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...is for the Single, Self-sustaining, Independent, Unattached Woman that I am!!! |
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August 23, 2002 |
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Research is finally over-- I am back at home, vacillating between lounging in front of the television, calling Renee in Maine and complaining to her about not having a boyfriend, and wishing that I had a boyfriend. I'm just going through one of those boy periods (never mind the fact that, having never dated anyone, this period has encapsulated most of my post-pubescent life) where I simultaneously wish for a love life and am glad that I don't have one to entangle me. My roommate complains sometimes about the care and maintenance of her boyfriend (now her FIANCEE!!) and how it interferes with her work, her life, and her alone time; and sometimes I appreciate the fact that I do not have to plan my activities around another person. Independence is good. Being alone is good. |
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I am the last person anyone could call a "feminist". Not that I don't believe in the ideals of equality of an drespect for women, but really, the word has acquired a bitter taste for me. I am not so naive as to think that feminist are man-hating, hairy-legged bra-burners; most of the women on this campus are self-proclaimed feminists, I am sure, and it is a well-known fact that William and Mary offers a 60% population of pretty women to any straight man with a good GPA. It is the more insidious elements of the ideology that I take issue with. |
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This morning, in a fit of pique over a parking ticket, I put on my "Feel Good Music" playlist. First on the lineup was the Destiny's child song, "Independent Women" (we all have our guilty pleasures, don't we?). "The shoes on my feet, I bought 'em/The clothes I'm wearin', I bought 'em/The car I'm drivin', I bought it/I depend on me...". It's the new feminist anthem, played and sung and booty-danced to by six-year-old womynlings everywhere.
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The only problem with this is that it's not true, or at least not for me; the shoes on my feet are from K-mart, and I asked my dad for money to buy them with; the clothes I'm wearin' my mother paid for while back-to-school shopping, except for the pants, which are a hand-me-up from my younger sister. The car I'm drivin', a five-year-old Hyundai, is also a measure of the bounty of my dad; I most certainly do not depend on me, and seeing as I am a por, grad-school-bound student with loans hanging over her head, I likely won't be depending on me for a good while yet. |
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The truth is, nobody depends on herself for everything. My parents support me financially, my family and friends support me emotionally, my church supports me spiritually and my college intellectually, and the fact of the matter is that some (maybe even most) of the people involved in these things are men. More incredibly, I have no problem with this. |
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Perhaps my deep distaste for the whole |
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