Blog Post 6: Bras not Boobs

Miss Representation is not jarring because any of the information is new or surprising, on the contrary it’s impossible to do more than walk down the street without being bombarded by billboards of naked women eating hamburgers and, often embarrassing, displays of camouflage bedecked machismo. Miss Representation is jarring simply because of its sheer volume of information. Sure, most of us outside of places where it’s still acceptable to burn crosses know women are given the short end of the social justice stick, and most of us know, in theory, that there’s a lot of sexism in the media. However, to be confronted with all of it all at once sort of puts it into sharp relief and gives it a more tangible scope. There’s just so much.

I’ve always had an interest in social issues, and being a woman myself, feminism in particular has been very close to me and my experience of being a female in a male dominated society. I like to think of myself as a person who is aware of the inequality that permeates our world, someone privy to all the prejudice all around. While I know on some level that there’s a lot of nonsense that surrounds being a girl, it’s still sort of painful to be reminded of just how much nonsense I have to wade through to simply exist. Even ostensibly female spaces are tailored to males and after standing in Victoria’s Secret, surrounded by material selling boobs and not the bras those boobs are supposed to go into, I have to wonder, why are we marketing utilitarian beige bras to dudes? More importantly, why do I feel uncomfortable in a space supposedly tailored to me? 

Miss Representation was nothing new for me, but it was still a harsh reminder, and it’s easy to feel overwhelmed under the weight of closing a gap so massive it’s literally older than the country we live in. I’m supposed to feel empowered, filled with righteous fury over the plethora of injustices heaped upon my gender, but mostly I’m just tired. I’m the dead horse being beaten with the narrow concept of femininity and advertisements telling me I’m ugly and should do something about it. It’s almost immobilizing, how much there is to be done, but I still have hope, and I’ll still keep fighting the good fight. Because if I don’t, I’ll never get that bra without the softcore porn, and I really, really, want that bra.