Boobs and High Heels

I am a feminist. I say this with full sincerity. As far as I'm concerned, a woman who is not a feminist is a masochist – end of story. I have never allowed the lack of a penis to stop me from doing anything except weeing standing up. I can change the spark plugs in my car, hammer a nail, use power tools, channel surf and burp as loudly as any bloke. I can also cook almost anything, knit, crochet, make my own clothes and go to the toilet without half of it ending up on the floor. On the weekend I installed new locking door handles on two of the bedroom doors while my husband pruned the roses. Life is as it should be in this home; we both do what we are good at, not what traditional gender roles dictate. I am glad my daughter is being raised in such a balanced household. I also like Barbie. I like her glamour, her shoe collection and her independence – I mean really, Ken was an afterthought, right?
When I was twenty I was struggling somewhat with the whole feminism thing. I had read The Female Eunuch several years before and thought I had the whole deal sussed out. Then I moved into a share house with a woman who challenged me to become a "real feminist". She wanted me to disregard my male friends, stop wearing bras (easy for her, she was flat chested) and stop wearing make-up. But I am a Goth, and cleavage, long high heeled boots and elaborate make-up was what I did. Yes I understood the implication that stiletto heels cripple you so you can't run away, that revealing clothes distracted from your intellect and that hiding your face under make-up was like wearing a mask and hiding your true self. I was torn.
Then I met a woman, twice my age, a fabulously strong, determined, intelligent, deeply feminist woman who lived her life on her own terms. She had done the whole hippy thing in the sixties and drank and smoked and took drugs, laughed loudly, told dirty jokes and had sex with whoever she wanted. I was totally enamoured with her, I wanted to be like her, I wanted her to be my mother. She also had a husband, a degree in mathematics, a house in the suburbs and a huge Barbie collection. What a revelation!
Feminism is not about following a particular doctrine, about burning bras and hating men. It's about living your life on your own terms, it's not allowing the lack of a penis to stop you from having a go at changing the washer in the bathroom tap. It's about doing things because you want to do them, not because some overbearing male tells you to. If you want to dress like a slut then go for it, but do it because you feel good about yourself when dressed that way and you better make sure you have the guts and the grit to defend yourself if you have to.
Nothing makes me angrier than excuses for removing self responsibility. When I hear that a woman who was raped "deserved it" because of the way she was dressed or where she was I get so outraged my head almost explodes. I don't care if the woman was stark naked in a bar at 3am, no-one EVER deserves to be raped or bashed or murdered (except maybe my ex) and the simple truth is that men are responsible for their actions. I don't care if you're drunk or if your father molested you when you were a child, we make choices. It is a conscious decision to hurt another person and I demand the right to say and wear whatever the fuck I want without repercussion. I know that's not a reality, but that's why I'm a feminist – it damn well should be. The fight isn't over, until a woman can walk alone down the street in the middle of the night without fear we need to keep up the battle.
And as for Barbie, well, there are a few very sick women who have tried to emulate her physically with ridiculous breasts and bleached hair, but generally – what harm has she done? She has many careers, she has been a single parent, she has her own house and car and campervan. She is an accomplished equestrian and she has a killer wardrobe. I'm fine with her and I don't mind that my daughter has dozens of Barbies and a huge box of clothes for them. What I do mind, and what I am very fearful of are the Bratz dolls and their associated merchandise. With my above argument in mind – they dress like strippers, even the babies. There is no glamour, not a single outfit influenced by Hepburn or Taylor or Armani, it's all street trash garb. My husband innocently brought two Bratz movies home from Video Ezy the other day, thinking the girl would like them. I'm sure she would, in fact I have had an all out screaming match followed by a full on-the-floor-limb thrashing tantrum in said store with her previously because I wouldn't allow her to hire a Bratz movie.
I refuse to buy into the sexualisation of children. I will not buy the girl a bra until she has breasts to put in it – even though bras are available for toddlers! She will not wear fishnet or high heels or get pierced until she is old enough to understand the implications and able to deal with them.
Apparently the average age teenagers start having sex these days is 14. That's outrageous. Not only is it detrimental physically, but what sort of psychological damage is it doing? Why can't kids be kids anymore?
I watched a few minutes of one of the Bratz movies, just so I could have an informed opinion, I barely made it through 5 minutes. A bunch of stripperesque girls sitting around saying "what-everrr" and flipping their hand in the air, tossing their hair and bitching about other girls. No. No, no, no, no and no. It's wrong, it's bad, it's obscene, it's far too American and my (almost) 5 year old girl doesn't have the sophistication to see it for what it is. A few weeks ago the girl discovered Cartoon Network and switched from ABC kids. The change in her behaviour was apparent almost immediately. We went for a bike ride and she shouted "looser!" at one bunch of cyclists and then "do you want a piece of me!" at another. After I stopped laughing I was horrified. Suddenly I had "ruined her life" because I wouldn't give her another chocolate biscuit, and she now says "awesome" and "aw maaan!!". I don't like it. Cartoon Network is being discouraged. I don't want to have to deal with a teenager until she is chronologically a teenager. At 5 she can stick with kiddy stuff.
Bratz are banned in this house.