bathtub mermaid

Yes, I identify with the other “F” word. That nasty, stigmatized symbol that evokes images of shaved heads and lone earrings. I am a feminist.

At the same time, I’m a hypocrite. I fall victim to the years of brainwashing; being raised by the television (and subsequently the shiny advertisements therein), the glossy 8″ x 10″ magazines featuring airbrushed bodies of perfection, the girls on the subway made up for Friday night at the club, even though it’s Monday morning. I crunch my abdomen for hours, count every calorie that passes my lips, use sweetener over sugar, make sure I’ve had atleast two hours of cardio daily. I hide the bags under my eyes with a five-step cover-up regime with the precision of a solider dismantling a gun, spend hundreds on skincare, file and paint my nails which render my hands virtually useless in the arena of labor. I pluck my eyebrows, rip the unwanted hair from my skin – brazillian waxing like some Medieval form of torture. Spend thousands of dollars on clothing that hangs like limp bodies in my closet.

Foucault believed the disciplinary power of the institution could be implemented through a series of exercises on the individual body. In his book, Discipline & Punishment, he states that, “The classical age discovered the body as object and target of power. It is easy enough to find signs of the attention then paid to the body- to the body that is manipulated, shaped, trained, which obeys, responds, becomes skillful, and increases its forces” (p. 136). Thus through a series of processes directed at manipulating and homogenizing behaviours, what was, “formed was a policy of coercions that act upon the body, a calculated manipulation of its elements, its gestures, its behavior. The human body was entering a machinery of power that explores it, breaks it down, and rearranges it” (138).  And although his argument applied specifically to soldiers, and later students and patients, I feel it effortlessly translates to the contemporary beauty establishment. Through the unrealistic hegemony of media beauty ideals, we are presented with a regime in an attempt to reach the standards applied to us. From hair removal to skin-care regiments, the disciplinary power of the corporation is displayed on nearly every page of women’s magazines, and furthermore, the bathrooms of average women.

And although I see these parallels , I still fall victim to the patriarchal ideals dictated to me. Which leads me to the question; how in the hell do I have the gall to call myself a feminist?

I have read the Feminine Mystique, the Female Eunich, the Beauty Myth. My bookshelves are riddled with contemporary feminist theory. I believe women are suppressed in our society. We’re subjugated, we’re tortured, we do not have equal opportunity in a patriarchal dominated world. And I live the proof daily.  But years of conditioning have rendered me without the courage to defy it. Perhaps it is on account of the fact that we, as women, are bombarded with the fact that our sole value is dependant on appearance, thus creating a deviance that is instantly observable. To deny the beauty regiment is to be under constant, omnipotent scrutiny (unlike other arenas such as politics or religion, in which converse or abnormal opinions or beliefs are not immediate to the public eye).

I find it depressing that despite my vehemence in my convictions, I feel powerless to defy the standards set forth by patriarchal institutions. I wonder if the contemporary lack of momentum within the feminist movement is on account of the fact that defiance is instantly observable. Humans are creatures that long for a sense of belonging, thus I feel the incessant urge to buy into these normalized practices of discipline, and abnormal to defy under the constant glare of the crowd.

I would love to hear other opinions on this matter.