Being a Girl

Being Girl A Sociological Memoir My start-off memory of kindergarten was this dozens of tiny, petrified 5-year-olds universe dropped off at their first day of school, and dozens of exhausted, overworked mothers consoling their cry sons and daughters. I remember it vividly because, despite the terror and chaos, a single thought pervaded my mind, the thought that these mas atomic number 18 non as pretty as my mom. I wasnt entirely biased, either. By North American standards of beauty, I was correct. Here was my mother, a rail-thin, blonde-haired, blue-eyed statuesque stunner, among a sea of frumpy women with visible wrinkles and tangles of raw hair.And here I was, the daughter of this perfect specimen, the proud owner of a mother who was more female, more womanly, and therefore, I naively deduced, a better mother. In fact, although my vocabulary was middling limited at the time, I believed her to be the epitome of every finish(predicate) mothers. She looked, I told her that morning, bid a mom was supposed to look. In interviewing my mother, she said that this was my first brush with what it meant to be a daughter. Throughout kindergarten, I was label weird. I dug for worms, collected Pokemon cards (which was deemed a boyish activity), and n one and only(a) of my friends were girls.My teacher, a fresh woman who had just recently graduated from university, was often concerned for me, and thought that my lack of female friends would be detrimental to my developing of social skills, so she would often encourage the popular girls in the class to complicate me in their recess activities. They did as they were told, and despite my hesitation, I jumped rope with them at recess, while still managing to depend with the boys for petty periods of time. Fin twainy, one day, the girls gave me an ultimatum us or them.If I wanted to be an official member of their golf club (This was serious business they had membership cards do out of construction paper) , I had to mete out up the toy trucks and the rambunctious boys. With the encouragement of my teacher, I severed ties with the boys. Although I missed them, I quickly knowing that being a girl was better anyways. App arntly, girls were altogetherowed to wear makeup and dresses and boys had cooties and never similarlyk baths and didnt I like being clean? I suppose I liked being clean, plainly what I genuinely liked was being accepted by this particular group of popular girls.I suppressed my love of all things dirty, all things that were labeled boy, and developed a superficial affinity for all things typically girly, in an attempt to fit comfortably into this group. I skipped rope at recess, I choreographed dances, and I authorized a ballerina outfit from my parents at Christmas that I absolutely adored. Being a girl was not very hard. It came with a list of instructions. Do this, talk like this, wear this, and you are a girl. It was less(prenominal) of an innate instinct than it was a learned act. I wasnt born with an eyelash curler in hand, rather, it was handed down to me by a girl older than myself.The torch of femininity was passed down from contemporaries to generation until it finally landed in my dirt-stained lap. In 9th grade, in a fit of rebellion against my mother, who I fought with often around this time, I pare my hair short. Not just short, I cut my hair boy short, a look my mother wasnt too fond of, which, naturally, made me envy and admire it more, because nothing is as satisfying as a mothers disapproval when you are a rebellious teenager. When I returned to school the Monday following my haircut, however, I didnt get the positive answer I had anticipated.No, the minute I walked into my first period class, the official bully of the grade, a tall, unattractive fellow, asked me if I had find a dyke, and insisted on calling me dykey for the remainder of the day. The strange behavior of my classmates didnt unwrap there. Girls I only ca sually talked to began avoiding me, which I learned while interviewing a friend from that time was because they were persuade I was trying to hit on them. Boys treated me differently as well. According to this same friend, it was because they believed I was gay.Not lesbian, because, for them, the word lesbian conjured up images of attractive girls drunkenly kissing at a hold party, but gay. Gay as in homosexual, gay as in fag. I didnt understand why a simple haircut had drastically changed my classmates opinions of me. Sure, I dressed a bit boyish, as I wasnt fond of dresses and found skirts to be uncomfortable, but that was all a matter of taste, not sexuality. Wasnt it? Besides, I wasnt gay. I had a boyfriend at the time. I quickly learned that being gay had little to do with who you liked, and more to do with what you did.The last straw, the event that acted as a catalyst, the one that prompted me to aline to what it meant to be a girl, occurred the day I accompanied my sister to our last schools uniform shop to buy her a blazer. My hair was still cropped short at the time. I wore long, baggy jeans, no makeup, and an oversized band t-shirt. Upon walk of life up to the cash register, the lady behind the counter turned to my sister and blurted out, innocently, Oh, is this your brother? I was too embarrassed to correct her, and instead gazed at her awkwardly until she realized her mistake.After a moment of tense silence, it dawned on her. Oh haha, silly me, I meant sister, she swallowed nervously, embarrassed. I honestly didnt really mind being confused for a boy, but this lady was intent on defending my womanly honor. Im really, really sorry. You know, when I was young, I had short hair for while, and tons of people thought I was a boy. It was so embarrassing. Surprisingly, her short anecdote did not make me feel better. According to her, being confused for a boy was this horribly embarrassing ordeal that she carried with her all her life.She apologiz ed profusely for the mixup, and continued to do so throughout the school year, whenever I happened to stop by the uniform shop. Through her, I learned that not adhering to strict sexual activity rules on how one should dress caused embarrassment and humiliation, and I therefore shouldve been profoundly humiliated when the mixup occurred. When future incidents similar to this one occurred (I was confused for a boy a second time in a restaurant a few months later), I knew that I should be ashamed of myself. I had utterly failed at being feminine, so frequently so that I might as well read been a boy.Oh the horror. The fear of not being girly enough grew more intense with every snide remark and homophobic slur, and I presently found myself staying home on weekends, retreating to my room, my fortress, playing video games while my peers downed copious amounts of alcohol and partied, for the few months it took my hair, the symbolization of my femininity, the only thing that different iated me from a boy, to grow back. Once it did, I was quickly re-accepted into my group of peers. I was a girl, I looked like a girl, and I acted like a girl, and this seemed to please them. I knew my issue, so to speak. sexuality Roles and Sexuality While sexual urge has both biological and neurological components, my personal experiences with sexual urge have allowed me to see sex activity as more of a social construct. In terms of sexual urge, Im a believer in behaviorism, the psychology that emphasizes socialization over biology in creating gender identity. In my experiences, for the most part, gender was not a naturally occurring phenomenon, it was taught. My experiences mostly relate to feminist postmodernism, which, out of all the categories of feminism in relation to gender, emphasizes the influence of social constructs the most.Queer Theory, a methodology within postmodernism that was introduced by prof Judith Butler in her book sex Trouble, also relates to my experi ences. The theory states that gender identity is not created by biology, but by gender performance. She argues that individuals are not distinctly male or female. male person and female were opposites on a spectrum, and most people fell somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, but acted more male or female depending on the situation. Growing up, I displayed different characteristics that were specific to both males and females.I was quiet, a characteristic ordinarily attributed to girls, and I was tough I occasionally picked fights, a characteristic usually attributed to boys. Butlers theory that people act exclusively male or female to accommodate to gender expectation is completely relatable. In order to be a girl, I had to give up my other half. In my above narrative, I mentioned that, to be part of the popular girls posse, I had to sever ties with the boys. In this situation, I was either a girl or a boy, and I had to choose which one I wanted to be.I ultimately chose girl, a lthough I would have much preferred if I could maintain both my male and female characteristics and qualities. Queer Theory also states that gender performances are restricted by sanctions (Steckley, Letts 360). We avoid acting out (or performing) in ways that conflict with gender norms because we want to avoid negative sanctions. In my experiences, negative sanctions imposed by my peers (including overt forms of bullying, being labelled a dyke, and being rejected) fostered in me a deep-seated fear of ostracism, and I learned to conform to gender norms and roles in order to gain acceptance among my lassmates. I believe the ideology of fag absolutely sums up my aforementioned experiences. The ideology of fag is a set of beliefs which dictates that if you violate a gender role, you must(prenominal) be gay (Stekley, Letts 360). Prior to my ostracism, the word gay, to me, was a neutral word. It alone referred to homosexuality. However, in high school, gay became an accusation, a threa t. Being a lesbo or a dyke was something immoral. It was an insult hurled at me with the lowest contempt.It became the most powerful sanction, the one that I believe played the biggest role in my gender socialization. My classmates made it clear that a dyke was something that I didnt want to be, and therefore, to eliminate any traces of lesbian-ness, I had to become a girl. If I was gay because I violated gender roles, because I dressed like boys and enjoyed activities that boys typically enjoyed, then all I needed to do to not be gay was to stop violating these gender roles.Gayness, in essence, was in no way related to who you were sexually attracted to it referred to the violation of gender norms. Acting aggressive, initiating fights and being obnoxious meant that a girl was a lesbian. A passive, nurturing, sensitive boy was gay. This relates to Ann Oakleys concept of gender and gender roles. Gender roles are sets of expectations concerning behavior and attitudes that relate to b eing male or female (Steckley, Letts 354). Gender roles, their enforcement, and the severity of the consequences doled out to those who reject them differ across cultures and societies.In my classroom, in my pseudo-society, there was no room for androgyny. Gender roles were rigidly enforced, and anyone who strayed from them was ridiculed and marginalized. Boys who did not assert themselves, or boys who ventured into the category of subordinate masculinity, as opposed to complicit or hegemonic, were routinely beaten, demeaned and humiliated until they manned up, hid their homosexuality (in most cases, however, they were not gay, simply too sensitive) and participated in complicit masculine practices.Girls who did not act typically feminine, sensitive and unabashedly girlish were marginalized as well, and although they did not brook to the same extent that the marginalized boys did, and were not subjected to beatings, they nevertheless were severely pressured into assuming a traditio nal female gender role. Today, my hair is longer. It is blonde at times, brown at times, it is often black, but it is never short. My uniform consists of tights, boxers and skirts.I have worn pants approximately 3 times this semester, and on each occasion it was because I was running late. I never leave the house without at least some form of makeup. I justify my sudden change in taste by reassuring myself that I have simply grown up. Ive navigated away from my boyish nature in the same way that I navigated away from cartoons and cheeseburgers It followed the natural order of things. However, despite my reassurances, the real reason behind my change is not meet more mature.The truth is, Im scared. Ive been socialized into this gender role and I know that scrutiny is awaiting me if I ever choose to leave it. I fear breaking gender norms and being subjected to negative sanctions in the same way I fear dark alleys at night. It is a rational fear, in that it protects me from being ost racized and it satisfies a very basic human need the need to be accepted. Work Cited Steckley, J. , and Kirby Letts, G. (2010). Elements of Sociology. Oxford University Press Canada.