Comic-Con: How to Avoid Waiting in Lines

It's pretty easy to avoid waiting in lines at Comic-Con. Just pick panels with titles like "All Shapes and Sizes Welcome: Body Image and Women's Issues in the Entertainment Industry." I'm being tongue-in-cheek, but it is true we didn't have to wait in line to attend this panel, whereas we had to wait an hour to attend "What's New with Magic: The Gathering." And even that was nothing compared to the hardcore Comic-Con attendees who wait overnight to get into Hall H.

I wanted to attend the body image and women's issues panel because Brendan and I are interested in these things and I hoped the panel would offer some interesting new insights. I was overall disappointed with the panel. I felt like the panelists were too easily sidetracked by irrelevant points, case in point when panelist Adrianne Curry went off on a weird tirade about gay fashion designers. However, it did raise some good questions and when I further researched some of the panelists, I came to the conclusion that they are interesting and insightful women who are doing something really admirable simply by having a panel like this. The important thing that they're doing, and what I want to do, is raise a dialogue.

One of the panelists, Helenna Santos-Levy, talked about a debate she got into with her mother that was sparked by high heels. Her mom compared high heels to foot binding, but the panelist argued that she liked them. They made her feel sexy.

So my question whenever I hear that high heels or makeup or A, B, or C other thing that women wear or do to alter their bodies in some way, is why? Why does something that hurts, or that is annoyingly time-consuming to apply, make us feel sexy? It turned out Helenna Santos-Levy had already written a whole blog post of her own about this on her website (which I recommend checking out) Ms. In The Biz, titled Sex Pots, Strippers, and Lady Parts...Oh My!

In this blog, she asks, "Why do 3 inch heels that are hell to walk in or even stand in for that matter, make me feel sexy and powerful?" Her answer is simple: "Well, we still live in a male dominated culture."

Yes. And I would add that we live in an advertising dominated culture.These things combined wreak havoc not just on women's body image, but on our collective society's body image.

I spent my teenage years wanting little more than to be beautiful and have a boyfriend. I bought teen fashion and beauty magazines and read books about how to apply makeup. By the time I was in my twenties,  I habitually wore makeup. Nothing too crazy. Just a little foundation, pressed powder, a touch of eyeliner, and some mascara. But eventually I realized something: "It was dictating my self-worth." I'm quoting another great Ms. In The Biz blog by Holly Elissa, titled My Social Experiment: Cosmetics and Women's Worth. She came to that conclusion about the makeup she wore, and the blog is about how she went to a Hollywood event with no makeup on.

When I came to that conclusion, it was in large part because a smart man who eventually became my husband asked me why. Why did I wear makeup? Why did I shave? The surface answer was that it made me feel attractive. But why did it make me feel attractive? Why didn't I feel attractive just as I was?

There's a quote I love, love, love from Crimethinc. Ex-Workers' Collective. "Beauty must be defined as what we are, or else the concept itself is our enemy."

I stopped wearing makeup and shaving when I realized I didn't have a good answer for why shaving and wearing makeup made me feel more attractive. I didn't like the answer I realized was true, which was that I'd bought into the lies advertisers and society were feeding me. That I needed to "enhance" my face. That hairless skin is normal and hair is gross. That society's idea of beauty is some sort of attainable ideal that I should be striving towards.

Fuck that.

I often have to remind myself of that quote. I am still affected by advertising. I don't wear tank tops as often as I probably would if I shaved my pits. But then I go to the hairy pits club on Tumblr and read cool blogs like this one and I'm reminded that I'm not the only one trying to rebel against societal pressures.

I feel like this is where I often see disclaimers on other blogs that the authors are not judging other people who choose to do A, B, or C that the author is talking about. And I get that. I don't want to judge, either. We're all figuring this shit out as we go along. But I do want to question, and I want you to question. You shave? Ok. But why do shave? Why did you start shaving in the first place? I started because of my older sister, which I wrote about here. Do you think you would still want to shave if you weren't inundated by advertisements featuring beautiful hairless people? What about makeup? Hell, let's talk bras. Why do you wear one? You may come to different conclusions than I did. That's cool. Let's talk about it. I'd love to know why.

It's been a process, training myself not to see my armpit hair as gross and to not feel unattractive without makeup. But I think it's totally worth it. I want to live as if society were the way I want it to be. I want to contribute to changing the norm.

*It has just been pointed out to me that it's hard to see links in my blog. I've changed the color scheme a bit so hopefully that won't be a problem anymore, but just in case you missed them, here's a list of all the links provided in this blog post:

• Helenna Santos-Levy's personal website: http://www.helennasantoslevy.com/
• Ms. In The Biz: http://msinthebiz.com/
• Helenna Santos Levy's blog post Sex Pots, Strippers, and Lady Part...Oh My!: http://msinthebiz.com/2013/05/30/sex-pots-strippers-lady-parts/
• Holly Elissa's blog post My Social Experiment: Cosmetics and Women's Worth: http://msinthebiz.com/2013/07/19/my-social-experiment-cosmetics-and-womens-worth/
• Brendan Weinhold's IMDB page: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm4590148/
• Crimethinc. Ex-Workers' Collective: http://www.crimethinc.com/
• hairy pits club on Tumblr: http://hairypitsclub.tumblr.com/
• An awesome blog post about a woman's decision to stop shaving: http://deconstructioncrafts.com/2012/05/10/why-i-stopped-shaving/?blogsub=confirming#blog_subscription-2
• My article about why I stopped shaving: http://stina-ann.hubpages.com/hub/Im-Done-Shaving-For-GoodI-think

Feminism on street corners, Part 2

After rereading my last blog post, I realized a couple things I should have made clearer. One, the post was inspired by this blog in The Guardian by Jinan Younis. Jinan Younis is a teenager in England and the blog post is titled "What happened when I started a feminist society at school." It's a good article, and what happened to her and her classmates is horrifying. Read it. Be informed.

Two, this incident where the guy said "See you, baby" to me was not an anomaly. I'd estimate that I get some kind of comment, whistle, or hoot a couple times a week, usually when I'm bicycling, sometimes when I'm walking or taking public transit.

My friend Sebastian left an interesting comment on my previous post. Two of his female friends regularly deal with men they pass on the street telling them to smile. Sebastian lives in Magdeburg, Germany, and was our neighbor when we lived there for a year from 2009-2010. I recall this same thing occasionally happening to me during that time. It's wrapped in a less obvious package than a whistle or hoot, but it's still a man objectifying a woman. By not smiling, the woman is not fitting the man's fantasy Jinan Younis talks about in her blog, so he's trying to rectify that. 

I've mentioned that I like making people feel good. One way I've traditionally done this is by smiling at people when I pass them in the street. Lately I've felt like I've been hollered at by men less frequently than in the past, and I wondered why. I realized that I've stopped making eye contact and smiling at people as often as I used to.

This pisses me off. I should not have to stop smiling in order to stop receiving sexist comments. And no woman should have to start smiling in order to fit a man's image of what she should be.

My friend Kashena also left a good comment on my previous post. My favorite part: "Point is - even if it's uncomfortable, even if you feel like you're doing it 'wrong' - say something, because it's unlikely too many others will."

The other day at work I was carrying a largeish ladder. I had just finished cleaning port glass windows (I work at a movie theatre) and was going to put the ladder away. A young male co-worker saw me and said, "You shouldn't be carrying that! You need a man" and came running to my "rescue." I said "No, thanks, I'm doing just fine" and continued on my way. He insisted. I insisted. We awkwardly carried the ladder together the rest of the way down the hallway.

With my own desires to be more outspoken and Kashena's words of wisdom in mind, when my co-worker said "You're the reason chivalry is dead!" I responded with something along the lines of, "You know, I do have a problem with chivalry. I have a problem with the idea that men can do something and women can't. What I would be fine with, however, is if you saw me carrying this ladder and said, 'Hey, that looks heavy, can I help you with it?'" He responded, "That's the same thing!" I said, "No, it's not. That's a co-worker helping a co-worker. Please remember that for next time, and thank you for your help."

I'll keep on carrying ladders and I'll probably continue to keep my guard up when I travel to and from work. It makes me angry that my smile is viewed as an invitation, but you know, if my lack of a smile helps to shatter some guy's fantasy that I'm just a pretty face, I guess that's one way I can communicate with total strangers on the street.

Feminism on street corners

I was bicycling home from the Hollywood Fringe Festival the other day and I stopped at a red light. There were a guy and a gal pedestrian waiting at the crosswalk. They appeared to be together. The light turned green and as I was taking off, the man looked at me and said "See you, baby."

A torrent of profanity-laced thoughts shouted through my lead, the gist being: Why the fuck are you talking to me? Am I your fucking baby? And if that woman with you is someone you whisper "baby" to in the middle of the night, then why the fuck are you looking at/talking to me? And just, why? Who do you think you are and who do you think I am?

I wanted to shout those things in his face. I would probably never actually do that. But what if I did? I imagine the response would be something like what happened to Jinan Younis when she responded to a group of men sexually harassing her and her friends. The men got pissed. As she says, "For those men we were just legs, breasts and pretty faces. Speaking up shattered their fantasy, and they responded violently to my voice."

How is a feminist to respond to the passing "hey baby"? Is there a way to respond that would promote healthy dialogue with the perpetrator? Usually I'm tempted to flip off the offending party and I don't do even that, but instead just ignore them and continue along my way. I don't feel it's my job to educate every jackass on the street, and I don't want to be met with violence. 

But I do want to teach the masses that it's not okay to objectify women. 

What a bold statement. Really, if I'm honest, I want the masses to be taught, and I'd like to lend my voice...but I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing. I'm afraid I'll sound stupid. I'm afraid I won't have an adequate response if I meet with opposition. I'm afraid of offending people or making them feel bad. 

That last one is huge for me. I'm "nice." I get told how nice I am all the time. And I court that opinion by always being helpful, always listening, never offending. And a big part of me is happy to be this way. I like making people feel good. I feel like it's a small way I help make the world a better place. (Aren't I sanctimonious? Of course it strokes my ego to be told I'm nice. Whatever. I'm human.) But sometimes the person on the receiving end of my listening ear says something like, "Well of course we women expect men to treat to us to fancy dinners--do they know how much effort it takes to look like this?"

Too often I let it slide. I don't know exactly how to respond, so I just offer a "huh." In my head, "huh" means "I disagree with what you're saying but don't know how to phrase it or am afraid of offending you or making you feel bad for what you just said." I think in other people's heads "huh" is taken as affirmation of whatever they're saying. So I should probably work on that if I want to be a part of this dialogue. 

I guess that's why I'm writing this. 

I want to promote open and healthy dialogue about all the shit women face. I want to talk about body image and being a minimum wage worker and armpit hair and how to respond to undesired compliments and all kinds of fucked up and wonderful shit. 

So let's do this.

A few things I love about Los Angeles...

...as told through a mini photo diary entry. 

Dear Diary,

You know what's super cool? We live in a city where there are things most people consider "destinations." Like The Ellen DeGeneres show, and Universal Studios. We bought a day and got year passes, and that actually makes sense for us!

There's this cool thing called CicLAvia, where miles of streets are closed to vehicle traffic and open to pedestrian and bicycle traffic. Brendan and I rode Venice Boulevard all the way to the ocean, along with all these other bicyclists! 

The ocean.

Sometimes I see people I recognize and I'm like, where do I know that person from? Then I'm like, BECAUSE THEY'RE FAMOUS. Like Stephnie Weir, who was performing an improv set at the same time Brendan was performing an improv set during the LA Improv Comedy Festival at iO West.  

I've been watching the flower grow out of this plant for the past, oh, six months or so. It finally started blooming about a month ago, and it just continues its slow roll. How neat is that?

Love,
Stina

Auto Vs Bicycle

I got hit by a car when riding my bike home from work Thursday night. And what with the way the planets collide, or align, or whatever, it just so happened that I got hit by a car shortly after losing my helmet. And that happened because I accepted a ride from a friend one night when I really should have just ridden my bike home. Ah, choices.

That scary sounding fracture is just my cheekbone, which will heal on its own. Now that a few days have passed since the accident, the broken cheekbone is probably the most annoying of my injuries, because it means I can't chew as thoroughly as I like to. And if there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I like to chew (Interesting Stina Fact #1).

I went for a little bike ride today, the first one since I got hit. At first I was going to walk to the store, then I realized part of the reason I was going to walk was because I was a little bit askeered to ride my bike. So I decided to ride my bike. Brendan and I both got new helmets yesterday, so my tender noggin was protected, have no fear.

As I was riding, I thought about how accidents really suck. You can be doing everything right, riding safely, with headlight and taillight flashing, not running a single red light like all those other bicyclists you see, and out of the blue you get hit. And you can't even remember anything about it to know whether or not you could have done anything to avoid it.

I don't know who called 911. I don't know if someone had to pull me off the road or if I was able to move myself. The first thing I remember is a state of semi-consciousness in the ambulance. I was totally disoriented. Had no idea what day it was or what I had been doing or what was happening. An EMT asked me if I'd been drinking. (I hadn't. Remember? I was on my way home from work.)

By the time I was in the hospital, I remembered it was Thursday night/Friday morning and that I had been on my way home from work and that I had better call Brendan ASAP because he was probably freaking out. They scanned my head and X-rayed my arm (it's not broken) and I puked and worried about my glasses (they came through unscathed!). And then I got to go home and I spent the next two days sleeping. And now I'm mostly okay. I'm even picking at my scabs, that's how okay I am (okay, was picking at my scabs--I'm a good girl and I stopped because Brendan got really grossed out).

Moral of the story: Auto wins, but in a totally jerky way, so I'll still vote bicycle every time.