Look! Breasts!! (Long read, no pics :P)
From Salon.com
"Breastblog" battle is back
Lest a month go by without feminist bloggers talking about each other's breasts, "Boobgate 2006" was revived today by HuffPo's Liz Funk. The post titled "Feministing: Feminist? Or Just -Ing?" (exactly what that means, we're not sure) examines last month's flap between feminist law blogger Ann Althouse and Feministing's frontwoman Jessica Valenti. The skirmish -- previously detailed here -- started when Althouse derided a photo of Valenti and several other bloggers with Bill Clinton. Althouse criticized Valenti's "three-quarter pose and related posturing"; she then followed up with a post titled "Let's Take a Closer Look at Those Breasts" and set in on Feministing for being a "breastblog."
http://www.salon.com/mwt/broadsheet/2006/10/13/boob_blogging/index.html
I hate the thought of all of the infighting. I wish that the feminist movement could find a way to unify, to bring women together, instead of seeming to be so devisive.
One of the Burning Man experiences that I didn't write very much about is directly related to this train of thought in my head.
Critical Tits is an event at Burning Man where thousands of women doff their tops and take a bike tour around the desert. It is quite a specatcle, and because of my love/hate relationship with my own breasts and sexuality, I decided I wanted to take part in it. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me that I had a love/hate reaction to the event.
(Note: I was not completely topless...I had an open silky robe-type thing, mostly to protect my shoulders. Just in case you were wondering.)
The beginning of the ride was amazing. There were women of every shape and size. Old women, young women. Beautiful. Small, large, and every shape and size inbetween. Some sagged, some bounced...some seemed to defy gravity itself. They were painted, adorned, partially clothed, or just plain naked. I'm surprised there weren't a lot of crashes, it was a very visually distracting moment.
Of course, you can't have a well publicized event such as this, and one dripping in Burning Man history and lore, without attracting a crowd. A big crowd, of mostly men. They were appreciative, they had spray bottles of water to mist the riders, they cheered. They also took pictures. And leered. The spectators ran the gamut of human behavior. There was nothing done or said that I saw that was overtly offensive, but the longer I rode, the more uncomfortable I got.
But, if I get right down honest with myself about why I was uncomfortable, or at least a portion of why, I would have to say (after much thought and contemplation) that one of the reasons I was uncomfortable was because...I wasn't pretty enough. My tits weren't up to par to rate the photos, the extra attention of the misters (not that I wanted a picture taken, but I wanted someone to want to take my picture. Vain? Oh, yes.). It should be noted here that this is the first time that I have verbalized that admission. I don't want to think I am that shallow, that needy. That my ego is that fragile. But, there it is.
Of course, it goes deeper than that. It felt objectifying. It felt at times to be more about the male spectators than the women riders. I almost crashed into women who were soaking up so much attention that they weren't paying attention to where they were going.
At the end of the ride, there were DJs, and art cars, and people giving away drinks to the riders. I got a wonderful creme de minth snow cone. Delightful. But it was in the deep playa, with no shade, just open to the eyes and elements.
There was a booth giving away some kind of adult beverage with coconut milk, served in coconuts, that some fabulous women were hacking up right in front of your face. Of course, it was very popular. And these women...or some of these women, became pushy, catty, and mean. Shoving past people to get one of these covetted coconuts. Instead of a sense of comraderie, it felt like hanging out at a crowded bar, where you are faceless, nameless, and have no connection to the people around you. It took me out of the "burning man" experience more than anything else during the week.
I opted not to push and shove and wait longer for my coconut. I was disheartened. I found my bike and rode back to camp, after staying only a short while at the party.
When I got back to camp, I sat down in the shade and had a big glass of water, and thought. When sonicbunny came back a little while later, and I tried to talk about it, I couldn't put my finger on what bothered me.
Part of it was that I had put so many expectations on what that experience was going to be. It was going to all of the sudden put my body issues to rest, and I would embrace my self, my body, my imperfections.
Tall order, that.
Anyway, this is obviously a complex issue for me, which is why the Salon article brought it to mind. Our feelings about our bodies and our sexuality are so complex. It is challenging to stradle the line between embracing our sexualty and flaunting it. When you add the complexities of politics, that increases ten-fold.
I guess it goes back to that feeling I had whilst waiting for my coconut. I felt like we, as women, should have been more cooperative. We should be in this together. Instead of pushing forward to get what's ours, we should pass it back to those behind us. Instead of criticizing someone flaunting her sexuality, we should be embracing differing experiences and expressions of womanhood.
But, I suppose this is why "feminism" is such a hard sell. You can't encapsulate what "women" want into a single movement. We are, individually, and as a group, so diverse and complex, it seems impossible to find that common ground.
Oh, and by the way, if I go back to Burning Man, I will ride again.
"Breastblog" battle is back
Lest a month go by without feminist bloggers talking about each other's breasts, "Boobgate 2006" was revived today by HuffPo's Liz Funk. The post titled "Feministing: Feminist? Or Just -Ing?" (exactly what that means, we're not sure) examines last month's flap between feminist law blogger Ann Althouse and Feministing's frontwoman Jessica Valenti. The skirmish -- previously detailed here -- started when Althouse derided a photo of Valenti and several other bloggers with Bill Clinton. Althouse criticized Valenti's "three-quarter pose and related posturing"; she then followed up with a post titled "Let's Take a Closer Look at Those Breasts" and set in on Feministing for being a "breastblog."
http://www.salon.com/mwt/broadsheet/2006/10/13/boob_blogging/index.html
I hate the thought of all of the infighting. I wish that the feminist movement could find a way to unify, to bring women together, instead of seeming to be so devisive.
One of the Burning Man experiences that I didn't write very much about is directly related to this train of thought in my head.
Critical Tits is an event at Burning Man where thousands of women doff their tops and take a bike tour around the desert. It is quite a specatcle, and because of my love/hate relationship with my own breasts and sexuality, I decided I wanted to take part in it. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me that I had a love/hate reaction to the event.
(Note: I was not completely topless...I had an open silky robe-type thing, mostly to protect my shoulders. Just in case you were wondering.)
The beginning of the ride was amazing. There were women of every shape and size. Old women, young women. Beautiful. Small, large, and every shape and size inbetween. Some sagged, some bounced...some seemed to defy gravity itself. They were painted, adorned, partially clothed, or just plain naked. I'm surprised there weren't a lot of crashes, it was a very visually distracting moment.
Of course, you can't have a well publicized event such as this, and one dripping in Burning Man history and lore, without attracting a crowd. A big crowd, of mostly men. They were appreciative, they had spray bottles of water to mist the riders, they cheered. They also took pictures. And leered. The spectators ran the gamut of human behavior. There was nothing done or said that I saw that was overtly offensive, but the longer I rode, the more uncomfortable I got.
But, if I get right down honest with myself about why I was uncomfortable, or at least a portion of why, I would have to say (after much thought and contemplation) that one of the reasons I was uncomfortable was because...I wasn't pretty enough. My tits weren't up to par to rate the photos, the extra attention of the misters (not that I wanted a picture taken, but I wanted someone to want to take my picture. Vain? Oh, yes.). It should be noted here that this is the first time that I have verbalized that admission. I don't want to think I am that shallow, that needy. That my ego is that fragile. But, there it is.
Of course, it goes deeper than that. It felt objectifying. It felt at times to be more about the male spectators than the women riders. I almost crashed into women who were soaking up so much attention that they weren't paying attention to where they were going.
At the end of the ride, there were DJs, and art cars, and people giving away drinks to the riders. I got a wonderful creme de minth snow cone. Delightful. But it was in the deep playa, with no shade, just open to the eyes and elements.
There was a booth giving away some kind of adult beverage with coconut milk, served in coconuts, that some fabulous women were hacking up right in front of your face. Of course, it was very popular. And these women...or some of these women, became pushy, catty, and mean. Shoving past people to get one of these covetted coconuts. Instead of a sense of comraderie, it felt like hanging out at a crowded bar, where you are faceless, nameless, and have no connection to the people around you. It took me out of the "burning man" experience more than anything else during the week.
I opted not to push and shove and wait longer for my coconut. I was disheartened. I found my bike and rode back to camp, after staying only a short while at the party.
When I got back to camp, I sat down in the shade and had a big glass of water, and thought. When sonicbunny came back a little while later, and I tried to talk about it, I couldn't put my finger on what bothered me.
Part of it was that I had put so many expectations on what that experience was going to be. It was going to all of the sudden put my body issues to rest, and I would embrace my self, my body, my imperfections.
Tall order, that.
Anyway, this is obviously a complex issue for me, which is why the Salon article brought it to mind. Our feelings about our bodies and our sexuality are so complex. It is challenging to stradle the line between embracing our sexualty and flaunting it. When you add the complexities of politics, that increases ten-fold.
I guess it goes back to that feeling I had whilst waiting for my coconut. I felt like we, as women, should have been more cooperative. We should be in this together. Instead of pushing forward to get what's ours, we should pass it back to those behind us. Instead of criticizing someone flaunting her sexuality, we should be embracing differing experiences and expressions of womanhood.
But, I suppose this is why "feminism" is such a hard sell. You can't encapsulate what "women" want into a single movement. We are, individually, and as a group, so diverse and complex, it seems impossible to find that common ground.
Oh, and by the way, if I go back to Burning Man, I will ride again.