Sorry to come out swinging- but do you know how goddamn complicated it is to be a woman? (And yes, I’m already apologizing—sorry for saying sorry. Ugh, sorry again.) It’s a wild mix of empowering and suffocating, hilarious and frustrating, strong yet vulnerable—all at once.
It’s a sea of contradictions: I want to feel pretty, but I don’t want to be stared at. I want to stand out, but sometimes I just want to blend in and observe. I want to be heard, yet I spend most of my time listening. I want to trust people’s goodness, but I’m afraid of being taken advantage of. I want to nurture the people I love, but I refuse to be taken for granted. I want to be kind, but also respected. I want to express every emotion, but I fear being seen as weak. I want to embrace the “feminine” parts of myself, but I don’t want to fuel negative stereotypes. I want to be unapologetically weird and unique, but I also crave a sense of belonging.
One of the toughest questions I wrestle with is whether I like things because I truly like them, or because society has taught me to. In my freshman Women & Gender Studies class, Dr. B introduced the idea that gender is a social construct—that we’re taught how to "perform" masculinity and femininity. How can we know who we are outside this framework? What if we're like that green slime that holds shape in a container but oozes everywhere once the supports are gone?
The stereotypical image of the aggressive, man-hating, arm hair-bearing "capital F" Feminist has been around for a while. Women even had to declare themselves "not feminists" to avoid being seen as somehow "repulsive." Unfortunately, that outdated perception still lingers in some circles. But feminism is just about equality—equal rights and opportunities for men and women. It has nothing to do with whether or not I shave my body hair, which should be a personal choice. However, it never feels like a personal choice when I'm hunched over in the shower, hair sticking to my face, running a razor up my legs while my toes prune up. Why do I keep doing this when I don't enjoy it? Well, because I like smooth legs. But WHY do I like smooth legs? You can't convince me I wouldn't prefer my legs hairy if society told me it was cute.
I like makeup. It’s fun to play with, to touch my face and highlight my features. But which features we highlight and which we cover up—that’s been fed to us through media since we were kids. Let’s be real: 9 times out of 10, I’m not putting on makeup to "express myself." I’m putting it on because I want to look HOT. Sure, it makes me feel confident. But why? Because society has tied external beauty and confidence together so tightly for women. So yes, I’ll buy your $25 eye shadow shimmer dust that the algorithm so kindly placed in my Instagram feed. You’re welcome, Billion Dollar Beauty Industry.
I also like shopping. I’m addicted to that dopamine rush when I bring home disco-ball mushroom decor or the cutest throw pillows that brighten up the room. And don’t even get me started on clothes—I’m always just two crop tops away from curating the style that’ll make me feel fully self-actualized. Meanwhile, I should probably be doing something more meaningful: fighting the patriarchy, expanding my mind, making the world better. Women today face fewer obstacles than ever to chase their dreams. Did my female ancestors fight so I could spend weekends scrolling through Forever 21’s Gen Z fast fashion? Thank you, gals.
Probably the thing I'm most embarrassed about- though I know I'm not alone- is how I want to be pursued by a male. The awareness of the male gaze is strong with this one.
The way every shred of self-determinism leaves my body as I'm waiting for my boyfriend to woo me is wild. Is the need to be wanted so deeply ingrained that my own sexual desires are shaped by others desiring me? It's so confusing. Who would I even be if I had been raised in a different world? Maybe one where women are taught to be sexual pursuers? Let’s just say, when I’m ovulating, nobody would be safe.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, how should I feel about boobs?! Or about showing cleavage, I mean. (God, I hate the word “cleavage.”) I'd be lying if I said that when I see pictures of Sydney Sweeny, tits like fully out, I think "You GO GIRL, GET IT!" That's probably what I would say out loud to my friends. But on the inside, I'm torn. Who decided boobs were sexy? Who said we should want to be sexy? Who told us that showing too much skin makes you less respectable? Or that "girl power" now means dressing "slutty" if you want? Who said there’s power in showing more of your body? And who decided there’s power in dressing more ‘masculine’? Society would be a terrible romantic partner—he can’t commit! (And yes, Society would absolutely use he/him pronouns.) He never knows what he wants: is it pizza or tacos? Just PICK one!
In conclusion, there's no conclusion. To identify as female is to live in constant contradiction. We can't exist outside of the structure, but we can ask questions. We should pursue what brings us joy- just not blindly. I refuse to take anything at face value. Every boob will be psychoanalyzed. Each targeted beauty ad will be duly scrutinized before I most likely click “add to cart.”
P.S. I want to acknowledge my privilege. My experiences come from the perspective of a young, white, heterosexual, able-bodied, middle-class woman. Feminism must always be viewed through the lens of intersectionality. No one female experience is universal or should be seen as the standard.
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