Disclaimer: This blog post is mostly tongue-in-cheek with some valid observations thrown in for good measure. Body parts are mentioned, as is sexuality and… sex. Having said all this, beer-swilling, farting and having a gutter mind also feature heavily so please take this blog with laughter (hopefully) and an entire ocean of salt. The Dead Sea should just about cover it.
A blog post from one of my lovely followers, Rose (what do you mean, “I’ve never read her blog”? This is something that you must rectify post-haste!) has got me thinking today.
Femininity. What exactly is it?
The above image (not mine and I’m not sure which website to credit other than Google) is what the majority of us seem to call to mind when we think of the term “feminine”. A cutesey girly girl with a perfect smile and clear complexion, usually with a figure to rival that of Doris Day or Audrey Hepburn (Or, if you’re a curvy girl, Marilyn Monroe). In other words, young, healthy, curvy and almost impossibly pretty.
A feminine girl is supposed to love make-up, high heels and dresses. She is not supposed to drink beer, play with engines, burp, fart or leave the house without looking less than perfect.
Except that I, along with many other women who are “feminine” in appearance, do all of those things and more. I don’t care if I break a nail; it rarely occurs to me to remove my body hair; I’m a complete sci-fi nerd with the ability to “keep up with the lads” when discussing Star Trek, Captain Scarlet, Firefly, Doctor Who et al.
Mills and Boon can eat my stripey socks – if there’s no explicit sex or even a hint of porn I’m not interested. I want romance books that turn me on. Just like I want a romance film to turn me on. I hate films that make sex scenes sickeningly chaste and dull to watch because “naughty bits” are not, in fact, naughty bits. They’re just… well, they’re just there aren’t they? Part of the human body. Female actors get to show their boobs, but where are the willies dammit? Seriously, gimme willies – I’m not the sheltered little delicate creature who still thinks that sex is a dirty word and that babies are delivered by the stork.
Am I less feminine for wanting to see sex, boobs and willies in my films? I don’t think so, as my figure indicates that there is absolutely nothing male about me (seriously people; I could have somebody’s eye out with “the girls” if I turn around too quickly). I simply happen to like sex, and I find both men and women attractive. Shouldn’t the beauty of the “naughty” bits be celebrated as opposed to being hidden? Christopher Eccleston let it all hang out in Lennon Naked and – believe me – that man in all his naked glory is beautiful with a capital B. Why hide the beauty of the human form where it exists?
Then you have people like one of my female relatives (relationship witheld for privacy reasons). Androgynous in appearance – quite deliberately so – and, I suspect, asexual. She is definitely not a lesbian but she doesn’t seem to feel physical attraction at all. To her, relationships are an inconvenience and she’s about as interested in men as I am in watching paint dry. In other words, she and I are polar opposites of each other – but she is no less feminine than I am.
A “feminine” woman apparently likes to be wooed, but when it comes to matters of the heart I don’t understand the point in holding off if it’s something that both parties (or more parties, if applicable) want. I do not like to be chased and I am very much the seductress. I always have been. Men like to be swept off their feet and onto their backs too, and I never did have the time for all of that silly flirty coyness. I sounded out my husband for a mutual attraction, found one and quite literally jumped his bones one night. It’s the way I roll (or did; quite obviously I have no need of that now – although I will, of course, still jump his bones when the mood strikes).
I am female. My body says I am. However, I do not skip around gardens in cute blouses and short shorts. I do not have perfect, hair free legs. I fart freely and laugh about it, I love motorsports and rugby, fingernails are Somebody Else’s Problem because I couldn’t be less bothered about them and I am in charge when it comes to seduction.
I am a messy eater, a messy cook and generally just messy. I like “boy’s” toys and “boy’s” shows, real ale and not conforming to “girlyism”. The Weapons Of Mass Distraction are free floating unless a bra is necessary because I refuse to constrain anything about my gender to conform to ridiculously impossible standards. I am not a demure little lady, never was and never will be.
Ladies, forget about pleasing the public. Love being you, and two fingers to anybody who dares to disapprove of your rebellious, nonconformist, carefree attitude. Prim and proper is, frankly, duller than dishwater. Be yourself, be free; love, laugh, live.
And never be embarrassed when you fart.