In the current 2018 age of #MeToo and #HeForShe, the question of femininity has never seemed more relevant. Or, indeed, more complex. In a world which is drafting and redrafting the chronicles of “What Makes A Woman”, it seems that some of us are still confused. The lines are blurred: Feminists no longer seem to have to sport the cliché Winona Ryder, circa 1999, pixie haircut; nor the stereotypical facial piercings, or even the black oversized attire. For example, I consider myself a feminist. Yet I’m unashamedly a ‘girly girl’. My hair is long and blow-dried (and curled, if I have time). I have a tiny wardrobe solely dedicated to my high-heeled shoes (and yes, it is to die for). I also own more make-up than I care to admit (or, at least, my bank statements remind me to suppress the guilt).

But going further than just physical appearances, my femininity translates into my day-to-day life: I write in my own fashion blog; I’m a qualified stylist; and I’ve even been a cheerleader. However, I’m also a graduate of English Literature at Queen’s University; a published writer; and a self-confessed geek. But the misconception I often come across when people view the former attributes of mine is this: “God, what an air-head she must be”. That’s the problem, you see – a woman can’t indulge in clothes and makeup, and be an intellectual. And for many years, for some reason or another, I have been judged for my femininity.

Notice how I’m not saying, “I think I’m judged for my femininity” or, “Maybe I’m judged for my femininity”. No – I’m just judged for my femininity. Clear and concrete. I know perhaps to some, that might sound like a pretty damning statement. But it’s also the truth. Yes, don’t get me wrong, not everyone judges my girly impulses and characteristics. But a lot of people have. And a lot of people continue to do so. Still sound a little too far-fetched? Then, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let me provide some evidence…

When I was a schoolgirl, I was so plain that I made Jane look over-the-top. I was pale-faced, with mid-length red hair, and a blunt fringe concealing my acne-covered forehead. But this wasn’t helped my my school’s uniform policy – which was considerably longer for the female students rather than the boys, might I add. Girls weren’t allowed to wear make-up, or to paint their nails, or to wear socks rather than tights (because God forbid you let the world know you have knees), or to wear any form of heeled shoes – neither ‘mid’ or ‘high’. Now, I just have to say that I’m not purposefully trying to bash my school. There’s a certain logic behind a school having a uniform policy. Healthy and safety, being one example. But I have to question the slight sexism of some of these rules.

Like I said before, I was a plain Jane. I never wore makeup… And even if I wanted to, I was too well-behaved to want to break the school rules. That was until one day, when I was 14, I noticed that my lips were dry and chapped after my morning History class. My friend kindly offered me some clear lip-gloss to hydrate my lips. But it wasn’t long before a teacher halted me in the corridor, asked me to conduct the walk-of-shame to her office, where she then handed me a makeup-wipe and a piece of paper which logged my ‘misconduct’. I’m not exaggerating, that actually happened.

So for a long time, I actually forced myself to be plain. I naturally had feminine and girly impulses, but I pushed these as far down as I could. Because I attended a school where the motto was, “Achieving Excellence Together“. And a girl couldn’t indulge in her femininity, as well as ‘achieve excellence‘. You must choose one or the other. Looking back now, my current self would tell that teacher where she can put her makeup-wipe, and polish it off with her conduct log. There is absolutely no logic behind such ridiculous rule-enforcement. It wasn’t teaching me a lesson for my future life – I wear makeup almost every day in my current job position.

It’s just a small example, but it’s one which only points back to one theory for me: They were judging femininity. And I thought I was alone in this train of thought, until I read an article by Evanna Lynch which described a similar social-pressure which she faced as a teenager:

‘I’m not sure when I first began to define what a woman could be, and could not be, but all of my teenage years are permeated with the memory of the belief that books were for me and beauty was for others. Somewhere along the way I latched onto the idea that women of substance, politically conscious, world-changing women worth paying attention to, were above the frivolities of feminine indulgences…

I grew to resent feminine women and decided that a woman simply could not be charming and clever at once; you had to pick one and I knew which one garnered respect, if not desire. I’d dress in clashing prints, spangly bug earrings and bold tights because quirky girls had thoughts, were interesting, and those girls sashaying around town in crop tops with belly-button piercings blinking ostentatiously most definitely had no thoughts to spare for anything outside the sphere of their own physical perfection.’

– Evanna Lynch

 

But rather than dwelling in the past, let me transport myself into the current day. Am I still judged for my femininity?

Answer: Yes.

And I can provide you with numerous examples where I have been. But this is a blog post, not a book. So rather than boring you, I’ll just list off a fair few:

• I once dated a guy who said I was “attention-seeking” because I wore my favourite sequinned dress to a bar. I didn’t date him again. Can’t imagine why…
• A few years ago had a friend who loved to borrow my clothes or use my makeup before a night out. But then she made nasty comments about how extensive my collection was, when she wasn’t using it. I had lots of friends who judged my femininity, until it suited them.
• Remember when we had that scorching heatwave last summer? I decided to wear a skater skirt one day while shopping. Prompting a young 19-looking-year-old boy to shout, “Slut!” to his slightly-younger-looking-year-old friend.
• One evening, after cheerleading practice, I decided to buy my groceries at the local shop. The sales assistant at the till literally glared at me because I was wearing my kit.
• I have seen a few, now blocked, Instagram accounts scathe me in their comments. I’ll not list those. Mostly because I’d have to censor some words, and I want this blog to remain PG.

Like I said, those are only a few. I could name many more, but I don’t want to drag names or drama into the equation. But perhaps I’ve correctly articulated how I’m judged for my femininity. Even if I can’t quite understand why. All I can summarise is that I’m often wrongly assessed, or presumed to be, the following: Selfish, shallow, narcissistic, materialistic, stupid, high-maintenance, attention-seeking and frivolous.

But I can confidently say that I’m generous, kind, empathetic, thoughtful, well-read, and educated. Yes, I might have a wardrobe dedicated to my high-heels. But next to it is a bookcase containing only some of the uncountable books I’ve read in my lifetime. The truth is – a woman doesn’t have to sacrifice her femininity to garner influence and respect. She can have, and be, both.

That’s the world I want to live in.

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