Where Feminism Failed

I consider myself a really good feminist - Not to brag, but I wrote what has been called "a classic feminist fairy tale," The Princess Who Stood on Her Own Two Feet.  I founded a chapter of NOW in my little town in the early '70s.  I spoke to the Kiwanis, on the radio, to a committee in the Ohio House about sexist language, I did seminars on sexist language.  And so on.  And overall, I'm disappointed in what it has led to.

I certainly don't mean I'm disappointed in the expanded opportunities we got for women.  When I was in school, there were no girls' or womens' sports, except gymnastics, an occasional diver. By the time my daughter was in high school, she could be and was on a mixed swim team.  There is talk now of accepting women into training that would let them lead infantry into combat, no different than men.  I think the statistics look good for a lot of things that were once taboo, and there are more women in technical and scientific fields.  Single women can have babies or adopt them, and raise them.  Without being married, ever.

But what I see around me is that in a pervasive general way, women have failed to get it.  It goes like this:  If you are cute and silly and talk with a little lisp and go around the office in 5-inch heels with cleavage showing, people are not going to give you the respect they automatically give a man.  You'll have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously.

You could blame Dr. Lisa Cuddy on House for this.  I am a great fan of House and Hugh Laurie, in particular, and I watch it.  But I never fail to shake my head and mutter at Dr. Cuddy's clothes.  Skirts that fit like a snake's skin.  Boobs falling out of her top.  Stiletto heels.  No. I don't believe it. You just don't become Dean of Medicine dressing like that. But then, a doctor can't go around looking like Gregory House, either.  A woman who had ambition would figure that out.  Her mentor would tell her.

Ladies, wake up.  If you present yourself as an eternally young and cute sex object, you will not be admired for your mind or your competency.  You can't do it both ways at once.  You can run around dressed to incite lust on the weekends, maybe, depending on how much you run across your boss.  But in the world of work, dress to be respected.  I deeply believe that women who respect themselves can still find love. I know it.

Below, how a successful doctor looks in real life. 

This is Dr. Nancy Snyderman with some guy (okay, it's Jeffrey Immelt, CEO of General Electric).  Notice that she, in fact, looks a little more professional than him, with her pearls. I guess a CEO can get away with not wearing a tie these days.  Dr. Nancy often appears on the NBC nightly news, well-spoken, knowledgeable, attractive, feminine, but not cute or sexy.

Maybe Dr. Nancy once read Dress for Success.  Following on the feminism of the 60s and 70s, there was a vogue for women wearing suits and nice blouses with bows or silk ties. I still have a couple of those ties, too nice to get rid of, though they don't go very well with yoga pants and tennis shoes - I'm old, that's different.

In closing, an illustrative example.  Some time ago a mature woman joined my church.  Right away people started dropping her name as someone who could be on the board, things like that.  As I explored it a little I found that she'd never done anything in the church.  Anything.  Why did people think she was competent?  I'm convinced it's because she always wore a suit or tailored jacket, and they were nice clothes, too.  She looked professional.  As long as she didn't open her mouth, nobody would ever suspect otherwise.

I know, the world shouldn't work that way.  Wouldn't it be nice if nobody judged each other on our looks and how we dress?  Yes.  If I ever find that utopia, I'll be sure to let you know.

The Princess Who Stood on Her Own Two Feet

Long, long ago Ms. Magazine published a fairy tale I wrote called "The Princess Who Stood on Her Own Two Feet." It was a sort of map, the way myths are, of how to grow and find our way in the adult world, and has become known as a classic feminist fairy tale. I am humbled to see tonight that it gets more hits on Google than I do. I know it is published (sometimes pirated) and studied around the world. I love to think of it being read in South Africa and China by young women who really need a new myth to help them stand up to their cultures' demands. I love that a woman in the Netherlands wrote her thesis about it. Having written this story relieves me, I hope, of the duty to accomplish anything else. I am about to turn 67. I'd like to be the Princess who finally retired.


Feet seem central to my story, which has taken another turn in age. All day today I kept thinking happily, "I am on my own two feet!" The Constant Reader knows I have struggled with bone problems since January. But last week I graduated from physical therapy, saw the caring young doctor for the last time, no followup needed.

I am in my new Nike's and orthotics, and can't remember when I had to take a Tylenol for pain. I can go places, I can take a mixed media art class at the rec center because I can drive there and walk through a big building without worrying about my ankles. I can cook dinner. I am getting back in condition from a pitiably sedentary state, up to 15 minutes on the Nustep now. Yesterday I loaded the van with the bags of recycle and cardboard boxes that piled up in the garage all winter, drove it to the plaza, unloaded everything in the small rain. Doing this felt like liberation. I was totally happy.

I have at times thought how much I needed to learn the story I wrote, how hard it's been time and again to know when to stand up for myself. Today it seems like I have gone beyond that struggle. But growing up is just prelude to more growing up. You don't get to relax for long before life presents a new challenge. I feel like I need a new and different story to express what I have been through this year, what we all go through if we live to an old age. The new story would feature a girl who maybe keeps falling, who gets very discouraged, but gets back up. It reminds me of the samurai saying, "Six times down, seven times up," which means to me that all you ever have to do is get up one more time.