lot more self-confidence and, simultaneously, a lot more self-doubt because of my feminist ideologies and my feminist education. Simply put, I am often horribly aware of what and how people are judging and perceiving me and there are times when that knowledge really shuts me down. But there are also times when it gives me the strength and the language to fight back or stand up, and those are moments to not just be proud of but the cherish. Like when I refuse to let it slide that some teenage boy make a lewd gesture to me on a crowded bus, or when I speak up in defense of my beliefs, or in the ways I teach my students. Those are nourishing moments.
5. Do you think clothing/makeup/hair helps communicate the truth about
yourself or are those things superfluous add-ons? My appearance communicates tons about myself. Whether or not what it communicates is what I want communicated, what I believe accurately represents my own sense of self, or what I intended it to communicate is a whole other question entirely.

In addition, here’s a picture of my feminist (and fashion) hero, my Mom Lynne, taken when Mama was just about the same age I am now:

daily dose: fashionable feminist

What’s the question at hand, lady?

The bad-ass bloggers over at Oranges and Apples have come up with the great idea for a “Show us Your Fashionable Feminism” day and they’re asking: How do you express your feminism in the way you dress?

Okay, what’s your answer?

This is a really great and really hard question. I think about this every day, wonder whether my decision to wear a skirt or a pair of heels or nail polish negatively impacts my feminist ideologies. What I come down on is the notion of choice: people should all have equal choice and equal access to the means of making authentic choices, regardless of gender, sex, or sexuality. So do I sometimes choose to wear high heels? Yes. Even though I know that wearing those heels is a part of a misogynistic beauty ideal that robs me of full self-expression and self-ideation? Yep. Even though I know that my sense of “choosing” to wear heels is, in fact, not really a choice, because I have no agency outside of what the structures of ideological power decide I should have? Right-o. Because I acknowledge that there are no neutral choices, no acts of resistance that don’t play into the same binaries of power, no true agency of the body, I have decided to free myself from the guilt of being a woman in this world, who cannot make a right choice no matter what options she is given. And therefore I’ll wear what I damn well please, thank you very much, and I might just paint my nails red.

The thing is, I think a lot about my clothes, and a lot of the time I do so because I know that I will be judged or perceived in ways I am not comfortable with because of how I look. And it makes me really, really mad. But what’s worse is that, regardless of how I do or do not dress, I am still being judged and valuated based on being a woman, based on my looks, based on the fact that some people feel that women’s bodies are public bodies and therefore they can comment on us without fear. An example: the other day, while walking down the street, a man yelled at me “Red on the head, fire in the bed!” I was humiliated, upset, angry, ashamed, frustrated. And there was nothing I could do about it. In that moment, I felt stripped bare, vulnerable and without agency. I am not okay with feeling that way, and no amount of clothing or fashion or hiding in a hoodie is going to change that.

So how do I dress fashionably as a feminist? Long story short, I am dress feminist in the same way I live feminist: by just living every day as a woman with a brain that I value more than my tits.

Whew. Okay, that was a rant. Hows about you make a picture that’s worth a hundred of those words.

Yeah, I’m not giving you a full outfit post because I look like a hot mess, so apologies all around. I have to administer a final exam orally to a student with an intense learning disability and then sit in the office, with the professor for whom I work, and power-grade 21 finals. So I’m pretty much as casual as can be: jeans, boots, very plaid shirt. But when that’s done, I’m done. Done! With the whole term! Joy!

I’ve got a nutty week off planned: my two best friends are coming into town (expect some fantastic outfit pictures of those two gorgeous ladies), there will be some epic end of term parties (hello, karaoke machine!), and some friends and I are planning various crafting, movie watching, food making events that I’m feeling very excited about.

So enjoy your Wednesday, even if you’re not about to have the week off, and, if you’d like, tell me something about your impression of feminist fashion!