EDITORIAL
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LIVING IN A PATRIARCHAL SOCIETY: MY CONSTANT
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hen I was in kindergarten, I perched myself at the highest point on the playground and asked the universe not to give me big boobs. If I ever had big boobs, that would mean that Michael Benjamin (my childhood crush) would no longer be friends with me on account of me being a carrier of the girl cooties, I thought. In elementary school, I watched an episode of The Simpsons set in the ’70s; Marge is in high school and she burns a bra at a feminist rally. I didn’t know what feminism was, but I remember thinking, “Well, that’s good! I don’t want to wear a bra when I grow up!” In middle school, a boy at the pool called me “surfboard chest.” I was super flat, and yet, at the same time, my mom told me that our neighbours’ mother had negatively commented on me wearing tank tops and shorts in the summertime. In high school, a friend told me I should wear pants when I came to her house, because it’s not appropriate to wear shorts in front of her father and grandfather. I remember people often talking about Jennifer Aniston on Friends and how she “like, never wears a bra.” People seemed judgemental about this, but it wasn’t clear to me why. Because they thought she was going braless for attention? As if her nipples were the only reason she was cast rather than the fact that she’s hilarious. And also, why the fuck did anyone even care enough about Jennifer Aniston’s nipples to talk about them in the first place? Recently, I watched a couple episodes of Friends closely and noticed that she was wearing a bra, it just seemed like the bras she wore weren’t padded, so you could see the faint outline of her nipples through the fabric sometimes — probably when it was cold (also she probably didn’t pick her clothes). The fact that I spent any time figuring that out or thinking about this in the first place is ridiculous. Despite it being ridiculous, I never wanted people talking about me the way they talked
I L L U S T R AT I O N C O U R T E S Y O F D AV I D R I N G
M I R A L I A L M AU L A
about Jennifer Aniston’s nipples. I felt like all of these experiences of judgement from both women and men, young and old, made me feel weird about my body. I felt I had to display my body in ways that would make others comfortable rather than make myself comfortable. Even if I understood that this was not right, these experiences had an impact on me that is still difficult to shake. I have felt pressure to make damn sure that anything I ever get is due to my intelligence, my character, and my effort. As if there is something wrong with my looks being part of the package that leads to my successes in life. I always wear a bra that is sufficiently padded. I wear baggy clothes. I rarely put excessive effort into my appearance — a point I am now trying to remedy. I now recognize that not allowing myself to feel pretty equally plays into letting others dictate my actions, rather than following my own bliss, living my best life, and other clichés that carry the same meaning. The way I have been living adds up to this: I care so much about what some people might think that I spend every single day feeling uncomfortable. All this, on the off chance that I might get cold and someone might notice I’m not wearing a bra. I repeat: it’s ridiculous. When I was doing my MA, my supervisor told me that she is now fully committed to feminism because she no longer shaves her legs. I didn’t understand if that meant: a) I’m not a feminist because I like to shave my legs, or b) Women shouldn’t have to do things we dislike simply because others determined they are appropriate A woman choosing not to shave her legs is different from a woman choosing not to wear a bra. Hairy legs don’t signal a feminine or sexual attempt in our culture. It’s strange how choosing not to wear a bra is interpreted as choosing to be
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And also, why the fuck did anyone even care enough about Jennifer Aniston’s nipples to talk about them in the first place?
sexualized rather than choosing to be comfortable. To be clear, it’s not that bras are horrible things for everyone. I know bras help some people with their backs. They definitely help with the discomfort caused by the relentless force of gravity. Bras even make some people feel beautiful, sexy, and confident — and that is great for those people. As an A cup, I see the value of a good sports bra when running, but the rest of the time — like when I’m sitting in the office at my computer, wearing a baggy sweatshirt — stupid bras cut into my ribs, and remind me that my comfort is not a priority for our society. I expect some of you to think that I’m not wearing the right size, that bras are comfortable and I should just get measured. Well, I have been measured. I’ve bought different bras when my weight goes up or down. There just isn’t a bra that fits me comfortably all the time, and even if there was, I hate them. I wish I could say that this editorial is my first step towards embracing not giving a fuck what others think and going braless from now on, but it isn’t. I only hope that it lets me start changing how I present myself, so that the choices I make are a little more for me and a little less for others. I think that one day, when women breastfeeding is just a baby having a meal and going topless at the beach just means it’s hot out, people are going to reflect on this time of sexualizing women’s breasts and look at the bra the way we now look at corsets. Something archaic, worn once in a while to be sexy and fun, and certainly not something women are expected to wear every day.
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