Growing up, I always wanted to be Jessie Spano. Many of my friends dreamed of Kelly's spirited bounce and fluorescent spandex as they dream of their wedding day. I dreamed of the day that girls wouldn't have to wear skirts (how are you supposed to play kickball with that damned draft?), and I loved the idea of being a feminist. I would even have integrity like Jessie and not care that the man I would date some day would have the audacity to wear pleated, high waisted, stone-washed denim.
As I got older, and as these strange lumps appeared on my body, I was forced to come to terms with my womanhood. No longer could I refer to Gloria Steinem in an objective sense. I had to deal with reality: panic attacks in the junior bra section and sleepless nights fearing the crimson tide. But as time passed, so did I change. Fast forward a few years. I fail, I fall in love, I learn, I become independent, I trust, I become cautious--the basic ritual in this baptism towards adulthood. So I dunked my head into the holy water of mascara, crushes, ambition and curiosity. And as I learned the value of life experiences, so, too, did my outlook on feminism change.
It is a basic tenet of modern feminism that a woman should be independent, that she depends on no other person to give her strength, much less a man. But I would have to disagree. According to biological determinism, a woman is built for motherhood and all those qualities that go along with it, like barnacles on a pier. And even though I don't agree with most of this theory, I don't think that it's all bad either--it is this nurturing aspect that gives women infinite strength and makes them members of the superior gender. Don't get me wrong, the idea of children right now scares me more than the thought of Rush Limbaugh giving me a lap dance, but these curves were made for embracing, they were made to comfort and in this fucked-up world, there's nothing more sacred than a sympathetic soul.
So here's what I'm calling for: a fusion between the femi-nazis and the ditzy beauty queen belles. Being a strong female in this day can be liberating if viewed in this way. Why not be Sophia Loren emerging like Aphrodite from the ocean or be Billie Holiday railing against prejudice and lynching, a black performer floating in a hostile and turbulent white crowd? Why not be independently strong-minded and expose your vulnerability to others at the same time? Take the Bond girls: It was only through their confidence, sexuality and wits that they were able to be make Sean Connery (before his baldness) permeable and make every man drop to their knees at the first sight of their leather-clad bodies. So, Women of the World, Unite! And try not to worry so much about the size of your ass (a real man likes something to grab onto anyway).
