1985, starting my career. At the time I was secretary for a laboratory/pathlogy department in a hospital. The 60-something doctor tossed a fit when I came to work in nice slacks. He didn’t tell me, but told my male supervisor ("What’s she here for, to play baseball?") who apologetically mentioned it and said while wearing a dress wasn’t mandatory, it’d please the old coot. I was very young and from a strict religious background wherein my mother had us in dresses for every church service. So I complied, went out and bought 6 dresses which I couldn’t afford.

How times have changed. If it were me today, I’d show up again for work for Dr. Sexist tomorrow in slacks.

The comments relative to dress codes for women in the 60s is striking, and I thank God every day I never again have to wear heels if I choose not to.  (I’m 56 and working as a full-time writer from home, so that boat done sailed a long time ago.)

My first experience with superiors dictating my dress occurred on the second day of eighth grade in 1967, when the pricipal sent me home because my skirt was too short (a female teacher reported me).  Then in 1969, when I was a sophomore in high school, I was again sent home for wearing jeans, which I knew were prohibited.  But I wanted to make a statement, and make it I did.  I was rewarded with an unexcused absence (which I also received for attending my grandfather’s funeral a few weeks later), and two days’ detention.

So it went,until I landed a job as a reporter for a small daily in Nevada, where (of all places) I was allowed to wear whatever I damn well pleased.  (My boss was a woman, and often wore slacks and white tennis shoes to work.) I thought I’d made it until moving to a suburb of Washington, DC, and landing a job in the District.  The walk from the Metro to my office was a good five blocks, and I often donned Nikes to endure the trek.  Imagine my astonishment when a female reporter for the Washington Post wrote that the "look" was nothing short of gag-worthy; that we women ought to suck it up, because looking good trumped feeling good, and what was a little suffering in the name of fashion?

As I sit here at home, typing this note in walking shorts and crop sox, I am willing to say that even a little suffering is too much.  My bunions can no longer take it.  

Renee thank you for showing the difference between rural living and living and working in the city.  Shows how some things never change.  I love the differences we have shared here.  I felt compelled to make a comment about Two classes of women.  That is so old hat.  Please give us a break.  We, women, are the only one who can and do put ourselves in classes; but much of how we act is a reaction to comments from men.  How can you accuse women who have become household names of leaving other women behind.  I have never blamed anyone but myself for where I stood in the working world.  We are responsible for what we achieve or don’t achieve in life.  We have come far and the future is looking bright.  There are many countries that don’t look at which gender can do a better job.  That is what we fought for in the 60’s to be allowed to learn the type of job that interested us and we won.  A woman finally has the chance to repair a car or sew a dress.  No longer do we have to be "Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen".  Unfortunately not all the world has caught up with us there are still places where women aren’t allowed to get a basic education this is where we lead by example and I am proud to do so.  Women and men are equals; the differene is in people; we all have strengths and weaknesses.  The trick is to build your path and reach your goals.

I think there is still a long way to go until true gender equality is achieved, especially when I look at the WNBA and see more male coaches than female coaches, and no female coaches at all in the NBA.

-Nikki-

What I DO not get is why women are so afraid of the word "feminist."  I know that the usual reason women give is that the word invites too many unfortunate connotations.  <!—break—>But what is the matter with us (those of us who refuse to characterize ourselves as feminists, at any rate) that—rather than taking control, and clarifying or updating its meaning, and turning it to our own (good) purposes—we instead allow its negative associations to control our use of it…and the positive sense of self-identification it potentially offers us?

Why have we abandoned this perfectly good way of thinking about—and describing—what is so important to us?

If we were all willing to (re)claim this term (redefining it in the process), think what a sense of self-determination this implies!  (It is not unlike reminding people to use "ms." rather than"miss" or "mrs."—unless, of course, one chooses to be defined by one’s marital status…and choice is entirely where it’s at, where "real" feminism is concerned.)

what does it mean to be a feminist?  well, I suppose it’s somewhat different for each of us…but in general, I suspect we could all agree that it entails a commitment to equal rights (as well as access, pay, and treatment) for women (which is nothing more or less than clarifying what "human rights"); respect for a woman’s right and responsibility to make her life choices for herself—whatever they are; and the right to make her own decisions about her body—and her reproductive life.  Additionally, I think the term "feminist" implies a positive commitment to helping to advance these defining rights—to fight for them.

Who among us does not believe in this?   Why have we allowed "them" to define feminism in a way that makes many reasonable women shy from the term?  And why do we continue to collude in this co-option?

Courage, sisters!  Stand up for what you believe in!  Own it!

two things to comment on:

Firstly, the western idea that women  are "delicate" is just that – a western idea. almost everywhere else, in the world, the biological trait which make women capable of certain tasks have led to women carrying the lion’s share of work.

We can stand sustained pain better, are better at regulating our body temp (until menopause), and have greater endurance. Examples can be found from hunter gatherers on Borneo, where men sit around until it’s time to hunt, while women farm, seek out additional food plant and fetch water; to agrarian societies in Africa, where men sit under trees talking while their wives grow cash crops and take them to market to sell; to the modern middle east, when women work in the fields in full black burqas, while men drink tea in the shade, all 30˚C (90˚F) weather. 

Second point, what about the sanitary napkin (pads) and the tampon as revolutionary products? the average woman will have many more periods than pregnancies in her life. how could we work or study outside the home without them?

While we’re at it, i vote midol as being revolutionary as well!  

I see Belinda Joy’s excellent points and raise you two bits. She says, ""…there are still women today living as if they were stuck in 1960. " I agree, and take it farther. Women have gone backwards. 

My high school English teacher in 1970 brought up the topic of world overpopulation, and told us that world population was 3.6 billion. I have been extremely conscious of the issue ever since, and heard and read it being discussed a lot then. Now, I read of a "mother of two" - who added her little carbon footprints to feed to the total - complaining about urban sprawl, "growth", congestion, traffic, housing shortages, the high cost of housing and food, more pavement, loss of habitat and farmland, water quality, sewage, pollution, crime, overcrowding in schools and cities - and never even mention the word "overpopulation". Duh.

Belinda Joy also says, "So what is the answer? I say it is because (as is the case with some other issues) we are content in accepting the status quo." Exactly! Something racist goes down; we get public outcry and million-man marches. Something sexist goes down, do we get women squeaking, "Oh, I don’t mind"? Do we get - silence? Do we get - nothing? Where is the million-woman march?

Women *still* write to online discussions, "I’m not a feminist, but…". But what? But I need to grow a spine? But I want my rights and to hell with other women? If you’re not a feminist, and you call women who *are* feminists loaded, connotative names, then how the hell did you get the notion that you have any rights? Shut up, raise your babies like you’re supposed to, and quit asking for support.

Oklahoma recently required women who got an abortion to publish the details online. They didn’t require this for people who heart bypasses, to serve as an example of poor eating habits. It violates privacy rights; it violates HIPAA. It is aimed at one medical procedure, one only women have. It is transparently the act of hatred and attempts to control women. 

These kinds of things happen with so little outrage, it outrages me.

I just wrote about how I received a letter of acceptance to do a Master’s in Social Work at New York University.  The letter praised my B.A. in Romance Languages and Creative Writing, my being in Phi Beta Kappa and having a degree from the Sorbonne.  But when I went in for my personal interview the interviewer was shocked to see that I was 8 months pregnant.  He told me right away I would not be accepted.

I told them my baby would be born before school started and my husband was a writer who worked at home and would care for the baby while I worked.  I told him I had managed to be 4th in my class at the Sorbonne even though all the classes were in French.  They still refused to accept me.  Those were the days.  I enjoyed caring for my son and my husband more than I would have liked social work.  And at home I began writing and now have ten books for sale at Amazon.com.  So I forgive NYU and assume they are a little more accepting today.

I’m so happy Gail and others (as Maureen Dowd did re: nuns in the Catholic church) are writing about this again.  Here’s a piece I wrote a couple of years ago that hopefully will put a smile on your feminist faces ;o)

THE OTHER “F” WORD: 

By:  Ilona Saari

            You don’t know me from Eve, but I am now and always have been a member of the feminist party.  That’s not to say I don’t like men, some of my best friends are men, even my husband, and I don’t make this pronouncement to be arrogant or “uppity.”  It’s just who I am. 

            Recently I was on the treadmill (the fitness kind, not the one we’re on every day), off in my own zone, listening to Mary J. Blige through my headphones, while leafing through the latest “Bazaar,” when a woman I knew jumped onto the adjoining treadmill.  She’s one of those women who, when asked “Hi, how are you?” actually tells you—- non-stop.  As she warmed up by walking faster than I run at top speed, I recklessly opened the door for conversation by saying “Hi, how are you?”  She instantly picked up her pace and started telling me.

            As she ran her own private 10K, she plunged into her incredible story of survival in a corporate world of sexual harassment and gender backbiting (without the slightest strain in her breathing, thank you very much) and how she was forging headlong into the future ready to fight for her rightful place in the world.

A half-hour later she finished and I was awestruck.       

In tribute to all she had overcome and all she planned to do, I called her a true                                                

“feminist,” naively assuming she would take it as the compliment I meant it to be.  Instead, she nearly leaped off the treadmill as she emphatically stated, “I’M NOT A FEMINIST!”

            I was so stunned by her reaction, I started to jog.

            As my shock wore off and I returned to my more reasonable pace, I asked her why.  Her answer was simple:  “I don’t want to alienate anybody.”  For the second time in my life, mere moments apart, I had an overwhelming urge to become a sprinter.  I couldn’t believe what she was saying!  After all the progress she had made, all the plans she had for the future, she was ready to give it all back!  I mean really, who could she possibly be afraid of alienating?   The people who didn’t want to hire, promote or pay her equally because she had “X” chromosomes?  Not likely.

            So what was it about that word that triggered such a response —- that makes too many of us cringe when we’re accused of being one, as if it were the ultimate insult?  Why has “feminism” become the other “F” word?  The mostly male media’s years of portraying feminists (f/k/a “women’s libbers”) as bossy, man hating mantises?  No doubt.  The growing backlash against independent women who keep moving up the corporate ranks?  Probably.  But, maybe… just maybe, openly feminist females, like myself, are partially to blame.  Maybe, just maybe, in our enthusiasm for equality, we forgot our common sense and lost our sense of humor.

            Before I married, I dated a guy I cared about, but he wasn’t willing to make a commitment… or is that redundant?  He insisted on the option of dating other women.  Saturday nights were mine, but the rest of the week was open to interpretation.  I was young and foolish, so I agreed.  After dating about six months, he inquired (I use “inquire” because he did… he was an attorney) why he always paid for our theater tickets, dinners, whatever.  As a self-proclaimed “feminist,” didn’t I want to pay my fair share?  I told him no (I was a feminist, not foolish), and explained that feminism had nothing to do with who paid for dinner.  Why should I pick up a tab for someone who wanted to use the money he saved on me to wine and dine the first bimbo who said yes to Tuesday?  Made sense to me.  Okay, maybe she wasn’t a bimbo, but you get the point.

            I really couldn’t blame him —- we had confused the poor guy, and ultimately alienated ourselves, with all that 50/50 rhetoric.  Nothing in life is 50/50.

            So maybe it’s time to soften our image —- to put a new spin on things —- to put “feminine” back into feminist.  No, I’m not talking crinolines and ruffles (though black lace garters have their uses)… But, if a man wants to open a door for us —- hey, why strain?  And, if some swain (don’t you just love that word?) wants to lay his coat over a puddle so your feet stay dry, smile first —- then step on it!