What Sesame Street would never associate with the letter “V”

agina, Vagina, Vagina, Vagina.

There. Get all your giggles out so we can be adults here.

I would have to say that the catalyst of my decision to begin a process of self-identification as a feminist was a class that I took, this past Fall, on Gender, Sex & Sexuality, at McMaster University (taught by Marc A. Ouelette… somebody nominate this guy for some kind of prize). Though I spent every moment of that course, up until the exam, confused , angry at the prof, and in constant struggle with the material, it was the most important and personally, relevant class I’ve ever taken in my undergraduate career; and it has changed my life, shattered my paradigms and has caused me to create for myself new goals and perspectives.

That class taught me a very important thing (though it may sound silly and blatantly obvious). The lesson is the discourse involved in female genitalia — how is it described? Who has the right to it? Who is worthy of permission to it? What is its value in various classes, races and sexualities and genders? As simple as it may seem, but by the guidance of Ouellette, through the course material, I have come to realize, (an experience worth so much more than being told) that my vagina is my own. It is my inherent right. I require absolutely no pass of admission. And I think that is a revelation that needs to meet every woman face to face and then be internalized. The vagina does not belong to the gyno. it does not belong to the GP. It does not belong to the husband. It does not belong to the boyfriend. And it doesn’t belong to the God who supposedly has a penis.

It seems that patriarchy has set the absurd rule that the vagina is the public space of all penis-wielding beings; and the packer who conquers the most vagina wins the game of Risk. It’s reproductive and sexual use is, by default, subject to the ownership and regulation of the father or husband. Furthermore, patriarchy has perpetuated the notion that vaginas are not attached to anything (namely a body with a brain, and a mind, and an intellect, and judgment, and the ability to make decisions regarding all of the above). They’re semen receptacles that happen to come with flighty, chatty, infantile flesh. And it doesn’t help that patriarchy has even put a ranking on these vaginas, ordering them by class and colour: the white upper-class vagina would be much more noble, above the black enslaved one… so there’s much more leeway for any hegemonic colonizing male to use his Master Card (har har) as an all-access pass.

So to all of that, I give a big, angry-black-female “heeeeellll NO!” I have a body, with a mind, with an intellect and judgment, and the capability to make decisions regarding its use, what’s good for it, and the granting of permissions. My vagina is mine. I claim it in the name of me, myself, and I. Even if I’m married: my vagina is mine. Even if I’m dating someone: my vagina is mine. Even if I’m not in the mood: my vagina is mine. Even if I’m a “virgin” or if I have the longest sexual story ever told: my vagina is mine. Even if I’m mentally unstable or disabled: my vagina is mine. Even if I’m drunk or passed out or in a fucking coma; if I’m queer; if I’m black, white or magenta; if I’m pregnant; if I’m living in a posh loft in the trendy bits of downtown Toronto, if I’m a drug-addicted prostitute on Barton street; a politician or a Bedouin woman; even if I’m dressed in a low-cut blouse and a tight skirt: it is mine, mine, all mine!

And if you’ve got a vagina it’s yours too. Or whatever you have, it’s yours (much love to the intersex!) You have the right to know it. It is not unknowable, disgusting, indecent, a secret, or abject space. It belongs to you, doesn’t it? Don’t leave it up to the doctor or the tampon company to champion knowledge of your vagina. Move back in, superintend it and evict the patriarchal moochers. And it applies to the rest of the body too. The owner is the owner. That’s that. There’s no need to circumlocute it’s existence with words like “down-there”. I think that circumlocution of the vagina, or covert, stigmatic language, and religious/classist/racist categories referring to female genitalia is patriarchy’s method of making itself feel better for taking it from its rightful owner.

Damn. And it took me 21 years, four of which being spent in a Catholic school for girls (oh wait, they don’t condone birth control or abortion) to realize that. I thank Dr. Ouellette for creating a stage where this kind of discussion could happen on a university campus, for allowing me to be introduced to my right. I sure didn’t learn it from Christians.

Whoever you are, take the course.

Shaming women into consumerism and portraying men as single-celled organisms

Last night, I was alerted to this advertisement campaign by a post made by a facebook friend. It’s an ad for a diet yogurt sold in Brazil (I call a Code Boycott if you live in Brazil or in any place that sells this product). These ads come in a series of mock-classic celebrity photographs, depicting, I guess, un-skeletal women in these famous poses. In portugese, the caption reads “Forget it. Men’s preference will never change” as if to say that these un-wispy women with actual substance, can only “dream” of being preferred by men who are “realistically” looking for the tight, toned, wasp-waisted, tanned, lifted, implanted and sucked genuine woman. I’ve chosen one of the images to be my header; except, I excised the bloody tumor of a caption along with its, spawn of female-death, yogurt, with my handy PS-CS3, which is ironically used in the fashion industry to ebb away at the “flaws” of their models to present a picture of desire that is more “realistic.” Barf.

I’m all for promoting health and positive body image; however I feel that this new wave of health promotion has gotten to the point where thin is considered to be the standard of healthy; and plumpness signifies laziness, lack of control, stupidity and lack of self-respect. This notion is completely outlandish because if we were to conceptualize every human being in a state of his or her respective ideal health, the body shapes are going to vary widely. Heck, my black ass will always be a little fluffy regardless of how much time I spend on the StairMaster Super Pro Deluxe Infinity 2000. It’s just because I have a black ass. But, if fitness is my priority, I can allow my fluffy black ass to be as fit as it can possibly be, with my lifestyle taken into account: e.g. not binging on ice-cream and cookies for a week during the exam period; doing some running here and there so i won’t have a coronary in the stairwell once i reach the 5th floor of my Jerusalem apartment; drinking water so i won’t be dehydrated and cloudy during lectures; eating my vegetables and wheaties etc… I have a deep loathing of gyms and so I go outside to walk run or just breathe deeply. The fitness mania has got to end. No gym is making a profit from my… I’ll call it “physical individuality.”

Why can’t the captions of these photographs be something along the lines of “Be beautiful in your own skin; not in the protruding appendages of men.” Oh right, because we’re all supposed to fit nicely into the norm of heterosexual, undifferentiated hyperfeminized and hypermasculine categories. According to these ads, the laws of beauty are defined by men, and women are to abide, eager and non-resistant. That, my friends, is a dream. And to that I say “Forget it.” I’m positive that men’s preferences are a helluva lot more variant than what this ad claims. I’m positive that there are also men out there who don’t prefer just women, or any woman at all besides their mom and sister. I don’t know who came up with this rule, in general; and I don’t know from where this ad company was dispensed authority to champion this rule. Another thing of which I’m positive is that women are not always wanting to attract the preferred gaze of men. Ladies be lovin’ the ladies too!

My heart breaks and then burns for the woman who will look at this ad, and think that its an exhaustive case study of her.

Symptoms: Dellusions of beauty, contentment and love within one’s skin, un-skeletal, lack of tightness, flatness and liftedness.
Diagnosis: Beauty Deficieint
Undesirable-itis
Mentally unstable – lack of dissatisfaction with body

Prognosis: A shameful life lived being undesirable to men
Prolonged delusions may lead to liberation, and the shattering of male-constructed beauty.

Prescribed: Steady dose of Fit Light Yogurt will calm delusions and have you serving masculine desire (and the corporate bank account of Fit Light’s maker, Itambé) in no time. If it doesn’t work… well, you’re hopeless… but keep buying the yogurt!

Way to shame women into consumerism and guilt-trip them into making male sexuality their master. And on top of that, way to portray men as socially unable to diverge from the pack, unchanging, undifferentiated.

Here are the ads:

I just find it so interesting that a Brazilian yogurt company had to spoof the film American Beauty and two American celebrities (Sharon Stone and Marylin Monroe) to construct a discourse on the preferred body type.

I saw a photo of a painting on another blog that protests these ads. The painting depicted some elegant plump women with lovely fabrics draped around them. I’d like to leave you by referencing another painting (mainly because I can’t find the original blog and photo! Yeah, I’m sad about that).

Venus Anadyomen
Vecellio (1525)

kinda proves that beauty is fluid, don’t it? To this male artist this is what a desirable woman looks like. Who knows what “beauty” will look like 100 years from now?