The feminine industrial complex.

Who controls images of feminine? As I sit and primp and tweeze and pluck, I wonder, what power elite am I bowing down to? Yes, all these habits and feminine rituals started because of a patriarchal society and its views on women. But come on, women had to go along to make them work. Some woman had to decide that wearing heels was really “de rigueur”. How do female trends spread without female participation?
I was cleaning out my drawers, giving myself something to do when MJ was staying way past his time. I like my weekends, I enjoy my “me time”. There are times you just want to enjoy the quiet, and he never understands that. So here I was, wishing he would leave so I could organize my drawers,
I don’t like having idle hands and I get satisfaction by regimented lines of jewelry separated into type, size and of course quality. I love to empty a drawer enjoying the memories of the things I’m puling out from it. I think it goes back to when I was a child and I would get to hear the stories of all the things my mother could take out of her drawers. They had some enchanted quality to them of femaleness to come. Things that I desperately wanted to understand. Backs of earrings with no mates, a ticket stub from a movie I was too young to go to. Her bronze hand mirror with the upholstered back that I desperately wished had a genie in it. Even an old battery or an empty film case seemed so adult, they were totems of a world I didn’t yet have access to. Pink satin underwear, high heels, perfume samples, small scented soaps and discarded makeup all seemed to hold stories, and a glimpse into the secret society that I would one day be a part of. I loved those days and I love to organize my drawers. Maybe this is also why I like to snoop in people’s medicine cabinets, who knows.
But back to the story, I’m trying to enjoy going through one of my drawers. Pulling out ribbons and ticket stubs, sunglass cases and various other discarded items, MJ asking me what everything was trying to make conversation. Then I pulled out something that looked like the top to a man’s electric razor. I had a little epilator phase.
My friend Long Island had one when we were in college. She liked cable knit sweaters, preppy patterns and going on mother daughter vacations with her stylish and well-educated mom. They vacations in St Bart’s, I was overwhelmed she seemed knowledgeable and worldly. She mentioned how she had one and that it worked like a dream! Didn’t hurt at all and the bikini line looked great! I was taken in. For those who don’t know, this crazy torture device literally PULLS OUT each individual hair, ONE BY ONE. I think gitmo doesn’t even use devices like this, water boarding yes, epilators no. All it did for my bikini line was give me awful little red bums, I would bleed through underwear and it was so bad that bumpy that no one would want to touch me even if I had the courage to show them my business. But of course I let this go on for months, claiming that, oh yes, it worked SO much better.
So he asked what the epilator was.
I explained, his response was:
“You know you don’t need to do those sort of things for me.”
And I had two reactions that I would like to share.
1- What? You think I do this FOR YOU?!? Are you kidding me, don’t shine yourself sweetheart. See below reason why I was so miffed.
2- I do this to make other women jealous, fuck what you think. Women preen for each other. I like to look good because it makes me feel good, looking so dam good. There’s a fast food commercial where the plain girl is envied by the model looking girl because she has some sort of sandwich. Well that feeling feels good, and that’s why women spend hours on their makeup and fortunes on their clothes. Whatever that item or product is, feeling special and envied every now and gain feels good. This could be a simple accomplishment that just makes you happy. I like it, sue me. And its not because guys say that women should have shaved pussies, its because other women do it! Women like each other, sisterhood and all that. You change your style because you see something or some other female who inspired you. I love pin-up culture, so recently I have been doing the red lips more. You do what fits you, but you get your ideas from other women.
I like admiring a woman who can pull something off, I think its cool. You can wear a gold backless dress and look stellar doing it, I will ooh and aah and wish I could pull it off. My boobs are too big and I HATE being braless (the only time you will catch me braless is in the shower or I guess with a man). I epilate because I want to look just as good in that bikini as you do, and if that means ripping out my vag hairs, hell I will at least try it. Don’t get me wrong; I would never be one of those ladies who traipse around in anything just because it’s in fashion. I still like things to flatter me; I’ll find the one that works well on me. I hate those bikini bottoms that show too much ass, and I will never be caught in a string bikini because where will my boobs go?
But the gist is, I’m doing because of the watchful eyes and policing agents that are other women and their opinions. Now I'm not saying this is better heaven forbid, no but its not the men I care about. It’s the women and their thoughts and comments. The feminine Gestapo is not men, and please, stops kidding yourself, its other women. We are each other’s worse critic and best allies. I will be the woman who in my old age wears wigs to cover my thinning hair, gets weekly manicures, and dons every bangle on one wrist so they clink and clang. I will do this not for men, by this time you will have died (we do live longer) my body will be wrinkled and old. I will have arthritis and liver spots, but I will still look stylish. I would rather be a member of the feminine police force than be a victim of it.