CONFESSION FROM A REPENTANT FEMINIST

Please forgive me, for I have sinned. Though I always try to be true to my values and keep walking on the genderbending rainbow path, I am just a humble sinner in a world full of societal pressure, gender expectations and Bic pens “For Her”.

In the hopes of being forgiven by Thau, the feminist Holiness, I will confess my major sins in this act of sincere feminist contrition:

♀ I wax my mustache. I tried to let it grow after a careless 3-week trip, but the fear of rejection and losing my “mainstream attractiveness” pushed me to wax it again. I was ashamed of sitting too close to people and afraid of scratching my friends while kissing. I had pictured myself as a powerful 21st century Frida Kahlo, with intense red lips ornamented by pitch black facial hair, but I couldn’t dare to go through with it.

♀ I subconsciously expect less from male friends, and don’t begrudge them when they forget my birthday, say something inappropriate, or generally misbehave. Sometimes I even blame testosterone for their douchebaggery and pretend I didn’t hear the unnecessary comments. The phrase “Boys will be boys” has taken a toll on me, that’s for sure.

♀ I listen to Lana del Rey. I’ve always tried to justify it with some pseudo-intelectual hipster arguments, but the truth is that I cannot help it. Give me dreamy landscapes, endless fake eyelashes, and floral headdresses, and I could reject the messianic spirit of Simone de Beauvoir.

♀ I feel fat too often. Fat is a state of mind, and a not very feminist one either.

♀ I just smile when my relatives say things that are horribly sexist. On the inside, I burn with hatred and detestation while I pray for my DNA to be completely different from theirs.

♀ I always dodge “boyfriend” and “relationship status” questions when asked by my mom’s friends with vague and unlikely answers about how “I don’t have the time for that kind of thing” or, even better, “I have a lot of friends but nothing special”. That actually means that I rather have them thinking that I am slutty and misanthropic than gay. Food for thought.

♀ I am up-to-date on celebrity gossip, and therefore the negativity it comprises: Basically every kind of female body shaming, propagation of unrealistic gender expectations, and lots of heterosexual tackiness.

♀ I assume too much based on appearance. This is sad, because it is EXACTLY what I criticize most. And then I’m surprised when my preassumptions about someone are not correct. Like when I met my current girlfriend, who happens to be a tomboy, I just assumed she had the biggest dildo collection (guess what, she didn’t). Or when I asked these two beautiful roommates which of them slept in the living room (surprise, no one). Those kinds of things.

♀ I get turned on by sexist porn clichés. This makes me feel kind of guilty and says a lot about my poor tastes.

♀ I watch movies that don’t pass the Bechdel Test and I read books that are misogynistic in some ways. Even when I’m aware of the damaging femininity stereotypes that some of my favorite writers use, I still can’t help but enjoy their stories.

♀ I believe in romance, although this is on my own terms. I spend a lot of time analyzing love and romantic relationships from a gender perspective; I think marriage is a terrorist institution, and I really hate Valentine’s Day, but I am addicted to falling in love. I love being in love and I find myself sad and lonely when I am not.

 

Please dear Lady, help me save my feminist soul and absolve my gender-biased offenses. For your servant knows that I have sinned. Hereby I commit to my assigned penance, i. e. watch 3 Judith Butler lectures on Youtube, re-read the Contrasexual Manifesto, and marvel at the beauty of my cellulite. I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to try to sin no more and to avoid the near moments of sin. Femen.

 

Words by Lo Pecado

Illustration by Judy Mièl

 

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