GIRLY GIRL

I have recently come to the satisfying conclusion that I am a girly girl not due to gender socialization or gender oppression but by my own nature and volition. I am hesitant to confine myself to any particular schools of feminist thought although I believe in the political, economic, and social substantive equality of women. I am married to the formal equality theory and seduced by cultural feminism. And in the midst of finding my own female identity, I had an epiphany while chatting with a few girlfriends over the recent Times article written by a Harvard professor who stated that men might be genetically more predisposed to hard science. That article raised quite a stir, especially with my friend who wanted to be a geneticist but was never encouraged to do so by her parents. As my girlfriends bonded over feelings of oppression by society and their upbringing, I couldn’t help but wonder, have I been socialized to love pink?

My dad always wanted me to be a scientist. When I was 6 he bought me a chemistry set, when I turned 8 he bought me microscopes and tons of slides with micro-organisms on them. I think I used red dye to make the organisms pink. As a kid I got toys of all “genders” but I preferred my Barbie and not Ken, he wasn’t pretty, especially after the unfortunate incident when I accidentally tore off his head (no, it was not a feminist statement). My parents raised me to believe that I could be anything that I wanted to be (among other professions, my dad also encouraged me to be an astronaut) and it was then I came to the conclusion that: this is just who I am. I like pink. I like frilly skirts. I like men opening doors for me and offering to carry heavy things for me and quite frankly, I never understood women who think that to be degrading. I don’t think any man who has ever opened a door for me believed that I wouldn't be able to figure out how to operate a doorknob on my own. Indeed, I believe many men were chivalrously “helping” me while knowing that I would kick his butt in whatever competition we’re engaged in at the time. Seriously though, why not benefit from all aspects of being a woman? What’s so bad about letting him carry your case files while knowing that he knows that you will rip him to shreds the courtroom?

After 4 ½ years, Chris still opens the car door for me and I see that as a tremendous show of chivalry and respect. I love him for that. The bottom line is: I love being a woman. And as long as I live, I will fight for women’s rights while climbing that success ladder in adorable pink Gucci pumps.