The Exact Opposite of Okay(76)
Meg jumps in. “What’s that Eleanor Roosevelt quote? Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
“YES!” Ajita and I both yell. She smacks the table so hard in agreement that the salt shaker nearly headbutts its peppery cousin.
“I’m sick of it,” I continue. “I’m sick of feeling like I live in a lose/lose world, and that there’s nothing I can do about it. As a woman, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. A slut if you send the nudes and a prude if you don’t. A whore if you have sex and frigid if you don’t. A bitch if you fight back and submissive if you don’t.”
“We should reclaim the word ‘bitch’,” Ajita argues, her eyes alight with passion. I love it when she gets like this. Meg watches in awe of her fiery new pal. “It’s been used to silence opinionated women for too long. Women who have beliefs and goals and things to say. Women who won’t stand for injustice or mistreatment. They’re labeled bitches by men – and other women – who feel intimidated.”
I nod along like one of those bobbing dogs middle-class people inexplicably have in the back windows of their cars.
Meg speaks up. “Bitches bite back. And men hate that. Society hates that.” A charming little milkshake mustache has settled on her upper lip, but we’re both taking her as seriously as a president addressing the nation.
A spark of an idea forms in my head; dim at first, then brighter than an exploding sun. I gasp. “We should start a website. A community of teen girls who refuse to stay silent any longer. And it could be called . . .” I grin. “Bitches Bite Back.”
Ajita laughs excitedly. “That. Is. Awesome.”
“I really think it would resonate with so many young women,” Meg agrees. “From all walks of life. What teenage girl can’t relate to being called a bitch?”
We all look at each other, magic and milkshakes in the air.
“Let’s make this happen.”
11.34 p.m.
It’s hard to believe that less than a month ago my life was entirely different to how it is now.
I hadn’t had my screenwriting dream almost within reach – and then snatched away again. My crush on Carson was yet to manifest, and I hadn’t yet slept with him or Vaughan. Danny was still my best friend. Ajita was still in the closet. Meg wasn’t in my life. I wasn’t the center of a national sex scandal. My naked body wasn’t on display to the entire world, and journalists weren’t gathered around the school gates. Betty hadn’t told me she was proud of me. I hadn’t had my life torn apart on a public website made with the sole intention of ruining my life. Nor had I stitched my life back together with the help of the people I love the most.
Shame. It’s a peculiar beast, especially when it happens in public. It leaves you powerless. It strips you of everything you thought you knew about yourself, forces you to examine the very core of your being. Do I like who I am? Am I proud of my choices? How can I become better?
And then: how can I change the world – and myself??
I don’t regret sending the nude picture. I don’t regret having two one-night stands. I do regret hurting my best friend.
That’s what truly matters to me: the people I love. And it took a fuckup of epic proportions to realize that.
A month ago, if you’d asked me what three things I wanted to be, I’d have said: funny, cool, well-liked.
What do I want to be now? Bold. Fierce. Honest.
A fighter. A revolutionary. A bitch.
Because the way the world treats teenage girls – as sluts, as objects, as bitches – is not okay.
It’s the exact opposite of okay.
Old White Men Love It When You Slut-shame
posted by Izzy O’Neill in Bitches Bite Back
Slut-shaming In which a woman is labeled a “slut” or “whore” for enjoying sex (or even just looking like they might) and is subsequently punished socially.
Interestingly, only girls and women are called to task for their sexuality; boys and men are congratulated for the exact same behavior. This is the essence of the sexual double standard: boys will be boys, and girls will be sluts.
Unless, of course, you’re not a slut, in which case you are some variation of the following: a frigid bitch, a cock-tease, a boring prude, or matronly purveyor of the Friend Zone.
Basically, if you’re a woman, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. If you refrain from any expression of sexiness, you may be written off as irrelevant and unfeminine, but if you follow the male-written guidelines, you run the risk of being judged, shamed and policed. It’s super awesome.
You might think: But Izzy, given this set of circumstances, isn’t it preferable for a girl or woman to abstain from sexual expression? To that I say nay. Putting aside the inherent sexism of this assertion, it shouldn’t make any difference whether a girl or woman is sexually active, or even utters any expression of sexuality. The problem is in the way in which society interprets this perceived behavior. Because here’s the thing: slut-shaming is not really about women’s sexuality. It is grounded in the belief that men have the right to assert themselves, and women do not.
It’s not a new phenomenon – just ask Monica Lewinsky – but in the social-media age, it’s becoming more toxic than ever. One scroll through my Instagram feed on any given day proves this. Hordes of (usually male) users comment on young girls’ selfies and bikini shots, dubbing them whores and sluts just for showing a little flesh or wearing red lipstick (this normally follows failed attempts to hit on these girls, may I add – it’s amazing how much slut-shaming is derived from rejection-induced bitterness). Don’t these girls know nobody will ever respect them now?