Dear Garner: believe it or not, feminism is about you, too
Adena Chung
Dear Garner: I’m totally descending into my vices of yesteryear.
Or more like yestermonth. I’m smoking a Mild-7 as I sit on my
Shakespeare book-brick (a monster text) wondering why I’m smoking
instead of reading "A Midsummer Night’s Dream." I think it’s lack
of sleep which is making me feel like crap which is making me want
to smoke a cigarette. Or two. (I lit up another one.) At least I
understand why I’m acting this way; that makes me feel better. I
feel at a loss to do anything that’s good for me today so I’ll
drink my coffee and do whatever I feel like doing. Like smoke. It
feels good-bad, if you know what I mean. I know it’s twisted.
I had this idea for my next Viewpoint column that I thought was
great at the conception of it (isn’t that always the case). But
then, since I started writing for this one early, I had time to
think about it. Now I’m not so sure.
Spawned by a multitude of events but primarily inspired by
another column by Roxane Marquez, I jotted it down as I cruised the
405 on my way to school at the break of dawn one morning last week.
This is how it goes:
* * *
There are a lot of you guys out there who don’t appreciate
"feminism." You think, jokingly or seriously, that it means letting
your body hair grow, talking shit about males, turning to
lesbianism, female bonding, rejecting make-up and "pretty" clothes,
being obnoxious and outspoken and you don’t think it’s cool. That’s
a pretty long list, but there’s more.
There’s also the aching inside for a firm hand on you, the
reveling in a deep steady masculine voice that rolls off your name
or tells you a good story. Wanting a warm body thicker and longer
than you to smoothly lay against, skin on skin, and breathe in his
smell. The desire to knead out all a guy’s worries and stresses
with your strong fingers, work all over his body and exorcise the
bad day he had; ease his tension by absorbing it through your ears,
eyes, hands, absorbing it through your mouth when he kisses hard
with his dewy lips, through your thighs when he leans into them.
And taking him in moaning, sighing, sweet ecstasy on some lazy
orange afternoon or in the cool blue moonlight of the secret
night.
Yeah, feminism has a lot to do with fucking, which you
understand, right? But you still don’t understand feminism if you
can’t see that it also includes not wanting to be seen as an
object, even if we’re wearing some sexy little promiscuous thing,
not wanting to be talked down to, needing your reciprocal
admiration and respect, being crabby or insecure when we’re about
to have our period. You won’t know when to leave us alone because
we’re not in the mood, when flowers aren’t as good as your silent
attention, why cotton Calvin Kleins are better than Victoria’s
Secret in a lot of ways.
That’s too bad, because I don’t think you could really
understand fucking if you’re not ready to understand feminism in
its entirety with all of its rebellion and rejection of defunct
traditions, its anger which many of you see as gratuitous
nonsense.
It’s too bad, because so much of feminism has to do with you. We
are feminine because you are masculine. It’s like mental sex which
combined with physical sex makes sex in general pretty
incredible.
I can kind of understand how it would be hard for you. Is it all
a mystery? Or do you think you have it figured out? Because
treating a girl with respect isn’t all about catering to her needs
and taking care of her, pampering her and wining and dining her. I
like to be wined and dined, but more than I want you to feed my
mouth, I want you to feed my head. Wining and dining me isn’t going
to make me grow any way except laterally, which a lot of you guys
probably don’t like and I don’t like myself, either. And taking
care of me is different than caring about me. My parents have taken
care of me, and there isn’t any need for someone new to assume that
role.
Appreciating feminism is really simple. Treating a girl right is
to let her be exactly the way her inner self wants to be after
shedding all the expectations engendered by social, cultural and
religious sexist institutions that burden us like clunky metal
armor, like shells upon our backs. Give her the space, allow her to
ditch all that and what you should find is a woman who likes sex
just as much as you do and is willing to admit it. You’ll find
someone who will do "nice" things for you because it’s very normal
for her to nurture, someone who respects you and will support you
and stand by you, even when you are being a total "guy." Actually,
this would probably help cure a lot of other problems, too, like
bulimia, various neuroses, and, as a by-product, you’d probably get
laid more often.
I don’t know what to tell you if you only want to get laid,
though. So I guess just keep flowing the drinks, get her tanked and
hope she’s weak enough to go home with you so you can get some
mediocre action for the night. With all the STDs going around
today, though, it’d probably be more fun just to lay in bed
spanking the monkey with your own erotic fantasies.
* * *
So that’s what I wrote for the article. I really liked it, and
then came the onslaught of second thoughts which made me doubt
whether what I wrote was worth submitting. What will "they" think?
That I’m loose, hard-up and out of control? That I’m pretentious?
Would "real" feminists think I’m a poseur?
Now as I sit here writing to you who always made me feel
comfortable being whatever I was at that moment, you who always
made me feel strong, I remember that this doubt is just what has
stymied my life in the past. So I lay to rest the second thoughts
and turn this in. Thanks for being you because it has helped me to
be me.
Love,
Adena
Chung is a senior English student.