A friend of mine posted on Facebook today that she went out and spent money on a shirt because of the comments she was receiving from people on the street:

This post was followed by some panels by Kendra, which I think are both interesting and thought provoking:

How many girls have felt the same way that the girl in the second comic feels? I’m willing to bet most. I’m not as comfortable with my body as I could be, so I often won’t wear shorts or tank tops, opting for t-shirts and capris or bermudas, But even then, my t-shirts are sliced up to remove the neck, to open down the front a bit, or laced up at the sides to give me a little breathing room and sometimes a little flair.

Seen here: flair. And a little bit of booze?

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been well endowed. I went through puberty while still in elementary school, while most of my friends didn’t need to worry about things like bras and feminine hygiene products until middle school. Simple things like running the length of the basketball court became difficult, and boys started paying attention to me in ways they hadn’t before. At first, the attention seemed to counteract the physical discomfort, but over time I started to change my dressing habits. I stopped wearing the pretty blouses I had loved as the buttons started to pull across the chest. Instead, I would don a sweater, or a shirt that was boxier in construction. In the seventh grade, one of my friends tried to set me up with a boy who couldn’t place a face to my name. She described me to him over the phone as her “friend who wears the big sweaters so boys will look at her face instead of her boobs”.

I thought that was funny at the time. It was true, but I hadn’t really thought of it that way.

When did I become ashamed of myself? When did that moment happen when I went from being merely slightly physically uncomfortable with the changes my body was going through to being psychologically uncomfortable with my physical self? I honestly cannot remember. I can only assume that over the years I had picked up small cues that continued to accumulate until it became so overwhelming that I was forced to react to their shadowy presence.

So I shy away from anything too low cut that looks terrible with a nice camisole underneath of it. I like to think that I don’t care what people think about me, but that is clearly untrue just based on my purchasing habits. What I wouldn’t give to be comfortable wearing a pair of actual, honest-to-goodness shorts with a tank-top and not feel like I am on display. I see girls walking down the street wearing shorts that cut up above the knee, and tank tops that require either a strapless bra or the ability to go braless with comfort and ease, and wish I could be that kind of girl. I see girls of all shapes and sizes wearing these kinds of clothes, and my reaction is always “good for her, but holy-hell am I ever jealous of her”.

Why do I feel this way? Why do I feel that I am defined by others perceptions of myself? I’ve studied Lacan. I am aware of the theory that the individual is defined not by their own perception, but by the interpretation of themselves by others. I’ve read the feminist literature, I’ve been engaged in discussion on this topic…

Yet it always seems to circle back to me again. It’s like when I think of “space”. What is out there? What is beyond what we know exists? It cannot simply go on forever, for if it does, and it is continuously expanding, what is it expanding into? What is it displacing? What exists outside of that which is being displaced? I’m sure there are answers, but my brain simply cannot process this in any logical way.

But before I even had the time to thoroughly ponder this, a response from a non-mutual friend popped up in the comments:

The things about these posts that make me go twitchy are numerous, but lets expedite the process and jump right to “all men”. This statement is clearly problematic. There is an entire meme dedicated to this issue. The way to empower women is NOT to degrade men. I think very highly of most men. And I’m not going to get into gender roles, interpretations, assignments, designations, etc., I will leave those issues for another day. Trying to find an equal ground in gender perceptions is a constant battle. When statements like “all men are pigs” is put out there, men like my fiancé get lumped in there. I like to think I picked a winner. He is kind, he is generous, he has an excellent work ethic, he is political, and he is exceptionally open minded. He takes care of me when I am ill, and he doesn’t fuss when the dishes need to be done or the laundry needs to be washed (by him, as these are some of the chores we agreed that he would be in charge of). I earn significantly less than him (which is fair considering he has four degrees – a PhD included – and is working in industry, while I have only one degree and am still working in retail), yet he doesn’t consider it “his” money, but “our” money. He picked me, and I picked him. So when someone says “all men,” I get angry. How dare anyone define him in that way.

There has to be a better way of bringing women’s issues to attention than the diminishing of another gender. This does not promote equality, but encourages superiority. Superiority. You know, that thing that women have been banging their bloodied fists against for hundreds of years? Of course there are men out there who still think women aren’t as equal as themselves, that we – as a gender – are far inferior. But is the only way to draw attention to the plight of women in fact to exaggerate the quantity of men who are guilty of what only some are being rightly accused of? If we are not supposed to say things like “all women,” why does it seem to be ok with some of those women who voice against that designation to then turn around and say the same of men? Where is the line between what is acceptable in the name of change, and what is unacceptable?

I just don’t understand why we have to shame one another to begin with.