Watch Us Rise(25)
“Well, that’s just good thinking . . . ?she’s using her hair to get places.” He laughs. “No, no, I see what you’re saying. I do. I just don’t know if it’s that big of a deal. It seems a little over the top.”
“Uh, no, it’s real. All the princesses I grew up with were thin and white and had long straight hair—all of them. I didn’t see myself in them. That’s the main problem—when you don’t have any diversity. You just have these generic models of women, marketed and manufactured to little girls all over the world, who are meant to value and want to look and act like those women. And what if you don’t look like them? Then where can you even see yourself?”
“I just didn’t think any of it was that serious, but I get your point.”
“Yeah, it affects men too . . . ?because it makes you think that’s what a woman is supposed to look like and act like. And all these princess stories include being saved by men—sometimes by a kiss, or sometimes by true love. That sends a message that women literally can’t save themselves. Look at freakin’ Rapunzel! She has to get a man to CLIMB up her hair to save her. There is nothing more sexist than having a man use a woman’s body part as an accessory to save her. It’s ridiculous,” I say, looking up and realizing that James is standing and gathering his bag and tray.
“I am right there with you,” Isaac says. “Because for guys . . .”
“Hey, sorry to interrupt, and I’m totally with this—we can talk about it on our run today, but I gotta get out of here. I’m meeting a . . .” Meg walks up behind James and puts her hands over his eyes.
“Guess who?” she says. He swings around and puts his arm around her waist. It’s not really in a boyfriend/girlfriend kind of way, but it’s definitely more intimate than anything we’ve done together.
“You all know Meg, right?” James asks.
“Of course I know them,” Meg says. “Isaac is in the ensemble with me. How’s Jasmine doing, by the way?” she asks, eyeing me. She knows we’re best friends, and also that the blog post was written with Meg and Mr. Morrison in mind.
“She’s great,” I say. “Totally great.”
“Tell her I read her post, and that I had no idea she would take everything so seriously,” Meg says, lacing her arm behind James. He looks uncomfortable and starts to walk away, but she pulls him back. “You can also tell her that all stereotypes come from some form of truth. So they had to be based on something. Maybe Jasmine just looks the part.”
“Nope, nope,” I say. “Stereotypes are all fake. They aren’t real. They’re a way to lump people together and create bias about a whole group. That was Jasmine’s whole point. And it’s not a joke. None of it’s a joke. Her feelings, my feelings, are real. And if you think it’s no big deal, or that stereotypes can’t hurt people, then you’re part of the problem.” I stand up a little too fast and stumble as I try to collect my tray. James puts his hand on my elbow, but I brush it off.
“Me, part of the problem?” Meg calls after me, and I can hear her laugher echoing through the lunchroom as I walk away.
WRITE LIKE A GIRL BLOG
Posted by Chelsea Spencer
Princess Industrial Complex: What I learned from Rapunzel
Women with hair that is a long blond rope
have magical, mystical powers,
& can do most all things,
but they will always need to be saved
by a swashbuckling, bumbling man.
Rapunzel is thin as nothing,
paper fine, petite & small design.
She will learn when you cut your blond locks,
your powers will vanish & your tresses
will turn a drab & lifeless lackluster brown
(and short), but she will learn that princes
sometimes prefer brunettes & all will be well.
But here is what I say.
Hair can be an animal sometimes, up and off
your precious, precocious head in a flash.
Reckless & jumbled.
Women aren’t fairy tales, fluff, filtered
into fugitives trapped with their own powers.
My own hair is repugnant & revolting,
it’s ruthless & ravenous—relentless
slithering, sly & slick, bodacious & funky.
Yeah, repugnant as in take your breath,
lungs, heart. My hair won’t be your swing,
your sexy, can’t be teased or trotted out, your
perfection is not attached to my skull. Back up.
You can’t dye me to fit your pleasure.
I’m not sunflower, pure diamond, hot toffee,
sparkling amber, auburn dream, platinum crystal,
vanilla icing, caramel kiss, copper shimmer.
I’m not sprayed or straightened. I’m a bully.
My hair’s got you in the corner. Don’t dainty me,
don’t gel me up for the perfect curls.
Don’t you dare try to climb up me—to save me.
I’m keeping myself alive just fine.
-------------------------------------------
magicalme liked this
loulou commented: The PRINCESS INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX!
WHOA! I have never heard it compared to other industrial complexes—like this whole system that is set up to teach women how to act, how to think, what to wear . . . ?whoa! I am shook by this! I just looked through my old Halloween costumes and I was some type of princess from ages 3-9. What is that?! Wish I had been almost anything else. This is deep!