Tag Archives: women
All women break their underwear down into two basic categories: Touch Me Now and Touch Me Never. Any woman who tells you otherwise is a damn dirty liar. Except for maybe nuns – I’m not sure they have much of a choice in the first place.
Touch Me Now knickers (I refuse to type or say the p-word aloud) are pretty self-explanatory. We wear them to be seen or felt, if in no other place than our imagination. You’d be surprised how high the self-esteem meter will go just by putting a cute pair of Hanky Pankies on beneath your jeans.
Touch Me Nevers are a bit trickier. They’re often the stereotypical Granny pair – high-rise cotton, baggy butt, generally unattractive even on Miranda Kerr – but worn for different reasons:
- There is no chance in hell they will sleep with you. They’re going out with you as a favor to someone, in hopes of a free meal, or heightened ennui. Sorry, dude.
- She wants to sleep with you but doesn’t want to be that girl. The one who gives it away. These are usually accompanied by unshaved legs (the moat to the castle) and maybe Mom Jeans (the drawbridge). Underwear, in this metaphor, would be the court jester. You know, designed to be laughed at but ultimately not going to protect you if the enemy has already made it that far.
Honestly, men, there’s not a whole lot that you can do with this information, but I find it helps to get into the mind of your opponent before a big match. Be mindful of the VPL…that definitely puts you on the bad side of Touch Me Never territory, so don’t waste your energy.
Also, men take no for an answer. Just a FYI.
A few weeks ago I experienced something that made me question my (clearly feminist) ideals. While leaving the home of a mutual friend one evening, a male acquaintance and I realized that the bus and train we’d be taking to our respective homes weren’t running anymore because, you know, it was late. The lights on the street blinked changed from a white walking figure to a red flashing palm and the traffic light glowed yellow to red – my companion ran across the street while I stayed behind, unmotivated by enough to elicit a jaywalk. “See you later, Kaitlin!” I cocked my head to the side in confusion, watching a 25-year-old
man boy duck his head into a cab, leaving a young woman alone on a Chicago street corner at 1 o’clock in the morning.
I distinctly remember in the fifth grade being a pilot class for some new social studies textbook that was being produced. I browsed the table of contents and saw that near the end of the book was a section called Women’s Rights. Being my mother’s daughter and a budding feminist myself, I excitedly asked my teacher if we would be studying that chapter at all. “Oh, well, maybe if we have time,” she said.
Needless to say, we did not study women’s rights at all that year.
In a world of Snooki and sex tapes, women of the world still have a lot to break through. For every Gloria Steinem advocating for women to move beyond stereotypes and get equal pay (because that whole 78 cents for every dollar a man earns is still true in 2012) there are twenty Real Housewives waiting in line to become the next superstar of hair pulling, name calling, and vagina flashing.
To each her own, but at some point we have to remember why women burned bras (great in theory, painful in lacking lumbar support) and fought for the vote.
Last year, I wrote a little something for Feminist Coming Out Day, and it remains true today:
I believe that I can be and do whatever because that’s how my mother raised me. I believe that I deserve to be treated like anyone else because that’s what my father taught me. If you hear me call myself a feminist and think that I can braid the hair where my arms connect to torso, then imagine what you will. If you read my words and imagine a brooding voice from the aisles of Home Depot, then think yourself happy. I am a feminist because I can be. I am a feminist because we all should be.
If you don’t like that or what women can do, then I encourage you to get educated or fuck off. Women, like racial and religious minorities, all sexual orientations, and able-bodied or other-bodied persons, deserve to live with pride and equality. My generation hasn’t had to fight the way our mother’s and grandmother’s did, and I think it’s our biggest problem.
Maybe if we keep fighting why we fought in the first place.