Everything is not as it appears

(Originally this was going to be a long discussion on the nature of Feminism in this day and age. However, in examining it, I have sort of stumbled onto a slightly more personal truth. Excuse this – I’ll be back to ranting in my next posts.)

Anyway. Have you ever come to the realisation that you are not quite the person you believed yourself to be? I don’t mean in a Scooby Doo-rubber-mask-reveal-the-villain way. Those sorts of events do not happen in real life, though it would be cool if it turned out that my local shopkeeper was masquerading as an evil gargoyle bent on sabotaging plans for a new supermarket. However, “Curse you pesky kids!” is something she would more likely shout at the ASBO wannabes who sling back White Lightning outside her store.

My point is that, recently, I have become unsettled. A news story of late has caused me to question something I thought fundamentally true about myself: that I believe I should look how I choose to look, that I choose to be who I wish to be.

Do not get me wrong. This is not about women overall, though I initially thought it was. I did not suddenly wake up and start chaining women to kitchen sinks or insisting they wear ankle-length skirts (I live in Essex – the latter would be a futile exercise in Chelmsford on a Saturday night, anyway). What it is about, however, is just how unaware I was of how my low self-esteem affected my life.

The first thing that triggered this train of thought was the discussion of the burkha ban in France (this has now passed into law). The response was mixed over here. Some took it as an affront to individual rights. Some welcomed it as a sign that women would no longer be subjugated in Islam. Some saw it as racist.

I am in two minds about this ban. Does it give women the chance to be free of this garment, or is the French government being patronising in assuming that all women who wear the burkha do so because they are forced to and not because they choose to? It poses the question of whether the French government is being any better in telling these women what they cannot wear as opposed to what they should.

In any case, this was side-stepped by saying it was a “security issue” rather than about the liberation of women. A comedian I adore seemed to agree. There was an interesting tweet by Jeremy Hardy who said that the whole “doing it for women’s rights” argument was bullshit because if we truly wanted to live in a society without stupid restrictions on women, we would ban hair removal cream, high heels and uncomfortable, dental floss underwear.

Now, as we live in a society where a recent poll of teenage girls indicted that some wanted to grow up to be WAGs, this may seem perfectly reasonable. However, I felt the need to object. I do not wear heels everyday or have stupid underwear, I said. I am a practical person. I felt resentful that men believed women were incapable of saying, “fuck off, those shoes are ridiculous!”, as if we truly were slaves to fashion.

Unfortunately, I found, to my utter dismay, that I was capable of totally disproving my own point. And, rather annoyingly, a pair of shoes was the cause.

I recently went shopping for a wedding and found a dress I liked. I was told I needed heels to go with them. I asked why and the person (female) with me said that the outfit wouldn’t look right if I just wore flats, that I wouldn’t look right. I insisted that I was more comfortable in flats. I like flat shoes. I think they look just as good but, most importantly, do not give me blisters or sprained toes (that did happen once – I had to take two days off work because I couldn’t walk). This was met with eye-rolling and I eventually buckled.

I am not saying the person was wrong in their opinion. In fact, I seek out her advice regularly for help with clothes. That dress with heels probably looks better, aesthetically. The problem is that I really did not want to wear them but I gave in. In that moment, I threw out everything I had insisted before, that all women are quite capable, if they choose, of saying “no, thank you” to the painful and idiotic things we are told are necessary.

Maybe many women are and do, but it turns out I am not. If I had any real backbone as a confident woman, I would have said, “You know what? I think some DMs will look amazing with this dress!” What’s happening instead is that I will wear a pair of shoes that will rub and annoy me for ten hours. I will go through Compeed plasters faster than Kay Burley will tear through someone’s vulnerable mind.

I spent some time wondering what brought about this decision. I do not often like to contemplate why I do things as it usually ends badly, a path that leads to the consumption of whiskey and the singing of Coldplay songs on Singstar until 2 am. However, after a few days, I have come to the realisation that I am still a feminist in my beliefs. I believe that women have rights that society often ignores, that we need to fight to ensure an equality we mistakenly think exists. The problem is not that I lack belief in women – it is that I lack belief in myself.

You see, I recently looked at my wardrobe and about 80% of the things I bought are in there because other people told me they looked good, not because I necessarily liked them. My home is decorated in colours other people told me would look great and the small touches I have added are so very small indeed.

My boyfriend insists I am beautiful and strong and I wonder who the hell he is talking about because, the more I started to think about it, the more I realised that any choice of new haircut, any choice of clothing, any choice of home or work or life: they had all been based upon someone else’s advice. I had never done anything without checking for someone else’s approval.

Getting a second opinion is fine – we all do it. Sometimes we need another perspective to make our own a little clearer. However, it turns out that this is not what I do. I take someone else’s opinions and use them instead of trusting in my own.

This is not an easy problem to fix. After spending ten of my educational years being told that no one likes who I really am, I was lucky enough to meet people who did. By then, unfortunately, the damage was done. I still do not voice my real opinions or thoughts, instead taking the diplomatic (or manipulative?) route when dealing with anyone who is not in my group of friends. In fact, this blog is one of the few places where my real thoughts get spoken aloud.

So, how do you fix such an issue when you realise it exists? Well, I have made a choice, one I have pondered for a few days. From now on, I will only seek opinions on extremely risky decisions (things that could lead to bankruptcy, for example, if I do not get some sound advice). I will stick to my guns and wear flats when I should wear heels, dye my hair black even if it “doesn’t look right” with my clothes, tell my manager and colleagues my real opinions without waiting to see what they think in order to go along with it. I’m not going to start ignoring basic social politeness rules, but I’m going to stop letting them run my life. It is about time I started making up my own mind, don’t you think?

Actually, don’t answer that.