Intimate Encounters: She A Hoe

 

The funny thing is, I wrote an article a few weeks ago titled “Slut-Shaming” and I didn’t send in it because I felt I hadn’t really addressed the issue. But now I’m here and I’ve got plenty to say about it, so let’s get down to business.

 

Ladies, let’s be a unified front. Talking crap about another girl does not make you more attractive in the eyes of men. It does not make you a good person. And I can guarantee it will not make you feel better about yourself. Let’s all admit to something, and feel free to say this out loud or in your head, but acknowledge the truth behind it: SOMETIMES, I AM JEALOUS OF OTHER WOMEN. There, I said it. Don’t get me wrong, I think I’m a good lookin’ gal and I like my wardrobe choices (dining hall brunch homeless outfits excluded), but I feel my green eyed monster flare up every now and then. It usually happens right when I meet someone.

 

Here’s a classic example of my internal dialogue:

 

Ugh, I hate meeting new people.

Shut up. Just be polite.

Oh my god she has gorgeous eyes, did you see that?

Yes, I saw that, I see everything you do. Dumbass.

Her voice is really pretty too.

I know! And that dress looks great on her. I bet we could never pull that off.

How have we never met her before if we have all the same acquaintances?

Because we’re not as popular as you’d like to think we are. Shut up, she’s saying really interesting stuff about Sudan.

You don’t even know where Sudan is.

She’s so much cooler than us.

I know. We hate her. Shit list. Now.

 

If Pain and Panic from the Disney movie “Hercules” were female characters, that’s what my internal voices would sound like. It’s annoying and I wish I could turn them off, but they are the voices that I need to be careful of sometimes. It’s easy to hate on other women. We are all entitled to our opinions. But expressing those opinions isn’t always necessary. We automatically pass judgement on every person we come across. Don’t say you don’t because somewhere in your brain there is a file folder on every person you’ve ever met and what your first impressions were of them. Do yourself a favour and let that file folder go. We’ve all heard the ultra cliché “Don’t judge someone until you’ve walked in their shoes.” But seriously, you have no idea how true that is. If you see a girl wearing a really tight mini dress, downing vodka shots, and flirting with every guy that crosses her path, more power to her! Maybe she just got hired at her dream job (hint hint wink wink, someone give me a job please, I don’t want to live in a cardboard box next year!) and this is how she’s celebrating. Just because you’d celebrate with a low key dinner with friends doesn’t mean that she’s a whore. And while we’re on that subject, can we define some of these terms? Because I feel like a lot of young women don’t really even know what they’re saying when the name-call other people.

 

Whore: a prostitute. Slut: a woman with low standards of cleanliness. It’s only modern context that has turned these words into references of promiscuity. We have made these words what they are today. We also all have double standards. When we do something, or our girlfriends do something, it’s cool because it’s us. When the girls we aren’t friends with do the exact same thing, it’s wrong. Let me give you an example: I hook up with a guy. I flirt with him all night, I leave the bar with him, I take the walk of shame home the next morning. My girlfriends all make a toast to me at boozy brunch that afternoon. I’m on top of the world. The next weekend my hookup is doing that with another girl. I will be the first person to talk shit about her. What I did the previous weekend does not make me a bad person. Judging someone else for doing the exact same thing does make me a bad person.

 

So ladies, I challenge you to come together. You don’t have to stick up for everyone other girl out there, but don’t slut shame her. You have no idea how things might be if the tables were turned.

 

xx, Gemma

 

Have a question you need some advice on? Ask Gemma.

 

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