I’m going to skip through all the past bullshit I don’t want to share. I’m going to skip through the ‘inner’ feelings, all the conversations, all the misunderstandings and misconceptions. I’m going to skip through the explanation about how I’m not a huge fan of feminism–wait. Actually, yes, yes I will because it leads into my main discussion.
I took an interest in Feminism in the 11th grade. My pull towards the philosophy wasn’t so much so a result of any discontent with social structures or “the man” (although, that discontent has existed ever since the 4th grade) or anything of that sort. My pull towards feminism was a result of validating my own convictions, character, and beliefs by written philosophies. Which, by the way, is the biggest vice of philosophy — searching for absolute and/or validating answers in theories — which are tend to be flawed or disproven eventually.
I have never been a stereotypically feminine female. I spent my childhood interested in reading, the history channel, listening to my parents rant about politics, and chasing this boy Eric around the playground. Ah young love. So aggressive. Doesn’t really seem to ever change.
In my teenage years, I became far more interested in politics, activism, debate, and leadership. I had started wearing the hijab (islamic scarf) in the 8th grade, and since then I’ve held, just like any other female in my situation, the burden of answering questions and concerns by others in regards to the scarf. Which is cool, really. We’re down with all that; we like answering questions–well I do, anyway.
I started wearing the hijab at a critical point in my life, something which was unbeknownst to me and those around me. Because I was the only muslim kid in my elementary and one of the few non-white kids (yay for new york jewish surburbia!), I was often ridiculed on everything — too fat, too stupid, too smart, too quiet, too weird (apparently hanging out with older kids makes you uncool), too ugly, too different, etc. While I had some great times during my childhood, a lot of the school stuff was complete shit. I had it tough in comparison to many others in my school…one of my worst memories is being ridiculed on something or other by the entire school bus. Younger kids and older kids. Ugh. I often came home crying or I just sucked it up. I began to cope with things by lying, just to be more accepted ..and yeah, not cool.
The worst thing of all is that all of those words, insults, and memories have stayed with me. Kids look pretty innocent, but as a former child myself I can honestly tell you they’re horrendously cruel little heartless bastards. All of them.
Anyway, the words, memories, everything stuck and it, surprise surprise, affected my self-esteem to the fullest. While kids wished to become firefighters, or basketball players, or UN diploments when they grew up, I wished to be prettier when I grew up. Frightening, isn’t it? I was 9/10 years old and I used to wish, on every shooting star, pray to God that when I grew up, I would be beautiful.
Fast forwarding to the hijab years: I started wearing the hijab as per request of my father. It didn’t really bother me much, I was just all like “whatevz”. However, the impact it would have on me over the next 5/6 years would be incredible.
Initially, I hated it. Well, hate is a strong word ..but bear with my inability to be articulate please. The hijab, as I understood back then (the meaning has entirely changed for me, and I will illustrate that soon), was meant solely to conceal a woman’s beauty — one of her most sexualized parts being her hair (I’ll get into this more later). Now — imagine thinking you’re ugly and then wearing a scarf which is meant to conceal whatever little beauty you have left. I had a hard time coping with that initially–why would I need to conceal beauty when I have none?
Things changed quickly though–by the 9th and 10th grade, my confidence had risen. I became politically active–inside school and out, and I was enjoying life with good friends and good times. But the only problem was that I wasn’t always wearing the scarf. I’d wear in school, etc — but if i were going out, I wouldn’t. I was pretty lax with it, and at the time I didn’t realize why. I understand completely now, and it’s been this understanding which has made me wear the hijab for good. I went through really early puberty, and it was looooong…so a lot of those years were just really awkward years for me. Raging and out of control hormones, acne, boobs (OH NO!), etc etc – it was all weird and uncomfortable. By the 10th/11th grade..I was beginning to somewhat “blossom”, if I can use such a heteronormative word (I’m using heteronormative in great abundance, even out of context, just so it can lose all meaning..it’s my own little fun experiment). And I don’t mean physically only, but mentally. By the 12th grade, I had become extremely assertive, self-assured, and confident (albeit I had many self-esteem issues, which I will illustrate). I was also becoming aware of my own beauty (and I mean this in the LEAST egoistic way). I wasn’t a fan of the perfect body or face any more (I was all about the LOVE YOURSELF! shit, etc etc), but I began to realize that I did have some pretty qualities. I knew that not everyone would see them, but the fact that I could see them gave me some comfort. My hair became the biggest part of this — everyone loved, and still loves, my hair–apparently it’s the shit. Which is dope.
But it overtook me.
Slowly, but surely, I became what I had always hated: Vain.
I began to obsess over my looks. Make up became a daily, needed regiment. Leaving the house without eyeliner? Heavens forbid. And then after gr. 12, I discovered cover up–and to this day, it’s hard for me to leave home without some coverup. I’ve been able to stop the eyeliner thing, which has been a good step — but the coverup thing remains. In my egoistic defence — I had some skin discolouration that apparently only I can see. Cough.
Anyway. In the past few months, I’ve realized that my hijab has been tool for coping with my vanity. It has kept me grounded, kept me humble, and has been a daily reminder that my looks are secondary to everything else. This has been my “hammer” to “crush patriachy”. I fight the patriarchy, that everyone always seems to rant about, and the absurd beauty standards on a daily basis by just putting my hijab on — and it’s made me a happier, better person. I am constantly hiding the most visible sexual part of myself–my hair. And a woman’s hair IS very sexualized, there’s really no way to deny it. As Fran Lebowtiz once said, you’re only as good as your last haircut. Think about all the effort put into hair, how it personifies people (i.e. blondes v.s. brunettes and all the sexual connotations), how many products exist solely for hair, the colours, the media emphasis; just everything. Think you’d be treated the same with a shaved head?
While I’m still coping to keep my ego in check (whether it’s down or up..I have a lot of “YOU’RE UGLY DAYS”), I feel as though I’m much further along than many other young women who are constantly battling the standards that are put upon them. Vanity is one of the worst enemies of any person — regardless of sex. I knew enough was enough when I’d be passing a store, and couldn’t resist seeing my own reflection. Reflection oppresses (Ohh, that’s deep..).
I don’t fight the so-called ‘patriarchy’ or ‘heteronormativity’ or ‘imposed social construction’ or ‘the chains of gender’ by becoming a lipstick lesbian, having tons of sex, listening to the indigo girls, or quoting judith bulter like its a holiday, I fight it by first fighting the results of it on myself.
So, go ahead and break your mirrors. Can you do it?
