Let me set the scene: it’s 10.30 on a Friday morning. You’ve had a wild week, running between lectures and classes, work, volunteering, society events and admin meetings. You’ve managed a solid track record of some absolute looks, with some bright eyeshadow and cute skirts, and have received a plethora of compliments on t-shirts, shoes and hair styles alike.
The end of the week looms, and in an hour and a half your final contact hour of the week will be done. You just need to get ready and go there. So, you toss on some jeans that don’t make your ass pop and a plain grey jumper that hides any figure you might have and walk out without looking in the mirror.
Now, why are you worrying about how you look?
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I wasn’t worrying about what the other girls in my class wore. I didn’t notice! I appreciated that the girl across from me had some comfy looking sweats, and that the girl next to her had some lovely blue eyeshadow. I’m also perfectly aware it is their choice and nothing else: neither is less empowered – or even less of a feminist – on the basis of what they wore to one stupid class.
That’s the thing: the feminist in me yells and says that a woman’s worth is not contingent on what she’s wearing, and she doesn’t need to dress up to be empowered. No make-up is – and should be – the norm. And the rational part of me is fully on board, because whether I look good or not has no bearing on what my worth is as a person.
But the voice in my head that nagged me and said I should be dressed better remained.
It is two things: sexism and fat shaming. They go together, no doubt, but they are what’s screaming at me when I walk out the door. Because obviously, no man is going to find me fuckable unless I look nice, and the only way a size 16 girl like me can look nice is if I’m hyperfeminine and dressing to suit and accentuate my curves. But hell, there’s even more. I get away with less because I’m not skinny, surely, but I have good skin and I’m white – no dark hair or acne that people might be judging me on.
The thing is, I know that I look good. I find myself naturally pretty. I love dressing up and getting colourful make up on, because it’s fun. Have you ever spun around with one of those really spinny skirts? It’s so fun! That’s why I’ve been doing it all week! But why is it that I feel like I have to look good? Especially to classes and lectures where 95% of the people in it don’t know my name?
I can speculate for days on what it is about campus culture that makes me feel better when I’m looking good – is it seeing really cute looks on my peers? Is it articles featuring the best outfits on campus? Is it insecurity and self-esteem issues? Is it just plain internalised misogyny? Who knows – the point is that, it’s a special brand of shit to feel bad about how you look when you shouldn’t need to be worrying it in the first place.
A/N: Don’t assume that I’m giving girls shit for dressing up to go to the library. There’s too much of that already! Girls support girls, and kudos to anyone that wants to wear a hot af dress to the ASS library at 10 am on a Tuesday.