This week reading the Essays and poem by Maya Angelou, I was inspired to write an essay of my own:
In my teens and early 20s, I thought feminism simply meant having choice and power in my own life. At that point this was translated and expressed through my sexuality. I had control over my fertility, and felt that my sexuality gave me power over men. However looking back on it, I found that I was duped.
I had been playing right into the societal view of beauty, which was created for men by men, and perpetuated by mass media. I had flawless, luminance, blemish and line free skin, long blonde hair, blue eyes, a curvy yet strong and athletic body. Which afforded me a lot of attention from men of all ages. I foolishly thought that gave me power and dominance over them.
By my mid-20s, I began to wake up a little bit, and realize that I had been brainwashed not only by society, but by my own mother-- to believe that my external beauty is what would ultimately save me. This realization flooded over me while setting in a doctor’s office flipping through a fashion magazine. I'd recently been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, and no longer felt power or control over my own physicality. Although, I still got plenty of positive attention from men when I was sitting, but when I stood barely able to walk-- they turned away.
Through the krinkely sound of the glossy pages turning in my hands, I could hear the sound of my mother's voice telling me as a small child, that I was “pretty enough to find a rich man to take care of me”. I had flashbacks of waking up two hours before school started, just to have time to try on several outfits, curl my hair, and put on a pound of makeup. This behavior was mother approved, and for that I was angry. She's the one who taught me to play nice, always look pretty, and even how to flirt. I like to think that she had my best interests at heart, and that was her way of helping me-- but it made me feel angry and somewhat sorry for her.
I was still the same person who had spent hours primping every day, and still looked the same, but the message from my mother had changed. Now, she (and many of my friends) had cautioned, that any man who would want to be with me-- a woman with a disability-- must have something wrong with them. I'm not sure what I saw in that magazine that day, but whatever it was, caused all these memories collide once and for that I'm grateful.
That was the day that I began to notice, that beauty is defined by our patriarchal society and that the standards are fleeting and unrealistic. I saw that many of my insecurities were caused by trying to live up to a standard that was impermanent and unattainable, that was the day that the feminist in me was born. I began to question, changing my thinking about where power lies—and taking mine back.
Killing us softly - Advertising image of women part 1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSXDCMSlv_I&feature=related
I don't think men are immune to body issues or struggles with gender roles, thanks to the influence of mass media, and the counterweight of feminism-- hyper masculinity.
Thanks for sharing your poem with us Carol. I really like your honesty. As I was watching the youtube video you posted (Killing us softly) I was amazed by what was being said. I think it's sad that the media has framed women into thinking that they have to look a certain way in order to be beautiful or like-able. I wish there would be more campaigns or advertisement to let women know that they are beautiful just the way they are, regardless of whatever flaws they might have. Our flaws makes us unique from one another and we should just embrace them. I feel that men should and need to let go of the media images and influences on what a woman should look like and just embrace all women just like women embrace them.
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