When people hear that I attend a woman's college, the top question (after, "Oh. So you're all, like, gay, right?") is hands down: "How do you stand the cattiness?" Implicit in this statement being the fact that with a campus full of vaginas, shit must go down.
Surprisingly (or not), this hasn't really been my experience. Sure, community living can have its drama (I recall someone stealing my face wash in front of me my first year, as well as many dirty kitchens and much house booty problems), but I've discovered that for most of us, without the presence of men in abundance to bring out the insecurities and harried comparisons, a lot of the jealousy and cattiness disintegrates. But it is not so in the real world, or whenever Smithies interact with it (exception: Northern California, where at my sister's wedding this weekend, the groom's ex-wife gave a toast about how my sister was great and a better match for him, without a touch of detectable malice or sarcasm. These hippies have got it down).
I'm not afraid to admit that I've sat with my Albright ladies and criticized women from afar (usually via Facebook. Don't judge, you scope out their exes too). When Beefcake began sleeping with other women, stalking them via Facebook and verbally destroying them in a group provided some solace for the emotional wounds I was sustaining (hey, maybe I'd been betrayed, but she's got a muffin top and my tits are better). It even extends into sex; I used to actively pride myself on being the best any of my partners has ever had, being the most flexible, the one with the most stamina, the one who could deep throat longest, feeling like I just had to be better somehow. Like insults, I knew I had to prove myself in the arenas of looks and sex. I'm loathe to admit it because it sounds petty and I "should" be more confident than it, but sometimes, jealousy rears its ugly head. Despite my beliefs in sisterhood and supporting other women and all that, I can't help but tear my claws into other women I don't even know, seeking validation that I'm better than she is, that I have nothing to worry about, that I've somehow won the prize of male attention and with it the right to say horrible things (she's got cankles! She looks like a slut!) about other women.
Jealousy, much like judgment, breaks down the possibility of connections or recognition of common humanity. And it's particularly virulent and ugly amongst ladies involved with men. Conditioning has resulted in the male gaze carrying so much weight in our minds, and its appraisal of our worth, sad as it is to admit, is deeply significant to our self esteem. Indulging in that jealousy and getting your Facebook creep on only further fosters insecurity, anxiety, and emotional distance that we really could do without.
So let's take that power back. Let's stop calling each other whores and stupid and ugly. Let's focus on what we've got, instead of denigrating them for what we think they don't. Let's take a cue from Bikini Kill and encourage each other, even as we feel insecure: "Being a sexy & powerful female is one of the most subversive projects of all. (We are the priestesses of a new kind of power oh yeah). We know we are not like this due to any weird gene formation or luck or trick. We are how we are from working together with our eyes open & having experiences & getting help from our moms & friends. We vow to struggle against the “j” word (jealousy), the killer of GIRL LOVE. We are not special, anyone can do it. ENCOURAGEMENT IN THE FACE OF INSECURITY is a slogan of the revolution.”
Much love,
The Sheriff
Monday, September 27, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Consent and Sobriety
So, if you have read any of my (unfortunately few) FF posts on this blog, you’ll know that I’m a consent junkie. I strongly believe in agency, responsibility (for yourself as well as others) and having control over what goes on with your own self.
Last year, after a particularly heinous breakup and series of important self-examinations, I realized that I had not had a sober first-kiss in two years. By this, my mind was blown. Now, I may have gotten out of a significantly unhealthy long-term relationship and begun drinking at the same time, but still, the fact that not one of my seven first-kisses since January of 2008 had been sober was, well, sobering.
As I was also beginning to discuss consent and how to engage in healthy romantic and sexual relationships more often, it became something I would bring up. I have never particularly thought of myself as a “ho”. “Ho” is not part of my self identity, nor was it a thing I strive for. But considering the number of people I’d kissed over that span of time (I believe the estimate is seven), it felt like a cop-out that none of those first-kiss moments had been devoid of alcohol.
Yes, I am a college student. Yes, I like kissing people. Yes, I am a young, hot-blooded, American queer. But isn’t part of the romance, isn’t part of the fun of it, in that awful awkward, tense build-up of “is this actually going to happen??”. I felt like a shirk. Like I’ve been surfing through my hook-ups and never putting in the effort.
I mean, when you’ve been drinking, there’s an excuse. A kiss could always mean something else, and it doesn’t have to be the most awesome thing that has ever been awesome because people kind of expect you to be slightly off you game. The alcohol can help make it feel exciting – that rush you get, the hormones surging, the blurred-lined memories of warm bodies and sweet breath, it’s easier to find when you’re relaxed on a buzz.
But I started to wonder – God, what if I can never have a sober first kiss? What if I’m unable to kiss someone for the first time unless I have alcohol as an excuse. I mean, lets be honest, who here has:
1. Ever had a drink (or 2, or 5…)
2. Not used some version of the line “oh, well, I was drunk”?
We’re kids, we’re young and we want to make out, dammit! Plus, if you’re going to a college like mine, there’s a question of time and efficiency. If you want to get some, but also write your seminar paper, going to a party and drinkin it up with that cute somebody can be pretty time effective. And I am not against those random hook-ups, as long as its something consensual, where the underlying reason behind hooking up is understood by the parties involved.
However, consent is where my questioning comes into play. How do you manage consent, responsibility and agency when you’re drunk? Isn’t a part of drinking so that you can lose control and be irresponsible? But how do you know consent with or without the involvement of a definitive “YES”?
In answer to this, I can only say what I always say – COMMUNICATION. Even if you’re drunk and a little clumsy taking off your shirt, you should still be able to say “are you ok with this?” You should still have the sense to tell if your partner is pulling away from you or having indecisive body language. Although it might suck to suddenly not get some, lack of consent being the cock-block it is, that little bit of communication is SO IMPORTANT. So ask. Talk about it. Discuss what you’re comfortable with, even if it’s the short conversation “wanna ______?” “hell yeah!”
So stop, and talk. I don’t care if it’s not sexy. I don’t care if it might kill the mood. Seriously. Because you know what’s really not sexy? Like, the least sexy thing in the world? Rape. Rape is SO unsexy it is basically redundant to make that statement. And while this might seem like an incredibly dramatic statement, consider the fact that almost every rapist will say “she/he wanted it”. And whats even scarier is that, the word “rapist” is so often made into a monster that we don’t realize just how much anyone could violate consent.
And so, what do you kids? Ask. Be sure. Communicate. Don’t pressure. Oh yeah, I pulled out the ABCs, cause you know what, you’ve got to have something to help you remember when you’re drunk.
And although a drink can make sex good by helping you relax, I would argue that the best sex is sober sex with someone you know and trust.
So, how do you feel about consent and sobriety? Talk it up.
Over and Out,
General Lee
Oh,and as an aside, I did have a sober first kiss post this realization, and it was awesome and awkward and filled with consent.
Last year, after a particularly heinous breakup and series of important self-examinations, I realized that I had not had a sober first-kiss in two years. By this, my mind was blown. Now, I may have gotten out of a significantly unhealthy long-term relationship and begun drinking at the same time, but still, the fact that not one of my seven first-kisses since January of 2008 had been sober was, well, sobering.
As I was also beginning to discuss consent and how to engage in healthy romantic and sexual relationships more often, it became something I would bring up. I have never particularly thought of myself as a “ho”. “Ho” is not part of my self identity, nor was it a thing I strive for. But considering the number of people I’d kissed over that span of time (I believe the estimate is seven), it felt like a cop-out that none of those first-kiss moments had been devoid of alcohol.
Yes, I am a college student. Yes, I like kissing people. Yes, I am a young, hot-blooded, American queer. But isn’t part of the romance, isn’t part of the fun of it, in that awful awkward, tense build-up of “is this actually going to happen??”. I felt like a shirk. Like I’ve been surfing through my hook-ups and never putting in the effort.
I mean, when you’ve been drinking, there’s an excuse. A kiss could always mean something else, and it doesn’t have to be the most awesome thing that has ever been awesome because people kind of expect you to be slightly off you game. The alcohol can help make it feel exciting – that rush you get, the hormones surging, the blurred-lined memories of warm bodies and sweet breath, it’s easier to find when you’re relaxed on a buzz.
But I started to wonder – God, what if I can never have a sober first kiss? What if I’m unable to kiss someone for the first time unless I have alcohol as an excuse. I mean, lets be honest, who here has:
1. Ever had a drink (or 2, or 5…)
2. Not used some version of the line “oh, well, I was drunk”?
We’re kids, we’re young and we want to make out, dammit! Plus, if you’re going to a college like mine, there’s a question of time and efficiency. If you want to get some, but also write your seminar paper, going to a party and drinkin it up with that cute somebody can be pretty time effective. And I am not against those random hook-ups, as long as its something consensual, where the underlying reason behind hooking up is understood by the parties involved.
However, consent is where my questioning comes into play. How do you manage consent, responsibility and agency when you’re drunk? Isn’t a part of drinking so that you can lose control and be irresponsible? But how do you know consent with or without the involvement of a definitive “YES”?
In answer to this, I can only say what I always say – COMMUNICATION. Even if you’re drunk and a little clumsy taking off your shirt, you should still be able to say “are you ok with this?” You should still have the sense to tell if your partner is pulling away from you or having indecisive body language. Although it might suck to suddenly not get some, lack of consent being the cock-block it is, that little bit of communication is SO IMPORTANT. So ask. Talk about it. Discuss what you’re comfortable with, even if it’s the short conversation “wanna ______?” “hell yeah!”
So stop, and talk. I don’t care if it’s not sexy. I don’t care if it might kill the mood. Seriously. Because you know what’s really not sexy? Like, the least sexy thing in the world? Rape. Rape is SO unsexy it is basically redundant to make that statement. And while this might seem like an incredibly dramatic statement, consider the fact that almost every rapist will say “she/he wanted it”. And whats even scarier is that, the word “rapist” is so often made into a monster that we don’t realize just how much anyone could violate consent.
And so, what do you kids? Ask. Be sure. Communicate. Don’t pressure. Oh yeah, I pulled out the ABCs, cause you know what, you’ve got to have something to help you remember when you’re drunk.
And although a drink can make sex good by helping you relax, I would argue that the best sex is sober sex with someone you know and trust.
So, how do you feel about consent and sobriety? Talk it up.
Over and Out,
General Lee
Oh,and as an aside, I did have a sober first kiss post this realization, and it was awesome and awkward and filled with consent.
Monday, September 20, 2010
the performance of sex
I'm a little swamped right now, as I'm preparing to go to California for my oldest sister's wedding, so I'm sure next week, I'll be chock full of reflections on matrimony and sexism (or not, since she's kinda a crazy hippie), but for now, I've got some thoughts about the performativity of sex (I think I just made up that word, but roll with it, please. Also, I don't touch on sex tapes at all here but intend to...soon?).
Sex for women (hell, maybe for men too) sometimes devolves into a performance. The times when you perhaps aren't necessarily interested in gettin' it in, nor are you particularly averse, so you acquiesce to make your partner feel good (no one likes rejection, right?). You're consenting just without delightful enthusiasm. You lie there and make some noises for them while mostly concentrating on the paint chips in the ceiling over their shoulder (described less eloquently as "lying back and taking a dick" or "meat and potatoes sex"), while they labor away and assume they're blowing your mind.
There's something of an expectation now on women that because we have more of the tools (information, sex toys, sexual orientation fluidity, what have you) to enjoy ourselves to the fullest, that we must every time, particularly when a partner's ego is at stake. While I'm thrilled to be with someone who cares about my orgasm, sometimes I feel like Meatball is disappointed when it takes me a while or when I don't squirt. I find myself apologizing for it, which is absurd.
But perhaps that sense of disappointment is a better alternative to faking orgasms (DON'T DO IT, it's like rewarding a puppy for chewing your shoes: they get positive reinforcement for doing the wrong thing) or exaggerating your level of kinkiness to please your partner. I know I pretended to have an interest in anal for Beefcake because I felt like I had to because I was experimental and kinky and that's what kinky experimental girlfriends do, right? I put the performative aspects of my sexuality as a "freak" over my own pleasure, and I'm still pissed off at myself for it.
Being sexually liberated doesn't mean you must have multiples or cum every time (though if you do, that's awesome!). It doesn't mean you have to always be kinky or off the wall in your desires and actions. It means developing an authentic understanding of what you want, quitting the performance and doing what makes your body sing. It might be as small as not faking when he/she expects you to be cumming, but it's still important to develop a real sexual identity, instead of one prescribed for you that feels like an act.
Much love,
The Sheriff
Sex for women (hell, maybe for men too) sometimes devolves into a performance. The times when you perhaps aren't necessarily interested in gettin' it in, nor are you particularly averse, so you acquiesce to make your partner feel good (no one likes rejection, right?). You're consenting just without delightful enthusiasm. You lie there and make some noises for them while mostly concentrating on the paint chips in the ceiling over their shoulder (described less eloquently as "lying back and taking a dick" or "meat and potatoes sex"), while they labor away and assume they're blowing your mind.
There's something of an expectation now on women that because we have more of the tools (information, sex toys, sexual orientation fluidity, what have you) to enjoy ourselves to the fullest, that we must every time, particularly when a partner's ego is at stake. While I'm thrilled to be with someone who cares about my orgasm, sometimes I feel like Meatball is disappointed when it takes me a while or when I don't squirt. I find myself apologizing for it, which is absurd.
But perhaps that sense of disappointment is a better alternative to faking orgasms (DON'T DO IT, it's like rewarding a puppy for chewing your shoes: they get positive reinforcement for doing the wrong thing) or exaggerating your level of kinkiness to please your partner. I know I pretended to have an interest in anal for Beefcake because I felt like I had to because I was experimental and kinky and that's what kinky experimental girlfriends do, right? I put the performative aspects of my sexuality as a "freak" over my own pleasure, and I'm still pissed off at myself for it.
Being sexually liberated doesn't mean you must have multiples or cum every time (though if you do, that's awesome!). It doesn't mean you have to always be kinky or off the wall in your desires and actions. It means developing an authentic understanding of what you want, quitting the performance and doing what makes your body sing. It might be as small as not faking when he/she expects you to be cumming, but it's still important to develop a real sexual identity, instead of one prescribed for you that feels like an act.
Much love,
The Sheriff
Friday, September 17, 2010
Friday links!
While I don't agree with everything she says, this article speaks beautifully about beauty standards tearing women apart.
An interesting news piece that makes me think about the responsibility of the media in regards to protecting (or promoting?) the sexualization of minors (albeit this is an extreme case involving a child prostitute).
And yes yes yes to everything said here about why shutting down the sale of adult services on Craigslist is important and wonderful and necessary.
Happy weekend!
Much love,
The Sheriff
An interesting news piece that makes me think about the responsibility of the media in regards to protecting (or promoting?) the sexualization of minors (albeit this is an extreme case involving a child prostitute).
And yes yes yes to everything said here about why shutting down the sale of adult services on Craigslist is important and wonderful and necessary.
Happy weekend!
Much love,
The Sheriff
Thursday, September 16, 2010
a proud moment
Yours truly, the Sheriff, was interviewed for an article in the Mount Holyoke College student newspaper. It is wonderfully written, and fuckin awesome! Many thanks to the lovely Isabel, for my first ever interview.
Please read it here folks!
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
PS-While I may be sleeping with a sexy jock, I was never even close to being a cheerleader :)
Please read it here folks!
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
PS-While I may be sleeping with a sexy jock, I was never even close to being a cheerleader :)
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
letters to the editor
Smith's Dining Services has recently decided to put nutritional information, including calories, fat, protein, carbs, sodium, and allergy information, on their menu website.
Bluntly, I think this is stupid, and reflects that Dining Services is deeply out of touch with the unfortunately high portion of Smithies that struggle with eating disorders or disordered eating.
So I wrote a mostly polite (while I'd love to have ranted and been more angry, I've learned from past experiences with this sort of thing that it usually doesn't get much done) letter to the editor of the Sophian, Smith's student-run newspaper. We'll see if it runs this week, but here it is below:
As a senior at Smith, I've seen many unfortunate changes take place within our campus and community, many as a result recent budget cuts. Despite this, I adore Smith College, and it pains me when the administration or offices on campus make choices that are out of touch with the needs and desires of the students. Dining Services recent decision to provide nutritional information alongside the online menus strikes me as a choice that, while surely well-intentioned, reflects an ignorance of the type of student body we have.
I've struggled with an eating disorder for nine years, and though recovered now, know many other Smithies who also deal with eating disorders and disordered eating. Although I have no hard facts, my personal estimate is that at least 20% of our campus has had some struggles with this, if not more. It is nearly epidemic. While attempting to fight a mental illness and maintain a real concept of what healthy eating looks like, easy access to calorie counts can be devastating and a real setback. I have no doubt that many of the students dealing with ED on campus can estimate the calories in their food with startling accuracy, but I see no legitimate reason to provide us with the cold hard facts to further enable eating disorders. Even for students who may be trying to lose weight for legitimate health reasons, given Smith's style of dining services, it's hard to make healthy choices if you realize the mac'n'cheese has a bazillion calories, but there's no other real option presented except the salad bar, which does not a dinner make.
I fully support Dining Services in publishing allergy information, ingredient lists, sodium, and the like, and even macronutrients of carbohydrates and protein. Providing this information gives individuals with health conditions the ability to eat with confidence that they won't be adversely affected by their food, and that's great. But to put the fat grams and calorie counts for foods I've eaten, blissfully ignorant of their caloric values, over the past three years seems to be a decision out of touch with the needs of Smith's unique student body. Women already fight an uphill battle in trying to treat their bodies with love and respect, and Smith shouldn't make this any harder than it has to be.
Sincerely,
J.
What're your thoughts about this decision? I for one am currently just not looking on the menus at all, because I know it's dangerous for me the see this kind of information on a regular basis.
Much love,
The Sheriff
ps---I almost signed the letter to the editor as the Sheriff. Over-identification much?
Bluntly, I think this is stupid, and reflects that Dining Services is deeply out of touch with the unfortunately high portion of Smithies that struggle with eating disorders or disordered eating.
So I wrote a mostly polite (while I'd love to have ranted and been more angry, I've learned from past experiences with this sort of thing that it usually doesn't get much done) letter to the editor of the Sophian, Smith's student-run newspaper. We'll see if it runs this week, but here it is below:
As a senior at Smith, I've seen many unfortunate changes take place within our campus and community, many as a result recent budget cuts. Despite this, I adore Smith College, and it pains me when the administration or offices on campus make choices that are out of touch with the needs and desires of the students. Dining Services recent decision to provide nutritional information alongside the online menus strikes me as a choice that, while surely well-intentioned, reflects an ignorance of the type of student body we have.
I've struggled with an eating disorder for nine years, and though recovered now, know many other Smithies who also deal with eating disorders and disordered eating. Although I have no hard facts, my personal estimate is that at least 20% of our campus has had some struggles with this, if not more. It is nearly epidemic. While attempting to fight a mental illness and maintain a real concept of what healthy eating looks like, easy access to calorie counts can be devastating and a real setback. I have no doubt that many of the students dealing with ED on campus can estimate the calories in their food with startling accuracy, but I see no legitimate reason to provide us with the cold hard facts to further enable eating disorders. Even for students who may be trying to lose weight for legitimate health reasons, given Smith's style of dining services, it's hard to make healthy choices if you realize the mac'n'cheese has a bazillion calories, but there's no other real option presented except the salad bar, which does not a dinner make.
I fully support Dining Services in publishing allergy information, ingredient lists, sodium, and the like, and even macronutrients of carbohydrates and protein. Providing this information gives individuals with health conditions the ability to eat with confidence that they won't be adversely affected by their food, and that's great. But to put the fat grams and calorie counts for foods I've eaten, blissfully ignorant of their caloric values, over the past three years seems to be a decision out of touch with the needs of Smith's unique student body. Women already fight an uphill battle in trying to treat their bodies with love and respect, and Smith shouldn't make this any harder than it has to be.
Sincerely,
J.
What're your thoughts about this decision? I for one am currently just not looking on the menus at all, because I know it's dangerous for me the see this kind of information on a regular basis.
Much love,
The Sheriff
ps---I almost signed the letter to the editor as the Sheriff. Over-identification much?
Friday, September 10, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Dear Smithies, please check your assumptions at the door
I gotta admit it: sometimes I, just like everyone else, get my judgment face on. I make unfair assumptions and say unkind things, usually not too often, but it does happen. But Smithies, as a group, seriously need to put this in check.
I have a friend who has a beautiful car that she brought to school with her this year. She left it parked behind another house on campus, and when she came back to it, found a note on it where someone said she was wasteful and called her a perversion (Perversion? Perhaps this person leaving the note does not really belong at Smith, because as far as I understand it, a fancy car has nothing to do with being morally questionable or sexually lecherous). The cowardice of this act, combined with the fact that this individual in question must have a pretty pathetic life if they get so riled up by a car that they need to scrawl their crude feelings out on a little note, pisses me off.
I know I spend a lot of time, ranting (hopefully with eloquence!) on here about things in society and at Smith that strike me as sexist, classist, or otherwise wrong. And while this note-leaver may have been trying to make a statement of a similar nature, they did it in the wrong way. My friend is a lovely person, is not wasteful, and while she may come from a background of privilege, the person leaving the note didn't know that: they assumed based on certain social markers that can be very misleading.
Similarly, during res life training, an international student chewed me out for saying I thought some Smith's students attitudes towards being hell-bent on getting straight As were unhealthy. She said, "You don't know their circumstances. What if my father sold all his cows so I could attend here and I must get As to make him proud? Not all of us are so lucky as to not worry about grades."
But she also made an assumption right back at me, that I was privileged enough to have parents writing checks left and right to support my education as I make mediocre grades. Which is bullshit. I've paid for my own education, through loans, hard work, multiple part time jobs, and I get great grades. I have been that angry person, cutting coupons to buy cheap mascara at CVS while housemates went to department stores and dropped more on their cosmetics than I could for the entire month. I've gritted my teeth when students I presumed had pampered lives because they didn't have to work at college complained about being stressed while I was working 40 hours a week and carrying a full course load. I've seethed quietly when they complained about their lack of sleep when I was scraping by on four hours and had to go care for someone else's children. But you know what? All that anger never got me anywhere. I had to begin talking to people about it and accepting that no matter how pissed off I was, it wasn't going to give me anymore money or free time or take away theirs.
Point being? Quit making assumptions. Talk to people. Get to know them for who they really are. Subordinate identities, gender identity, mental illnesses, economic class, disabilities, sexual orientation--these things aren't immediately apparent. Your connections with people will be richer, your friendships better, and (honestly, though it sounds cheesy) your life more peaceful if you just take off your judgment face, and hear people out for who they are.
Much love,
The Sheriff
I have a friend who has a beautiful car that she brought to school with her this year. She left it parked behind another house on campus, and when she came back to it, found a note on it where someone said she was wasteful and called her a perversion (Perversion? Perhaps this person leaving the note does not really belong at Smith, because as far as I understand it, a fancy car has nothing to do with being morally questionable or sexually lecherous). The cowardice of this act, combined with the fact that this individual in question must have a pretty pathetic life if they get so riled up by a car that they need to scrawl their crude feelings out on a little note, pisses me off.
I know I spend a lot of time, ranting (hopefully with eloquence!) on here about things in society and at Smith that strike me as sexist, classist, or otherwise wrong. And while this note-leaver may have been trying to make a statement of a similar nature, they did it in the wrong way. My friend is a lovely person, is not wasteful, and while she may come from a background of privilege, the person leaving the note didn't know that: they assumed based on certain social markers that can be very misleading.
Similarly, during res life training, an international student chewed me out for saying I thought some Smith's students attitudes towards being hell-bent on getting straight As were unhealthy. She said, "You don't know their circumstances. What if my father sold all his cows so I could attend here and I must get As to make him proud? Not all of us are so lucky as to not worry about grades."
But she also made an assumption right back at me, that I was privileged enough to have parents writing checks left and right to support my education as I make mediocre grades. Which is bullshit. I've paid for my own education, through loans, hard work, multiple part time jobs, and I get great grades. I have been that angry person, cutting coupons to buy cheap mascara at CVS while housemates went to department stores and dropped more on their cosmetics than I could for the entire month. I've gritted my teeth when students I presumed had pampered lives because they didn't have to work at college complained about being stressed while I was working 40 hours a week and carrying a full course load. I've seethed quietly when they complained about their lack of sleep when I was scraping by on four hours and had to go care for someone else's children. But you know what? All that anger never got me anywhere. I had to begin talking to people about it and accepting that no matter how pissed off I was, it wasn't going to give me anymore money or free time or take away theirs.
Point being? Quit making assumptions. Talk to people. Get to know them for who they really are. Subordinate identities, gender identity, mental illnesses, economic class, disabilities, sexual orientation--these things aren't immediately apparent. Your connections with people will be richer, your friendships better, and (honestly, though it sounds cheesy) your life more peaceful if you just take off your judgment face, and hear people out for who they are.
Much love,
The Sheriff
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
answering the call of the wild: in defense of convocation
I apologize again for the lack of consistent posting, but my beloved Albright's internet is still shaky. I write this in Neilson Library, perky but mildly hungover from the celebrations of my last convocation.
Convocation is a decidedly Smith tradition that involves, as professor Floyd Chung said last night, "so much energy and so little clothing." Originally, Smith's convocation was much like that of other prestigious New England liberal arts colleges: formal wear, boring speeches about academic success, and nothing terribly inspiring. Rumor has it that all that changed when a few daring Albrighters unbuttoned their shirts and convocation has gotten farther from that stuffy ritual ever since. Each house has a theme ("Albright's Next Top Model" being the best, obviously) and dresses appropriately with ridiculous costumes, and sometimes, very little clothing. We yell, scream, and generally behave poorly. We answer the call of the wild.
It. Is. Amazing.
My first year, convocation was decidedly more wild than it is now. I remember being slightly wide-eyed, for all my worldly experience as a young buck from Pennsyltucky, as women paraded around in pasties and little else, screaming like banshees. It was a somewhat crude introduction to a very polished college, but I loved it. Nowhere else had I ever felt such energy, such intensity, such a desire to claim one's space and be seen and heard (something women are all too often discouraged from doing).
But this little ritual came under serious fire from the administration. Many students felt pressured to go naked and culturally, for international students from conservative places, it was horrifying. And nudity and screaming may just not be everyone's scene. We got emails informing us that, should a person be so inclined, a Northampton resident could call the police on us if we were wearing anything less than what would legally hold up in court as "clothed." Last year, a professor from the English department gave us all a scathing talk about how we were here to learn, and should focus on our studies more. The celebratory nature of convocation was dampened a little.
But I think, so long as you embrace this tradition for the silliness and bonding experience it is and wear as much clothing as you need to feel comfortable, convocation is an incredible thing, truly, and a wonder to behold. As a women's college, there's no performative or exploitative aspect to this: when I wear body glitter all over and parade around in a leopard print fedora and bikini top, I'm not aiming to please anyone but myself, and I dress without a male gaze in mind in perhaps one of the few unmolested spaces of my life as a young woman. I rep my house, my love of Smith, and claim an opportunity to bond with my fellow Smithies in a huge hurrah before the pressures of academia bear down upon us. As a senior, I was especially thrilled to sing "Gaudemus Igitur" and to chant about Albright's superiority and dress silly for one last time in this very female space that has so empowered me to be able to speak articulately about my passions and issues I care about. It was one of my last chances to truly answer the call of the wild before the real world beckons, and I adored it.
Much love,
The Sheriff
Convocation is a decidedly Smith tradition that involves, as professor Floyd Chung said last night, "so much energy and so little clothing." Originally, Smith's convocation was much like that of other prestigious New England liberal arts colleges: formal wear, boring speeches about academic success, and nothing terribly inspiring. Rumor has it that all that changed when a few daring Albrighters unbuttoned their shirts and convocation has gotten farther from that stuffy ritual ever since. Each house has a theme ("Albright's Next Top Model" being the best, obviously) and dresses appropriately with ridiculous costumes, and sometimes, very little clothing. We yell, scream, and generally behave poorly. We answer the call of the wild.
It. Is. Amazing.
My first year, convocation was decidedly more wild than it is now. I remember being slightly wide-eyed, for all my worldly experience as a young buck from Pennsyltucky, as women paraded around in pasties and little else, screaming like banshees. It was a somewhat crude introduction to a very polished college, but I loved it. Nowhere else had I ever felt such energy, such intensity, such a desire to claim one's space and be seen and heard (something women are all too often discouraged from doing).
But this little ritual came under serious fire from the administration. Many students felt pressured to go naked and culturally, for international students from conservative places, it was horrifying. And nudity and screaming may just not be everyone's scene. We got emails informing us that, should a person be so inclined, a Northampton resident could call the police on us if we were wearing anything less than what would legally hold up in court as "clothed." Last year, a professor from the English department gave us all a scathing talk about how we were here to learn, and should focus on our studies more. The celebratory nature of convocation was dampened a little.
But I think, so long as you embrace this tradition for the silliness and bonding experience it is and wear as much clothing as you need to feel comfortable, convocation is an incredible thing, truly, and a wonder to behold. As a women's college, there's no performative or exploitative aspect to this: when I wear body glitter all over and parade around in a leopard print fedora and bikini top, I'm not aiming to please anyone but myself, and I dress without a male gaze in mind in perhaps one of the few unmolested spaces of my life as a young woman. I rep my house, my love of Smith, and claim an opportunity to bond with my fellow Smithies in a huge hurrah before the pressures of academia bear down upon us. As a senior, I was especially thrilled to sing "Gaudemus Igitur" and to chant about Albright's superiority and dress silly for one last time in this very female space that has so empowered me to be able to speak articulately about my passions and issues I care about. It was one of my last chances to truly answer the call of the wild before the real world beckons, and I adored it.
Much love,
The Sheriff
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Watch your mouth
I just found this article on washingtonpost.com called "Women's groups call out political sexism" : http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/09/01/AR2010090103673.html?hpid=topnews.
Personally, I think that it's really cool that somebody wants to change the way that the media talks about female candidates for political office and now, are taking steps to address it.
Just a quick thought,
Lady Lola
Personally, I think that it's really cool that somebody wants to change the way that the media talks about female candidates for political office and now, are taking steps to address it.
Just a quick thought,
Lady Lola
the privilege of pretty
I apologize for my absence once again, but unfortunately, the Sheriff's beloved home has been experiencing Internet issues for the past four days that darling Jason at ITS finally cleared up. I HATE having any more than two days go between posts, but it just wasn't happening.
Anyway.
I've heard from a few friends who know me well that they've got friends reading this blog who think I'm some sort of radical butch with armpit hair. And I'm not hatin' on that identity or persona at all (because that's who I used to be in late middle school), but that ain't me. I'm blonde, short, green eyed, and hourglassy. I look almost identical to Kristen Bell but with hips, tits, and ass. But why is how I look important?
Because being what our culture deems as "pretty" is a very real form of privilege. There's no real dialogue about this, aside from angry jealous snippets among friends ("You're so skinny!" "But you have a double eyelid!" etc), because to admit one's privilege in this instance is something we've been conditioned and taught to be uncomfortable with. It's impolite to admit your own beauty, and with the preponderance of plastic surgery and cosmetics to "fix" your "flaws," we certainly haven't built much of a culture to sustain that admission anyway.
With an appearance that conforms to expectations of my gender, I never have to worry about people questioning my right to use a restroom because of short hair, or be concerned that I'll face discrimination or threats to my personal safety for transgressing the gender binary. Over the summer, when I worked with teens, I think most parents felt comfortable leaving their daughter with me not just because of my stunning intellect or confident manner, but because I present myself in a way that leaves their vision of the world and gender unmolested. My appearance doesn't raise questions (except if my breasts are real, which I get asked by complete strangers with unfortunate frequency).
But there are drawbacks to adhering to a beauty standard. Women applying for "masculine" jobs, like mechanical engineering, finance, and construction, face considerable discrimination when they're seen as attractive. And personally, while I think my looks make people feel comfortable around me, the combination of chesty and blonde usually results in people initially judging my IQ and abilities harshly, and then being pleasantly surprised when I prove myself competent (because cup size and intellectual capacity are obviously correlated).
But I also look at that as my secret weapon, especially with regards to spreading my feminist views. No one really expects to get an earful about sexual inequality when they approach me in a bar, but they usually do. Further, I think my standard conforming looks allow for people not usually inclined to care much about women's issues, especially when they're hearing it from someone who judges their choices about makeup and body hair removal, to listen and to take it seriously because it's coming from someone they can relate to.
Much love,
Sheriff
Anyway.
I've heard from a few friends who know me well that they've got friends reading this blog who think I'm some sort of radical butch with armpit hair. And I'm not hatin' on that identity or persona at all (because that's who I used to be in late middle school), but that ain't me. I'm blonde, short, green eyed, and hourglassy. I look almost identical to Kristen Bell but with hips, tits, and ass. But why is how I look important?
Because being what our culture deems as "pretty" is a very real form of privilege. There's no real dialogue about this, aside from angry jealous snippets among friends ("You're so skinny!" "But you have a double eyelid!" etc), because to admit one's privilege in this instance is something we've been conditioned and taught to be uncomfortable with. It's impolite to admit your own beauty, and with the preponderance of plastic surgery and cosmetics to "fix" your "flaws," we certainly haven't built much of a culture to sustain that admission anyway.
With an appearance that conforms to expectations of my gender, I never have to worry about people questioning my right to use a restroom because of short hair, or be concerned that I'll face discrimination or threats to my personal safety for transgressing the gender binary. Over the summer, when I worked with teens, I think most parents felt comfortable leaving their daughter with me not just because of my stunning intellect or confident manner, but because I present myself in a way that leaves their vision of the world and gender unmolested. My appearance doesn't raise questions (except if my breasts are real, which I get asked by complete strangers with unfortunate frequency).
But there are drawbacks to adhering to a beauty standard. Women applying for "masculine" jobs, like mechanical engineering, finance, and construction, face considerable discrimination when they're seen as attractive. And personally, while I think my looks make people feel comfortable around me, the combination of chesty and blonde usually results in people initially judging my IQ and abilities harshly, and then being pleasantly surprised when I prove myself competent (because cup size and intellectual capacity are obviously correlated).
But I also look at that as my secret weapon, especially with regards to spreading my feminist views. No one really expects to get an earful about sexual inequality when they approach me in a bar, but they usually do. Further, I think my standard conforming looks allow for people not usually inclined to care much about women's issues, especially when they're hearing it from someone who judges their choices about makeup and body hair removal, to listen and to take it seriously because it's coming from someone they can relate to.
Much love,
Sheriff
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