What does it take to be a feminist?

Can you be a feminist if you want to be a housewife? Can you be a feminist if you shave your legs and love wearing makeup and dressing up and shopping?

The way I define feminism hinges on consciousness and thinking hard about the world, the decisions we make, and why we make them. It doesn’t draw any conclusions about what you should aspire to be or how you should live your life. It’s about having choices and having the world actually open to you (regardless of race and class and sexuality, too!). It’s about thinking critically about everything.

I think it’s a pretty feminist thing to do to raise kids with feminist ideals and be taught to question power and question social norms. It’s probably the most feminist thing you can do. Anybody who says that isn’t a feminist decision isn’t thinking very hard about the movement surviving and growing.

In my Angela Davis seminar (!), we briefly discussed the label of feminism. Professor Davis basically said it shouldn’t matter how you define – if someone is doing feminist work but is averse to the label, it doesn’t matter, as long as the work is getting done. And someone who goes around calling herself a feminist (like Sarah Palin?) and isn’t doing anything to actually further feminist causes shouldn’t really matter.

My feminism isn’t about high-power executives and making money and being in “male dominated occupations.” It’s about a critique of that power structure – that’s why I don’t think I’d call Hillary Clinton a feminist – she is still operating with a patriarchal, capitalist, imperialist agenda. Having women in power doesn’t mean feminism is winning.

Either way, who the fuck am I to judge who “gets” to be a feminist in the first place? Agh. Discuss.

My jaw just literally dropped when I saw this.

Thoughts? How am I supposed to feel or react?

I’ve been trying to piece together my feelings on body hair for a while. Obviously, I think it’s great. I shouldn’t have to spend money or time just to be “feminine” if indeed female is what I am. If I’m a woman, why shouldn’t my womanly, hairy legs and underarms be considered “womanly?” (I’m only realizing now how complicated and cis-central these ideas are. I will think about this more.)

I tried to write a piece for Medusa about my body hair. At first, I came off as really self-conscious. The piece was defiant, but it was upfront about being uncomfortable with my body the way I have chosen to keep it. I wrote that I shouldn’t be made to feel like that, but I was clear that I indeed felt insecure. When I revised it, I turned completely around. I made it snarky and in-your-face about how fucked up it is that women DO shave their legs. I questioned how feminists are trying to distance themselves from the image of the “hairy-legged, bra-burning man-hater.” Those words have become such a mantra for contemporary feminists to dispel! We took badass photos for the spread in the magazine, and I bared my legs and underarms all around my campus on a sunny day. It was liberating, but mostly, it was terrifying.

How could this be? I had just written this whole piece about how I shouldn’t feel insecure about body hair, but I still couldn’t fully put it into practice. So I tried harder. I thought harder about the words I had written and how I could better internalize them.

When we were editing the Medusa spreads, a girl saw my photo, and immediately exclaimed “eeewww!!” A girl on the Medusa staff, mind you. I told her to read my piece before I got really angry, and she did – and she said she understood it. And she apologized for being grossed out, even if she would still never consider abstaining from shaving.

In the end, I made one of those hairy pics my Facebook profile pic today. And my heart was racing the whole time. I keep comparing this feeling to coming out of the closet (this might be the closest I’ll come to that feeling, even though I know its really an unfair comparison). I feel liberated and strong and independent – I feel like I’m truly standing up for what I know is right, without fear, without shame.

But I’m also scared. I’m scared that being this eccentric will turn people away – gross people out. I’m afraid of the conversations people might have when they see that picture. I’m afraid people will think I’m dirty and smelly. I’m afraid that I’ll never have a boyfriend again because I know that being who I am is inherently undesirable to many men.

But then I remember! (Thanks to everyone who “liked” the default within the first few minutes), I remember that I’m not eccentric or weird. And I remember that not shaving shouldn’t be a radical act. I shouldn’t feel like I need to make hairypits my profile pic just to feel complete – These conventions are in place to keep women down and make us insecure. And I remember that I’m fighting those conventions by not shaving – and I need to continue fighting them by not being ashamed of not shaving.

And yeah – I remember that any man that doesn’t want me – everything about me – my hairy legs, my hairy pits, my feminist ideals, my outspoken personality – probably wouldn’t make a very good boyfriend. Or a very good human. And I remember that I don’t want those men either.

Sometimes feminists (and non-feminists!) tell me stop making a big deal – hair is just hair!, they say. I shouldn’t feel anything over this issue; I shouldn’t even think about these decisions if I’m making them. But that’s just not how it is. I’m feeling these things because of outside forces – societal norms and structures and institutions that have told us forever that girls aren’t hairy. When those go away, I won’t have shame about body hair, and I wont feel compelled to talk about this all the time. But they won’t go away until I talk about it.

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(all photos © Elina Berzins)