Posts Tagged ‘i am such a smithie’

there are obviously some terrible, devastating, serious consequences to societal sexism. women all over the country and all over the world are brutalized, marginalized, and silenced on a daily basis. but… sometimes it’s the little things that piss me off.

to wit:

–men shave about 5% of their bodies.
–women shave about 35% of our bodies.
–when women don’t shave their legs, they get called granola-crunching lesbians. when men grow beards, nobody bats an eye. stubbly men are sexy, stubbly women are careless. (seriously? beyonce on her worst day has better looking underarms than i do.)

but, men reap more benefits from advancements in research and development:

–men got three-blade, four-blade, and five-blade razors before women: for example, gillette’s venus razor wasn’t introduced until march 2001, fully three years after mach 3 for men, the comparable product, was introduced.
–now, men get fancy-schmancy razors with indicator strips to tell them when they need a new blade.

now, i want silky smooth legs just as much as men want me to have silky smooth legs. and i could probably just go down to cvs and buy gillette fusion cartridges for my venus razor (razor blades for different brands within the same company are about as interchangeable as car parts for different makes from the same manufacturer– it’s not a sure thing, but it’s pretty good). but really. when your gender has been historically enslaved, harassed, violated, denied educational and professional opportunities, and subjected to cruel and unreasonable expectations… the least society could do is offer us proportional means to live up to the unreasonable expectations.


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the first:

i am really inclined to think that the story’s almost entirely in the telling.  an argument, a song, an event can change so drastically, if it is spoken or retold through different lips.  something that comes to mind: you may think the most visible part of outkast’s ‘hey ya’ is the instruction to “shake it like a polaroid picture.”  but would it be too liberal-arts of me to point to its melancholy?  andre 3000 is, after all, just being honest.

the second:

i want to sink into these blankets and embrace them like a new skin, and not shed them until they grow too tight and warm and confining.  and then i want to shed them off and let the mild morning light dance through my curtain and play into secretive shadows on my sleeping skin while i mend, and revive, and awaken.

p.s. it’s my birthday.

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