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Oh God, I could be bounded in a nut-shell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have boobies*
So, I've been thinking about Dorothea's Sickening Grunch. The Grunch is not to be confused with the Grinch, although it probably does involve people with hearts two sizes too small (and brains about four sizes too small-- they tend to be the ones inflicting said Grunch). The Grunch is something I've encountered too, although not a whole lot lately, so it kind of surprised me that it's been sticking in my head for so long, being mulled over and over. Maybe it's just because I haven't had much time to blog about stuff lately, and thus, no mental catharsis.
I grew up in southern California. Not to spread stereotypes, but the hispanic-macho thing can be pretty prevalent there (at least when I was growing up). And that was just a small part of my Grunch experience. I had times when I was wolf-whistled at (and made kissy noises at, bleah, the worst) on rainy days when I was bundled up in a huge bulky coat and hidden under an umbrella, barely distinguishable as human, much less female. And this was after I already felt stigmatized by peers for not having breasts at all, since I was a late bloomer at age 14. Either way, I know that sensation of having particular body parts be humliatingly called into question.
I remember one Grunch-related story in particular. In college, I had a club I was involved in that liked to play a game called Mall Search. It was a little like hide-n-seek, but it involved dressing up. One or two people would be "It," and everyone else would hide. We'd meet up dressed normally, to make sure we knew who was It and who was hiding. Then we'd go home, dress up in a way as unlike what we normally wore as possible without looking too weird or noticeable, and all meet up at Pike's Place Market in Seattle, where we'd hide in plain sight in our disguises. The people who were It had a silly phrase they'd have to say to "catch" one of the hiders, usually a line lifted from a favorite film like The Princess Bride. This particular year, I decided to dress up sort of punk/goth, which was pretty different from my usual jeans-t-shirt-flannel fare. I found some stuff at Goodwill, and managed to procure a crushed velvet miniskirt and fishnet stockings. It was fun to be a little reckless and different. I even had a fake tattoo on my chest, just above the neckline of my shirt, which was rather low. We played our game and I was walking back to the car with my friends, where this guy stared straight at my chest, and said, "Nice tatt." I wasn't even paying attention at first, because I was just chatting obliviously away with my friends. "What did he say?" I asked my friend Jennifer, who was dressed up like a business woman in a conservative suit. My other friend Sara was dressed up like a boy. Later on in the conversation something was said about that random guy who hit on me. I tried to dissemble about it, but it was pretty obvious. All three of us were definitely feeling the Grunch.
In all, though, I've been fairly unselfconscious about dressing, what gets revealed and what doesn't (within the bounds of reasonable decency). Whether through sheer stubbornness or stupidity or optimism, I haven't had any outfits relegated to the closet because someone hooted at me while I was wearing them, unlike Dorothea. Maybe it's just because life hasn't ground me down enough yet.
And that's sort of where I diverge from Dorothea. I find some of her conclusions drawn from the Grunch experience troubling. I don't mean that in a critical way; obviously her conclusions are hers to draw, and even though I claim shared ownership of the Grunch, I can never really know what her experiences were.
I'm not even sure I can adequately explain what troubles me. She defines "sexy" as an objectifying notion, not to be confused with individual expression of sexuality. And she admits that framing the conversation that way makes it difficult for women trying to reclaim "sexy." Perhaps it's because my natural instinct is to ignore the social constructions that I disagree with and do whatever the heck I please with them (like geek). It's frustrating when I encounter someone who has, in some ways, either given in or attempted to escape the issue altogether. Not because I'm contemptuous of those responses, but because I want to root for that someone. It makes me angry that Dorothea wants to escape her body, because I want her to love being present in it. It makes me angry that she feels like she's nobody's pin-up model, because, objectification aside, she should at least be what curls her husband's toes, both in mind and spirit, and physically. Well, when I say angry, I'm not stomping my feet and fuming, but I feel a real injustice has been done.
Logically, her arguments make sense to me, but intuitively, they don't fly. They just seem so defeated. They seem to sum up (and perhaps this is oversimplification) to, "I know I'm ugly, so please don't remind me by referring in any way, positive or negative, to my physical existence." Again, I defend her right to choose the terms of her interactions. But I come away with an infinite sadness, as someone who, however foolishly, naively, idealistically, has been able to come away from her own initial notions of ugliness and found ways to transform them into notions of beauty. To find beauty in the ways that I deviate from the standard, to love being deviant. I haven't perfected that in practice, by any means, but I do believe in it, truly. I'm not going to let someone make me ashamed of my own breasts, no matter how they perceive any of my body parts, and I'm not going to sidestep the issue by wishing to be unconscious of my breasts. We'll see how long I can actually manage to keep that up. ;-)
I visit Dorothea's site regularly because she writes with wit, she writes truthfully, she writes with that mysterious thing everyone calls "Voice." Behind Caveat Lector is a brain that's sharp, varied, unconventional, at times willing to be vulnerable and go out on a limb. She is female without having to succumb to stereotypes of the feminine. I have great respect for what I know of her through what she blogs. And that is utterly attractive (and no, I don't mean that in a lesbian kind of way), in the best senses of the word.
*If you don't understand the literary allusion in the title, you should be reading more Shakespeare.
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