Category: Feminism

"Tiny Hands" is not an Equality Anthem

1/19/2017

Much of my work as an educator, researcher, and activist centers on gender equality. I have organized marches, protested outside of courthouses, and directed The Vagina Monologues. I have trained crisis volunteers and facilitated discussions about sexual objectification in “Blurred Lines.” I teach courses on ending gender violence and talk to audiences about rape culture. I am obsessed with Wonder Woman. But friends, let me clear: “Tiny Hands” is not my anthem. And it shouldn’t be yours.

I support art and protest as an avenue for social change, and I believe in the freedom of expression. So it follows that Fiona Apple (whose Extraordinary Machine album is brilliant, by the way) has a right to create politically-motivated music that reflects her views on the fact that our new president has said downright awful things about women. Things that suggest it is ok to grab women inappropriately or at least talk about doing it if one is trying to reinforce their manliness. It’s not just locker room talk. It’s disgusting, and we have a right to be angry.

But when you march down the street this weekend, rally at your state capital next month, or Take Back the Night this April, I hope you strongly reconsider “Tiny Hands” as your rallying cry. Though “we don’t need your tiny hands anywhere near our underpants” is catchy, it actually undermines the very principles of women’s movement and gender equality. Here’s why.

First, attacking Donald Trump for his alleged penis size is not only cheap, lazy, and completely unrelated to real criticisms that one might bring against him—it actually reinforces the kind of rigid gender roles many of us in this movement try to deconstruct. One of the underlying assumptions of gender inequality is that, as a society, we have unrealistic expectations for who a man or woman should be. And when we fail to live up to them, we get a pushback. Women get called bitches for being too assertive. Men get called bitches and pussies and slew of gay slurs for crying at movies, not drinking enough beer, or not being tough enough.

This system can work great for you if you follow the rules, stay within the boundaries of your society-deemed gender, and do whatever you can to maintain your womanly-woman or manly-man image. And the pressure to stay in these rigid gender boxes means that people—especially men—often take defensive and offensive measures to maintain these images at all costs. We’ve seen how this played out in the presidential primary. In response to Donald Trump’s diminutive nickname for Marco Rubio, Rubio’s response was to attack Trump’s hand (ahem, penis) size. It was a battle of masculinity, and may the best display of manliness win. Right?

Though I appreciate the doubly-layered consent and reproductive rights message of not wanting “hands anywhere near our underpants,” the penis size attack seems hypocritical as a rallying cry if we really believe that loosening up rigid gender roles is central to achieving gender equality. Hypocritical, and low. Literally below the belt low.

Second, an attack on penis size is a form of body-shaming I just cannot get behind. It wasn’t cool when New Girl did that terrible episode that mocked what the gang referred to as a guy’s “micropenis,” it wasn’t funny when naked Trump statues perpetuated discrimination based on body and genital size, and it isn’t at all ok to mock the bodies of people who identify across the transgender spectrum. So what makes it different now?

A central focus of social movements focused on equality is undoing harmful power dynamics that keep the dude with the tiny hands down and the dude with the big hands up. It’s not about switching the power dynamics so that tiny dude walks all over big dude, but about changing the conditions of the arrangement so that little dude can enjoy the same freedoms and privileges as big dude. It’s about equal opportunity, freedom from discrimination, and a better quality of life.

When we make attacks based on penis size, we’re using an assumption of perceived lack of masculinity to make ourselves seem superior. And we’re doing it through body-shaming. It’s like telling a fat joke to make yourself feel skinnier and more powerful. Would we incorporate a fat joke into our march chant? I don’t think so.

Third and finally, making “Tiny Hands” our feminist anthem only functions to re-position Donald Trump at the center of our efforts. Though his comments have certainly been a catalyst for renewed activist energy, making him the focus of women’s rights by chanting about his penis over and over seems misguided. Change those lyrics to grabby hands and I’m more on board. Start a round of “I am woman, hear me roar” and I’ll even join you.

All I am saying is that, fellow activists, we can do better this. We can do better than penis size attacks and body-shaming and insults to make ourselves feel temporarily superior. We can be angry and clever and effective without being hypocritical. We can march to an anthem that is consistent with our goals of genuine equality. We can rise, but not at the expense of our integrity.

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Feminist Resistance & Humor in Janelle Monáe’s “Yoga”

8/11/2015

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I first witnessed the music video when I was on the treadmill at the gym. I have to admit I was a bit skeptical: I do lots of yoga and for me it’s a physical and spiritual practice that gets my head right and prevents my neck and back from causing me major problems. It’s not something I ever feel sexy doing. I’m way too worried about my spandex inching down my ass and my boobs falling out while I’m in downward dog, not to mention the loud Ujjayi sounds I make with my breath to distract myself from comparing my body to the skinnier and leaner ones next to me adorned in Lululemon. I also fart a lot. See? Not very sexy.

But Janelle Monáe reminds me that in addition to all of the things I express through my body, like my awkward attempts at asanas, the occasional yoga breakthrough (like that one time I did full-on wheel pose ALL MY MYSELF in my living room), and my commitment to groundedness, my body is also a sexual body, even while doing yoga. I know, I know, Janelle is singing about getting down at the club, but there’s something about the song that gets me thinking about how yoga has helped me to be more comfortable in my body, especially since experiencing sexual assault. It has helped me to be more confident, healthy, and self-aware, more focused on my body’s (physical, emotional, and sexual) needs, and more flexible (mentally as well as physically). It hasn’t drastically changed my physical appearance, but I have certainly developed more of an existence of being in myself, if that makes any sense. Yep, yoga has been life-changing for me.

So, back to the song. If you haven’t heard it, you must. It’s super catchy and fun and sexy and even better because it’s written by a six-time Grammy nominee on her own record label. The video is great because I can dance along to the chorus (seriously—the moves are super follow-able for us the common folk who wish we could dance and actually feel like we can kind of dance with moves like this) and feel all empowered while I do it with lines like: “I ain’t got no worries, I’m my own private dancer” and “Crown on my head but the world on my shoulder / I’m too much a rebel, never do what I’m supposed ta.” Not to mention that I love how Janelle takes yoga out of the context of studios filled with upper white class women and owns it by her own terms.

And then there’s the last part of the second verse: “You cannot police me so get off my areola, get off my areola.”

So this is the point as you’re reading this that if you haven’t seen the video, I recommend you watch it now. I’m serious. You have to watch Janelle’s face when she sings, “areola.” It’s this amazingly awesome moment in which she achieves a balance of resistance, boldness, self-awareness, and humor. Whether she is speaking to the truths of black women or all women, she’s saying something about the policing of bodies and sexuality and sexual expression and self-expression. And the way she does it is brilliant, because it is inviting rather than alienating. Some folks have suggested that she’s making a nod to #freethenipple, and that may be true, but I think the line is about so much more than that.

It’s a reminder about how women’s bodies are still objectified, commodified, trivialized, and controlled. It makes it seem ironic, then, that “areola” was censor-worthy when Janelle performed “Yoga” on The Tonight Show back in May. If you listen closely, she actually sings something that sounds like “little ola.” The performance is still great, but come on. I didn’t even know “areola” was considered profane, let alone not suitable for late-night programming. Still, Janelle reminds us that “Sometimes I’m peachy, and sometimes I’m vulgar / Even when I’m sleeping I got one eye open.” She may have self-censored, but she’s aware of it and she will find other ways to express resistance. At least this is what I like to think about her performance.

At any rate, I’m still in love with the song and the way Janelle creates space for bodily agency and empowerment. Though some arguments can be made for “Yoga” catering somewhat to a hetero male audience—and such points made stronger by some of Jidenna’s lyrics—Janelle has made it clear in the past that she’s a feminist and that she is “not for male consumption.” In a culture in which we are still struggling against slut-shaming, abstinence-only education, rampant sexual violence, and victim-blaming, “Yoga” offers an affirming path for self-loving sexuality.

I think the key, as Janelle models, is to not take ourselves too seriously. Some of my favorite yoga instructors offer the same mantra: work hard, but do it with a sense of humor. This kind of feminist resistance is fierce and focused, but invitational. Feminism, like yoga, should be flexible and self-aware and strong, but it can also be fun, sexy, humble, and willing to laugh at itself. And if this is the kind of feminism we engage in, maybe more folks will join us. After all, no one wants to join a yoga class full of uppity snobs only concerned with appearances and showing off. Let’s flex our humor-filled feminist muscles with Janelle. We might even achieve a kind of feminist nirvana.

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Feminism is Not a Game of Thrones

5/27/2015

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*No spoilers here, GOT fans! Read on!

I love engaging in feminist critique of popular culture. It’s actually one of my favorite pastimes, because I love feminism and I find pop culture fascinating and fun and entertaining and maddening and disturbing and impossible to ignore. The world of pop culture is accessible to many, it often reflects where we’re at on social issues, and it also suggests where mainstream culture may be changing when it comes to stuff like gender roles and sexual violence. There are so many angles and perspectives and theories and questions that people can bring to a dialogue about any given film or TV show or music video, and this should make for incredibly interesting, complicated, and nuanced discussion. Except when it doesn’t.

I read feminist blogs that make awesome contributions to how we think about pop culture, but do it in a way that suggests that if you and I don’t agree wholeheartedly, we might be stripped of our feminist namesake and cast out of the community without a second thought. I watch my friends shy away from making bold, intelligent critiques in public forums like Facebook because, in their view, they are not on the “feminist bandwagon” and will get bludgeoned by the more popular feminist critiques if they speak up. I witness my significant other crafting careful responses to critiques of video games in the Twitterverse only to be viciously attacked in the name of feminism. People, we can do better than this.

I refuse to engage in a simplistic debate about whether Game of Thrones is good or bad and if choosing to watch it means you are no longer a feminist. I refuse to name-call when someone makes a critique I disagree with, and I most definitely refuse to claim that my feminist view is the only one worth considering. I refuse to hurl insults at people who continue to watch a show even if I personally condemn its violence, and I refuse to make snap judgments that assume I know people’s motivations for remaining committed to consuming a particular art form despite its sexism. Yes, GOT has some pretty horrendous depictions of rape. Yes, it may be triggering for many folks, and no, rape is never, ever ok and yes, I’m sick of its omnipresence in our lives. But I’m not sure that omitting all forms of sexual violence from the script is the best solution. Sometimes its representation—however difficult to witness—can offer audiences opportunities for engagement and reflection that they might never otherwise encounter. I also think every individual should have the right to choose how they want to respond to the sexual violence in GOT. I respect folks who decide they are done and take a public stand based on this position. I respect folks who decide not to watch because it would threaten their emotional health. And I respect those who continue to watch and witness and remain deep within its throes, because they may be the ones offering the feminist arguments that those of us who have opted out cannot.

I’m not saying we should tone down our critiques or sacrifice whatever feminist values we subscribe to. What I am suggesting is that we reconsider the ways we engage in feminist critique, because right now an awful lot of us are pitted against one another. When we hate on each other, we silence one another, and that ain’t what feminism ought to be about. We should be challenging easy arguments and struggling through the complexities and caveats that make discussions about pop culture interesting. We should talk about this stuff without creating casualties, and we should recognize that our antagonism doesn’t exactly make feminism appealing to folks who don’t share our passion for the cause. Cercei Lannister dropped this truth: “When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die.” Let’s stop swinging our swords at each other. Feminist engagement shouldn’t be a game of thrones.

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Feminist Frank is not Boyfriend Material

5/28/2014

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I’m not out to ruin everyone’s fun. Honest. It just seems that in the midst of the mainstream feminist movement’s love affair with Feminist Frank, we worship him much too easily. I mean, this meme has been posted with glorious admiration by many of the feminist and critical blogs and sites I follow (like Feministing and PolicyMic) as well as some of the more sort of feminist stuff I read (like HuffPost Women or Buzzfeed). And aside from PolicyMic’s actual discussion of how the meme may function, each of these sites wholeheartedly embraces Feminist Frank without any critical interrogation. Buzzfeed even suggests that Feminist Frank would be the perfect boyfriend. Hmm. Though I don’t think that’s what folks are really thinking when they encounter the meme, I do think we owe it to ourselves—as feminists—to take a closer look beyond the initial chuckle of enjoyment we get from these incredibly misogynist phrases being subverted by an Abercrombie-looking presumably straight white dude we don’t expect to have feminist sensibilities.

But does Frank have feminist sensibilities? And does he, as Elizabeth Plank suggests, really allow “women to imagine a world where even the douchiest douche has the potential to be an ally. Maybe women can have it all?” Is this our fantasy scenario? Because if so, I think we’re setting the bar quite low. And as much as I wish all the entitled cis white straight men would wake up and realize how ridiculous and harmful misogyny and gender stereotypes and traditional masculinity really are and join the movement to end gender violence, I’m really not thrilled about posers like Feminist Frank being touted as the new representatives of the feminist movement.

Here’s why. First of all, we wouldn’t actually like Feminist Frank in the flesh. Just imagine him as a real guy. If I was at a party and this preppy dude walked up to me with an opening line like, “You can’t rape the willing…” and then quickly followed it up with “which is why getting your consent before we make out is super important to me” I would still think he is a misogynist jackass despite his attempt to “save” the first part of his sentence. If Frank was truly a feminist, he wouldn’t try to woo me with rapey pickup lines. He’d be doing real feminist work instead of co-opting the language of feminism to try and impress women. Rebecca Vipond Brink makes a similar argument about Feminist Frank, suggesting that

“These are men on the left who say that they’re feminists but who never act like it; who speak over women in discussions about women’s rights instead of listening to us. They’re guys who are sexist, but who cloak themselves in the language of leftist and feminist politics in order
to claim that they’re not.”

Second, Feminist Frank relies on the rhetoric of sexism and rape to set the foundation for his redeemability. Though each of these phrases

That chick totally blew me
Dang gurl that ass
I’d hit that
I got 99 problems and a bitch ain’t one
Watch me smack that ass
That bitch sure is a prize

is followed by a clause intended to subvert their misogyny, Feminist Frank’s statements only work as humor or entertainment because they are misogynistic. The meme is enjoyable because it defies our expectations. I can get on board with that to a certain degree, but I think we need to ask what it means that our humor and entertainment is based upon a foundation of violence against women and girls. I get that Feminist Frank’s intended audience is already informed feminist-minded folks, but are we making a joke of sexism and rape in a way that will minimize their seriousness? Is the risk worth our enjoyment?

Third, though I’m obviously a proponent of the idea that anyone—everyone—can be feminist (I subscribe to bell hooks’s definition of feminism as a movement to end sexism, sexist oppression, and exploitation), is Feminist Frank really the epitome of feminist success? Are cisgender white straight middle and upper class men really the last frontier of feminism? This is a far more complicated question than can be teased out here, given that these are the folks who get away with committing the most violence against women and who arguably pose the greatest threat to the liberation of women—and all people, inclusive of differences in gender identity, sexual orientation, race, class, nationality, ability, etc. So what if instead of situating Feminist Frank as our feminist man idol we instead frame the meme as a sad and ironic example of how screwed up the world is: that this is what feminist looks like? Feminist Frank as dark feminist humor—instead of lighthearted feminist fantasy—is something I could really get behind.

I pose all of these thoughts as questions more than as a definitive argument. Certainly there are some variations of the Feminist Frank meme that are not as overtly violent or do not rely as wholly on sexually violent language to make their point. In fact, the presumably first Feminist Frank image used the phrase, “Women who dress provocatively deserve…to be treated with respect and decency, just like everyone else.” Love it. And “I’m gonna get loud…at the demonstration this evening – Take Back the Night!” is certainly fun and devoid of violence. It’s also important to note that Feminist Frank functions very similarly to sexual violence prevention efforts like the Make Your Move campaign that subvert creepy phrases to encourage bystander intervention: “I could tell she was asking for it…to stop. So I stepped in and told my buddy that was no way to treat a lady. And he backed off.” I applaud the creativity because we certainly need it when it comes to prevention. But a lot of the questions I have about Feminist Frank are also questions I have of these campaigns.

Perhaps Feminist Frank is a first step, as some have suggested, for more men to actively take part in feminist conversations—though it’s impossible to know how many men are actually reproducing the meme, or what motivates them to participate in the discussion, be it an excuse to participate in misogyny disguised in a feminist mask or actual interest in eradicating sexism. And I have yet to read any commentary on Feminist Frank written by men. This is why I’m skeptical.

So, I invite you into a dialogue about feminism, social change, and men’s engagement with, or performance of, feminism. Thank you, (Faux) Feminist Frank, for being a catalyst for this discussion. I would never date you, but you do bring up important stuff we need to think about as we strive to end sexism and gender violence.

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i want my jacket back

"Tiny Hands" is not an Equality Anthem

Feminist Resistance & Humor in Janelle Monáe’s “Yoga”

Feminism is Not a Game of Thrones

Feminist Frank is not Boyfriend Material

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