The Rent We Pay

The other day I posted this quote by Dianna Vreeland.  

"You Don't Have to Be Pretty. You don't owe prettiness to anyone. Not to your boyfriend/spouse/partner, not to your co-workers, especially not to random men on the street. You don't owe it to your mother, you don't owe it to your children, you don't owe it to civilization in general. Prettiness is not a rent you pay for occupying a space marked 'female.'


Your comments helped me wrap my brains around, and put into words the things that I had been thinking. 

There is no rent for occupying the space marked 'female.'  What I was failing to realize is that we're not renters.  We're all home owners of the spaces we occupy.  Female, male and even human are spaces that we have been given.  We can't be thrown out and there are no foreclosures. 

No rent required. 

What we do with those spaces is entirely up to us.  There are no requirements.  And thinking about it that way is particularly liberating because (to carry this metaphor a little too far) there's no landlord who will get mad if you paint the walls a funny color and all of the upgrades that you want to do are totally up to you.

If we chose to make our place pretty, that's our choice. It's nice to have a pretty place but I want to make sure that the space I occupy is thoughtful, kind,inspiring, makes other people feel welcome and appreciated and happens to be full of laughter and fun too.  

I'd love it to be pretty but pretty comes WAY down on the list.

Pretty Little Things

"You Don't Have to Be Pretty. You don't owe prettiness to anyone. Not to your boyfriend/spouse/partner, not to your co-workers, especially not to random men on the street. You don't owe it to your mother, you don't owe it to your children, you don't owe it to civilization in general. Prettiness is not a rent you pay for occupying a space marked 'female.'

Diana Vreeland.

A couple of days ago I read this quote.  It has been rattling around in my brain ever since and I just love it.  This week I threw out my back trying to carry an obscene quantity of groceries up the narrow stairs to my apartment (let's add those stairs to the list of things that I will not miss about San Diego) and since then my life has spiraled into an affair of hershey kisses and begging the hubbs to pick the baby up out of his cradle because I can't bend over.  

Yesterday I thought, "this is enough.  You need to put on real pants and makeup."

And then I thought, No.  No you don't because "pretty is not a rent you pay for occupying a space marked 'female.'"


And then the next question that came to my mind was, what is the rent we pay to occupy that space?  And I knew immediately that I needed your help answering.  


What is the rent we pay to occupy the space marked 'female?'

A weekend pick me up

You know what is not hot?
Maternity underwear

If you happen to also be wearing compression pantyhose because if you don't by the end of the day your ankles are like large sausages.  Dang

Now, add to that glorious image the fact that you are having so much back pain that you're plastered in icy-hot patches and leave a lingering scent of menthol when you leave the room.

And if you also happen to be having heart burn severe enough to necessitate carrying around a bottle of tums with you.  Man. Oh. Man.

You know what that is?

100% not hot.

It's a good thing the hubbs loves me and he loves babies and kids because nothing says "Friday Night" like a little o' that.

Dang

That was my little weekend gift to you--a reminder that no matter how you are feeling about yourself and your body it could always be worse.

Do I still get to call myself a feminist?

Last week while parusing facebook I saw this.  It's an ad for The Body Shop (obviously).  I guess Matel sued and the ad was taken down before it was even distributed.

I wanted to love this ad.  I wanted to feel like I felt with the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty.

But I didn't.  I didn't feel empowered.  I didn't feel like I was given tools to deal with the pressures that society puts on me and I put on myself.  I almost felt like they were poking fun.  Is it the over sexualized pose? the frizzy hair? the eyes?  I just don't know.  It could be my own prejudices coming out (we've talked before about my food and body issues) but I don't know why we have to pull our image of sexuality from a woman (of any shape or size) with pouty lips, ratted hair and a seductive stance.  It just feels like that woman is trying to be what men think is sexy.  

I find the women in the Dove ads about 100x more sexy than the come-hither pose of The Body Shop.

Is is just me?  Do I have to take feminist off of the list of words I use to describe myself?


**Due to an overwhelming response we will not be reading American Pastoral for July.  Lisa described it by saying "American Pastoral is a DARK book. There are scenes that still haunt me a decade after reading it."  I'm not sure I'm up to that after March.  So let's take a break and read something that isn't going to leave us losing faith in humanity. Let's step away from the Pulitzer Prize winners and read Where the Mountain Meets the Moon by Grace Lin which Lisa also recommends.