bookblather (
bookblather) wrote in
rainbowfic2013-08-24 01:01 pm
Summertime Blues 11: Beauty
Author: Kat
Title: Beauty
Story: In the Heart
Colors: Summertime blues 11 (Without respite, without cause.)
Supplies and Materials: Fingerpainting (screw first person, I will be so glad to be done with this freaking color), pastels (give and take), glitter (this picture), chalk (this woman kinda looks like a doll to me), novelty beads (makeup).
Word Count: 432
Rating: PG
Summary: Is there anything I'd trade my beauty for?
Warnings: overt sexism, sexist slurs.
Notes: Isana asked Gina on the Lint Roller, "Is there anything you'd exchange your beauty for?"
Is there anything I'd trade my beauty for?
Try, is there anything I wouldn't trade it for.
Well, that's a little much, maybe. I don't mean to imply that being beautiful is a curse. Most of the time, it simply is, and sometimes—I know that beautiful women get the benefit of the doubt more often than less good-looking women do. I know it helps me get ahead, one more leg up in what's essentially a man's world still. It's just... it's exhausting.
People feel that you belong to them, because you're beautiful. I've been yelled at by complete strangers just because I wasn't made up to their satisfaction, or because they thought some part of me was detracting from my overall looks. No, sir, I'm not wearing this necklace because it makes me look prettier, I'm wearing it because I like it. No, ma'am, I'm not wearing pajama pants to make fun of you, I'm wearing them because it's our lazy Saturday in and I'm just running to the store for some milk.
It can be worse than that. When I go out with Ivy or my friends, men (and women, but they're much rarer) will come up to me, pretend they know me, hit on me, give me cheesy pickup lines. Most of them take no for an answer, only muttering "bitch" or "slut" when they turn away. Some of them say it to my face. Some of them get mad.
I don't belong to them. I don't belong to anyone but myself, and maybe to Ivy, if she ever wants that. I dress the way I do, wear the makeup that I do, because I want to, not for anyone else's pleasure. Why is that so hard for people to comprehend?
To a certain extent, this is the price of being a woman. I know that my friends get it too—people question Danny's haircut and Ivy's clothes. They tell Olivia she needs to lose weight, and Summer that she needs to smile. Being female means that other people try to own you, to control you. I know that. I feel, perhaps incorrectly, that being beautiful means you get it worse. I know it means that sometimes, most of the time, beautiful is all you are.
I'd trade my beauty for the chance to be seen as something else; intelligent, or compassionate, or competent. Even more, I'd trade it for the right to belong to myself and no one else, for all women to have that right unquestioned and unchallenged.
It's exhausting. That's all I really meant to say.
Title: Beauty
Story: In the Heart
Colors: Summertime blues 11 (Without respite, without cause.)
Supplies and Materials: Fingerpainting (screw first person, I will be so glad to be done with this freaking color), pastels (give and take), glitter (this picture), chalk (this woman kinda looks like a doll to me), novelty beads (makeup).
Word Count: 432
Rating: PG
Summary: Is there anything I'd trade my beauty for?
Warnings: overt sexism, sexist slurs.
Notes: Isana asked Gina on the Lint Roller, "Is there anything you'd exchange your beauty for?"
Is there anything I'd trade my beauty for?
Try, is there anything I wouldn't trade it for.
Well, that's a little much, maybe. I don't mean to imply that being beautiful is a curse. Most of the time, it simply is, and sometimes—I know that beautiful women get the benefit of the doubt more often than less good-looking women do. I know it helps me get ahead, one more leg up in what's essentially a man's world still. It's just... it's exhausting.
People feel that you belong to them, because you're beautiful. I've been yelled at by complete strangers just because I wasn't made up to their satisfaction, or because they thought some part of me was detracting from my overall looks. No, sir, I'm not wearing this necklace because it makes me look prettier, I'm wearing it because I like it. No, ma'am, I'm not wearing pajama pants to make fun of you, I'm wearing them because it's our lazy Saturday in and I'm just running to the store for some milk.
It can be worse than that. When I go out with Ivy or my friends, men (and women, but they're much rarer) will come up to me, pretend they know me, hit on me, give me cheesy pickup lines. Most of them take no for an answer, only muttering "bitch" or "slut" when they turn away. Some of them say it to my face. Some of them get mad.
I don't belong to them. I don't belong to anyone but myself, and maybe to Ivy, if she ever wants that. I dress the way I do, wear the makeup that I do, because I want to, not for anyone else's pleasure. Why is that so hard for people to comprehend?
To a certain extent, this is the price of being a woman. I know that my friends get it too—people question Danny's haircut and Ivy's clothes. They tell Olivia she needs to lose weight, and Summer that she needs to smile. Being female means that other people try to own you, to control you. I know that. I feel, perhaps incorrectly, that being beautiful means you get it worse. I know it means that sometimes, most of the time, beautiful is all you are.
I'd trade my beauty for the chance to be seen as something else; intelligent, or compassionate, or competent. Even more, I'd trade it for the right to belong to myself and no one else, for all women to have that right unquestioned and unchallenged.
It's exhausting. That's all I really meant to say.

no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Yes...
Re: Yes...
no subject
no subject
Thanks!
no subject
It is exactly what it needs to be. Especially the part about pajama pants.
(Office monkeys should be allowed to wear those to work every day.)
no subject
Thank you!