If a man approached you with a knife, you'd run fast enough to leave a Wyle E. Coyote cloud of dust. So how are so many women getting their chests cut open, nipples relocated, noses broken, tummies tucked, needles in the face, and fat sucked outta their thighs? SERIOUSLY. If I was offered free liposuction I'd laugh right in the face of that generous, yet wasted-practice, doctor. I only wanna be cut, pricked or prodded if something major ails me. I'm hoping to have natural childbirth (also known as "Feminist Machoism") and pop out my future bebes like a cave woman. I look at my tiny little dogs, rescued from a life of constant breeding and I think, "If they can do it without heavy meds so can I!"
A couple of my friends have tried botox recently. I get it. I squint too. I don't like aging either. But botox is still so new and they've discovered that traces of it stay lodged in your spine. YOUR SPINE! I never did acid for that same reason and I'm planning to age without venom too.
But let's get real - I can say I'll have natural childbirth and I can say I'll never do the snippy-snip body stuff, but that's all very easy to announce while my boobies still lay on top of my chest when I go to bed at night. But I'd like to do this - I'd like to age au natural and see how that feels. Of course, I'd planned to shave my head on my 40th birthday and already have the good sense to nix that.
I definitely don't want to feel like an object - like a car that has to be tinkered with all the time to retain its value. I feel like accepting this mentality of altering our bodies - creating these options for ourselves - makes it so easy for little cracks to run through our confidence. I don't want to come undone because I did what every human does - I aged.
Whenever I've performed - comedy, songs, skits, readings, whatever - I feel most comfortable dressed sort of boyishly. I happily give up my sex appeal to feel feistier in a cowboy shirt and jeans. But that's not my style - I usually dress very girlishly. In the second round of a very important writing contest in which I'd won the first round, I wore a sexy black dress. In the first round I wore my lil' man outfit. I read the story exactly the same way, choked up at the exact same moment, yet the judges claimed they "saw a different Angela tonight." All they'd seen was cleavage and leg. But they liked it because most of them were men. Yet when I dress more conservatively I feel that my power will have to come from within because I can't rely on sexiness. And I know that the women in the audience will laugh louder if I don't look too threatening.
But Ani Difranco says is best: "Everything bows to beauty when it is fierce, when it is flawless."
She's right. But this woman has shaved her head many times and deserves to school the rest of us. It was her music during my college years that taught me to shout back at cat-callers. I don't recommend this, but the sort of damage I've suffered in this lifetime makes it a challenge for me to stay quiet when I'm being sexually harassed on the street.
Women are still so unbelievably oppressed and it shocks me when I meet people who don't see that. There's still too much of the world where a woman can't even show her hair - HER HAIR. In all other areas our worth is so quickly summed up by our appearance. It's not just men - women do this to each other. We disable each other with pettiness and the pushing of plastic surgery, weightloss, and revealing attire. Meanwhile, we remain constant victims of objectification, rape, ridicule and lower pay rates by our male counterparts. My mother-in-law can't watch Mad Men because the treatment of women on that show is just too reminiscent for her. How hideous is that?
I truly believe that Marilyn Monroe would've been a lot happier had she been born ugly. The pressure to maintain all of that would drive anybody bonkers, poor girl. Ms. Taylor had at least four face lifts and a nose job. But in the end, I gotta hand it to Liz (she hated to be called "Liz") - she let it blow out and she kept right on rollin'. Bettie Page became a recluse because she was so ashamed of how "fat" she'd become, yet there was Liz - hideous wig, sequined moo-moo blouse and pounds of makeup. She worked with what she had and got plenty of business done in her old age. I know I have the potential to end up as a crazy old dog-lady shut-in, but I promise you it will never be because my face and boobs gave into gravity (it'll most likely be due to the ever-present threat of the zombie apocalypse.)
I want to be beautiful. I want to remain beautiful. But when I see these "Real Housewives" running around with stretched faces and necks, that doesn't strike me as lovely. They look like cowards. But sadly, beauty was all some women had in their lifetime. I guess the goal is really to build up a beautiful life so that when the paint starts to chip you'll be too distracted by self-worth and accomplishments to notice. Excellent plan! I hope in ten years from now I've only reinforced this goal. And if I fail - though hopefully I'll never even have time to notice the age process - one of my BFFs just became a dermatologist so at least I'll have a reliable source for cutting off bits of my face and tucking them under my hairline (shudder!)
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