Sugar and spice and all things nice.
I experienced internalised misogyny last night. I don’t know if I have done before but I was certainly aware of it then. It was one of those moments where my brain forgot to filter unwelcome social conditioning and I actually targeted myself in my judgement of women, of womanhood, of femininity.
It was extremely trivial, but extremely dangerous, and I immediately pulled back from the thought I was having in shock. I was thinking about a style of top a friend of mine owns. I was thinking about what that style of top would look like on me, what it would go with, where I would wear it. It’s a pretty top; it has a Peter Pan collar and cute, short sleeves and an empire line and it’s in a delicate blue. I like the top, I think it looks very lovely, but my thought was this: It looks too feminine, you don’t want that to be your image.
I actually considered that by wearing that top I would look too girly and therefore not be taken seriously enough. It wouldn’t be cool because it wouldn’t be ever so slightly masculine and therefore more grounded, more intelligent, more focused.
How dare I insult my own femininity like that. I’m so amazed at that thought, that creeping, sly misogyny poisoning my tastes and desires. Being feminine does not equate to being a woman, but despising femininity acknowledges the fact that female is inferior.
I actually had that idea run through me for a hot second: female is inferior and male is powerful, supreme, superior.
I think I must wear frills and bows and pretty things forever whilst stamping gleefully on the patriarchy just to prove that stupid idea wrong now. But I don’t need to prove anything, my femininity is strong and serious and grounded, I won’t be forgetting that again.
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