I’m Not Walking, and I Want To Tell You Why: SlutWalk 2012

I’m not walking in SlutWalk 2012 Toronto tonight, and it’s not just because I’m out of the province.

I am not a person who is always politically moved, and for the most part I’m pretty live and let live. I’m happy to see people standing up for what they believe in. Normally, if I don’t agree with an issue or if I simply am unmoved by a statement I will ignore it or express my non-support by simply not participating. However, the SlutWalk movement is not one I can get behind, and now that it is an annual event, it is not one that I want to disagree with silently.

My opinion may be an unpopular one, but for what it’s worth, here it is. My reasons for speaking out against the Walk are as follows:

1.  I dislike the word “slut” and it is not a word that I feel I need or want to reclaim. I would argue that I am a fairly liberated woman. In the context of SlutWalk, I would argue that I wear what I want to, when I want to and that I have sex where and when I want to with partners of my choosing and I have had more casual flings and one night stands than relationships. I live my life to my own standards, and I don’t apologize for my choices, “promiscuous” or otherwise.  I suppose I qualify then, but I don’t feel like that requires a label.

I do not feel “oppressed” by “slut shaming” because I am not ashamed. To me, that is what it means to take ownership of my decisions.

2.   In response to the statements on the SlutWalk Facebook page, event page, and the statements of supporters:

“My body is not an insult.”

Duh. Of course it isn’t.

“Because not being assaulted is not a luxury.”

I’m being picky, but this doesn’t actually make sense, it’s a weird double negative. What they mean is that it is my right not to be assaulted. This is a valid statement. One I believe in. But again, that this right is associated with my right to be a “slut,” in my opinion, detracts from the importance of the statement.

“Because I should be able to wear whatever I want, wherever I want, whenever I want, without fear.”

I agree, in a perfect world there would be no consequences and I would practice this philosophy, but we do not live in an Edenic society. We cannot live completely without fear simply because there are things to be afraid of.

I recently watched a television show reflecting on various SlutWalk events in the past year. In the show a neighbourhood was terrorized by a serial rapist. The responses of some of the activists in the episode were similar to the statement above. I know that this was a fictional account and I want my recognition of that to be clear. However, I also know that this fictionalized sentiment is echoed by people in my own life. I don’t disagree with the statement, but there is a point where you have to take personal safety into account. It doesn’t mean you should lock yourself away, but if I knew that there was a serial rapist in my neighbourhood I would exercise some kind of extra caution. At a certain point (and I do not presume define where that point is), we all have to take some amount of responsibility for our own safety. Should I feel unsafe walking alone through the city at night? Should I feel/be unsafe taking the alley shortcut home? No. I shouldn’t, but the reality is that it can be unsafe and somewhere on the line, risks need to be calculated.

Finally, I think that this is another statement that detracts from a very real issue. One of the mandates of the SlutWalk is to reduce victim blaming. Because a victim is dressed a certain way or acts a certain way in their personal life does not mean that they “asked for it” to any degree. I agree. I think victim blaming is a big problem. It is an important topic to take issue with, but I don’t see this statement doing it. It draws attention to clothing again, not to the important point that in the messed up mind of an attacker any clothing and any behaviour could be interpreted as “slutty.” No one can predict the way other people’s minds interpret information and what is “slutty” to one may not be “slutty” to another. And then there’s the whole matter of degree.

3.   SlutWalk seems to support and embolden “traditional” ideas about gender and, in fact, seems to perpetuate the idea that marginalized groups are more sympathetic victims. Victims, like victimizers, come in all shapes and sizes, yet I feel that SlutWalk implies that women are the victims and men the victimizers. I am aware that the organizers have invited ALL people to participate and show support, but I also feel that it then takes the position that “sluttiness” is outwardly apparent. I very much doubt that. In fact, I will be so bold as to say that I know it to be untrue.

I would like to conclude by saying that I support the issue taken with the original statement that sparked the SlutWalk movement. The police officer who said “women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized” is an idiot. As I have already stated, people get attacked for all sorts of reasons and attackers make all sorts of justifications. What are the degrees of “sluttiness”? Why is it about what I’m wearing? You never know what triggers an attacker and to say that some arbitrary degree of “sluttiness” is to blame is stupid, but I think that this point has actually become buried by the Walk and its statement that the word “slut” needs to be reclaimed. We do not need to reclaim the word, we need to make corrections to the way the public, specifically individuals like the above police officer, perceive victims and we need to educate the public about the psychology of victimizers.

Finally, I’m not writing this post to lash out, or put down anyone who does support SlutWalk, and it is not my intention to offend or undermine. My intention is to speak up because, as a card-carrying feminist “slut,” I cannot support this movement. I’m not going to ask you to stop walking, but I will not.

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Because you can’t have too much Bill Cosby…

…not ever.

The man is hilarious. The biggest television hit of the 80′s, Bill gave us eight years of solid gold.  The man is a friggin’ genius.

 

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Once Upon a Time…

…we made an astronaut out of model magic, learned how to create stop-motion videos on Macs, and this is what happened.

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It’s been a while…

…it’s been since October 22 to be precise. Too long. Besides moving and not having resembled an Olsen twin for a while, I started grad school. Big mistake. Huge. (Just kidding, but beware: it is the time suck you they told you it would be.) I miss blogging, even if only two people ever read it (Thanks Mom!). It feels productive somehow. I intend to start posting again, more frequently. I haven’t been to any great new places recently and I don’t have any crazy holiday stories to share, but I have some stuff saved up.

Here’s to 2012.

 

 

 

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To you who formerly was mine,

Did you know, my dear, that from the future we look back on each other fondly and with kindness? I am comforted that kindness replaces bitterness eventually. I wasn’t sure before and I was worried. Before I knew, I thought maybe hate lasted forever and that I might never be able to drink tea or liquor from my blue teapot again. I really like that blue teapot and I would be heartbroken to give it up– to pass it on in a garage sale or get rid of it altogether.

To know that kindness will exist between us makes riding my bike and thinking of you less painful. It also, probably makes me less likely to get hit by a car. I ride fewer bike lanes without you. You always said I had a dangerous heart. I said I liked adventure. I don’t wear a helmet anymore either.

I remember once I asked you to think of me and when I asked what you thought of when you thought of me, you looked at me like maybe I was stupid and you said,You, of course. You never asked which thing reminded me of you and if you had (in case your future, kinder self would like to know) I would have instantly answered: gym socks. I can’t tell you why, but I know instinctively that gym socks was the right answer.

I wasn’t very sorry to see you go but I am sorry that you are gone. I haven’t reached that mark yet, where the kindness creeps in, but my blue teapot lies in wait. I will drink to you eventually– you have (you must have) changed my life.

Formerly,

Yours

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Good Underwear, Comfortable Pants

            “Is that what I think it is?” Malcolm asked.

“Dunno,” Jenny answered.

“Well what do you think it is?”

Jenny dug her hands into the pockets of her overalls and shrugged her shoulders, “Dunno.”

“Should we show your mom?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“Cuz I said so, that’s why.”

“But your mom’s really smart.”

“Yah I know but I just don’t want to.”

“How come?”

“Cuz I said so, so shut up.”

Malcolm looked at the ground and tapped the thing lightly with his foot.

“Doooon’t!” Jenny grabbed Malcolm by the shoulder and pulled so hard he stumbled backward. “Don’t touch. You’re not supposed to touch stuff!”

“How come?”

“Cuz you’re just not. Don’t you know that? Didn’t your mom tell you?”

Malcolm looked at the ground, his cheeks grew hot.

“Sorry.” Jenny shoved her hands deeper into her the pockets of her overalls. She shifted her weight.

Malcolm took a breath and looked up. “How do people lose their underwear anyway?”

“I don’t know.”

“In the middle of the field too.”

“I don’t know. They weren’t here before.”

Two days earlier Jenny sat cross-legged with Malcolm in the middle of Miller’s Field. The field was two acres of long yellow grass twice the height of the children when they sat. Malcolm and Jenny were hidden from the world. Abigail Rockman’s underpants were also hidden from the world.

* * *

“This is never going to work. I’m not going,” Abigail Rockman shouted walking up the stairs from her basement room.

            “What on earth are you talking about? You haaaave to go!!” Danielle said from the second floor. “Jack is for sure coming tonight and he haaaas to see you in that dress!”

“If he sees me in this dress with these underwear he will turn the other way.”

“Abby, shut up. You know that dress is hot…”

Abigail stood beside Danielle in the bathroom mirror.

“…but you may not wear them with those underpants. Spanx my friend, that is how you gotta swing it.”

“I cannot wear spanx, Dani,” Abigail said. “I will never get laid in spanx. Besides, I did not go all the way to the Water Street to pay American prices so that they could ship red lace VICTORIA SECRET to CANADA to wear SPANX!!”

“I get it, I get it you want to look hot .”

“I know but my paunch makes me look at like a thousand pounds fatter in this dress. Aaaaah!” Abigail whined, “I’m supposed to wear good underweeeeeaaaarrrr!”

* * *

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So long…

As a parting gesture I will leave you, Toronto, with this… There is more to be said for the neighbourhoods north of Bloor than I have previously been willing to admit. Before I left, boxes stacked high in the living room, I took what turned into a late night walk  across (not up…) Dupont between Dundas and Ossington and I will concede that by sticking to Bloor and the east-west portion of Dundas, I’ve been missing out.

First of all there is June Harlowe, a cute restaurant full of charm that I’ve never eaten at and only walked by after close, that I secretly think would be a great place for a small wedding reception. Go there, it’s beautiful and the menu looks delicious.  I will when I come back for Christmas.

Walk a little further east and you’ll find a Portuguese cafe open late, even on Sunday, where they’ll make  you the best Americano I’ve ever had.

Keep walking. Now you’re just west of Dupont and Lansdowne. Across the street from Boulderz, where I made my short-lived career as a rock climber, you will find Boo Radley’s, a local bar with the right kind of heart. The hipsters haven’t found it yet and the street-side patio is lovely. We went there on my second last night in the city, AKA Steak Dinner Night, AKA $12.99 Steak Dinner Night. AKA #wishihadntwaiteduntiliwasleavingtofindthisbar. Go there. On any night. There is always a special and you might just luck into Ribs and Wings special night.

Life is good north of Bloor and I’m sorry it took me so long to admit it. I’ll be back at Christmas.

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