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

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

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

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

men can stop rape? OF COURSE THEY FUCKING CAN

I stumbled upon a link to these posters, and loved them SO MUCH. While I'm all about taking self-defense classes (if it makes you feel safer) and making smart choices (although we're all entitled to act stupidly from time to time without horrendous repercussions), let's get one thing straight. Not only is rape not the fault of the individual it happens to, it is definitely not the fault of women as an aggregate group.

Rape is the fault of men. Period. End of sentence.

Not all men. But men as a group. You have the power to influence your friends, your sons, your younger brothers, hell, even to act right yourselves. And this is a deeply powerful form of influence, because according to Transforming a Rape Culture (my light summer reading), 99% of rapists are men.

Let me repeat myself. 99% of rapists are men.

So the title of this campaign, which I deeply admire and love for its actions and intent, is a little comical. Men can stop rape? Who else if not the ones doing the raping can stop it? We women can try, bit by bit, to teach ourselves about self-defense and going out in groups and reading those scary forwards female relatives always pass along about the horrible things that await us in the big scary world. We can work on educating future generations of men about how to treat women as full-fledged fucking human beings, and to counsel each other when rape happens to our friends, sisters, and loved ones. We can do what we can to staunch the bleeding of this eternal wound of the female consciousness.

Or men could stop raping. That would, indeed, also solve the problem.

Much love,
The Sheriff

Hitting on Ladies: The Ultimate Guide to Sleaze

In a recent conversation with a friend, the issue was brought up of how incredibly sleazy most attempts to pick her up have been, coming from either hetero guys or women who have only ever been with hetero guys. The theory here is the women learn about picking up women only from the hetero guys they’ve been with, and that the hetero guy form of “picking up a chick” can be decidedly sleazy.

How many times have you seen teenage boys yelling at women? “Hey honey, nice ass!” “Whens the last time you were with a real man?” “I’d tap that” But it doesn’t stop there – the sleaziness of an attempted pick-up can range from idiotic and confrontational cat-calling to creeperific staring, hovering, etc. Oftentimes, especially closer range, it has a lot to do with drunkenness – but how did this become such a commonplace, thoughtless action? Does it ever actually work?

I’m worried that the sleaze-approach is one that continues because of a cyclical event, reoccurring, as either the low-self esteem of a woman validates the sleaziness of a man or vice versa. This cycle of sexism and emotional violence is one only perpetuated by the media, as well as by the examples that older generations set for younger ones.

This cycle is yet another reason why the term “Think Globally, Act Locally” is essential to just about every movement. Because if you don’t work to fix and educate up from the sexism at home, who will? But on the flip side, how do you combat sexism at home when its confrontational, personal and all sorts of ugly?

As a gender non-conforming person, I don’t get cat-called often, and when I do, it’s usually about my sexuality. For me, this poses an issue of safety in confrontation, depending on the time and place that it happens. We can go with the Sheriff’s tried and true method of flipping the bird and walking away, but what about before or after these actions of overt sexism happen?

How do we find the courage within ourselves to stand up for women, to make the conversation lose its energy while we reprimand someone or try to educate them, how do we find the courage to cat and let ourselves be labeled the angry, unappealing feminist when we leave the confines of our cushy smith bubble?

In a workshop in Internalized Sexism I did in the Spring, we discussed how the judgment that we, as female bodied people, feel most often swayed by is that of men. It is also possible that judgment from men can take a harsher form - a girlfriend might tell me it's not my color, but my gay male friend will give me a novel about the ways my body is and isn't working right now. Why is it our value is swayed towards men, while so little of our comfort is?

Just a little food for thought. Also, feel free to comment for a future post: a collaborative article on how to hit on ladies without making them feel the sleaze.

Over and out,
General Lee

FAME!

I recently read a piece in Bust about this topic, so I make no claims to any new intellectual discussion about this, but it got me thinking about things I've said myself about the nature of fame.

Not long ago, I wrote about why Taylor Swift scares me. For those to lazy to click that link, in a nutshell, I argued that by ignoring the topic of her sexuality and sex in general while singing about men on white horses and other virginity-laden trappings, she misleads her fans for whom she's clearly an enormous role model.

But that phrase "role model" is somewhat problematic. Because it's pretty rare to find famous young men who come under fire for their actions as "role models" as often as it happens to women. Bust compared Miley and Justin Bieber. While Miley has to apologize for her actions (posing sorta naked for Vogue, singing a sorta sexual song with Bret Michaels, pole dancing at some awards show, etc), Justin hasn't really come under that sort of fire. In part, it seems like his mom is a leeetle more controlling than Miley's pops (apparently Bieber has a strict curfew and gets his laptop taken away at 10PM), thus keeping him from doing anything "questionable."

On the other hand, I'm hard-pressed to think of anything branded "morally questionable" for famous young men. Their misbehavior isn't considered news in the way that that of female train wrecks is. Paparazzi live to get an upskirt shot of some drunken star wearing no panties, but no equivalent exists for male stars. The tabloids are covered with stories about women in danger, ranging from drug abuse to eating disorders to sexual exploits. But rarely, except in a case where women of supposed poor moral fiber are involved (Tiger Woods, anyone?), are the details of men's personal lives scrutinized in the same voracious manner. Thanks to the attitude that boys-will-be-boys and the idea that their sex lives aren't grounds for deducing clues about their morality, fame is just another gendered arena for judging women under harsher criteria than men.

So, Taylor, my apologies, for judging you in the same way everyone else does.

Much love,
The Sheriff

PS-I'm back at Smith for good now (well, just for the year since I'm a senior...eep!), so blogging with be more regular, I promise!