I Love Dick. And also… I’m a feminist

Dear mom and dad, 

Before you call me on WhatsApp to discuss the potential threat that the title of this blog entry might pose to my social status and career future, let me first clarify that I Love Dick is the title of a book, a really good one by the way, and the one responsible for allowing me to state, without fear of being judged, that I am in fact, a feminist. 

Feminism

noun  

fem·i·nism  \ ˈfe-mə-ˌni-zəm \

1 : the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes

2 : organized activity on behalf of women's rights and interests

Equal

adjective

ˈiːkw(ə)l/

1. a person or thing that is the same as another in status or quality.

I like to believe I’m not the only woman in the world afraid to proclaim herself a feminist. Whenever the topic would emerge at social gatherings or even across social media, an irrational fear of being judged usually took over me. The fear that if I was brave enough to muster the word feminist out loud, every person around me would instantly look at me with a bit of disdain and misunderstanding.

But after reading this book I realized that by silencing my view on the matter I was perpetuating the very thing feminism has been historically trying to eradicate: subordination and repression. I was silencing my own thoughts to avoid being witnessed as the type of girl that entire generations have tried to demonize: a girl with enough self-respect to actually stand up for her worth, a woman insane enough to question the status quo. 

I’ve always disliked how we, as humans, find it necessary to label things, to lock people and emotions into designated boxes. I feel sorry for the fact that if a woman is reckless enough to express her desire to be conceived as an equal by the society that made her feel inferior, she is labeled as crazy, desperate, comical, or what’s even worse… a feminist. 

If we look at the way societies have functioned we would encounter that history has been an incessant emergence of imagined hierarchies: the hierarchy of race in America, the hierarchy of castes in India, and also the hierarchy of gender… unfortunately, a hierarchy present in all human societies. 

The viability of this hierarchy has traditionally been endorsed by the argument that if men are better equipped to open jars, then they are consequently, and without a doubt, better equipped to not only run entire companies and nations but to be the masters and rulers of their future. Their muscularity has historically been their ticket to their entitlement. 

When in fact, both genders, both men and women, regardless of their muscle mass percentage, when equipped with the right tools (hint: education) are just as competent in their abilities to vote, speak, lead, imagine, create, desire, dream, own… the list could truly go on forever. We are both equally deserving of our seat at the table. We want to be heard, we want to be taken seriously. But more than a matter of wanting, it’s a matter of deserving. We, as humans, regardless of the singularities of our reproductive system, deserve to be the owners of our individuality. It’s not rocket science, it’s the basis of our existence…our collective existence. 

Being declared a feminist is simply a way of labeling the historical struggle of a minority to prove the worthiness of their equality (funny how we have to prove something so evident). It’s just the term that has been coined to refer to the collective efforts of half the world’s population to be granted the place they deserve. But if this label is what it takes to actually be heard…then so be it: I Am A Feminist. 

“If wisdom's silence then it's time to play the fool.” 

― Chris Kraus, I Love Dick

Sincerely yours, 

Natalia