A Crazy, Ranting Woman

My phone lights up just as I reach for it to change the song. It's him again. A man who I have never met in person; one who found me through my academic interests via (completely verified and well-regulated) Facebook discussion groups. The messages aren't threatening or offensive, they're just annoying. I'd looked through his profile when he added me, and I accepted his friend request because he seemed to be a fellow Ecolinguist who was doing his PhD in topics which are relevant to my own studies. Now I am receiving persistent messages. Over the past 24 hours, he's sent everything from motivational quotes to sob stories, all the while asking questions about my academic discipline to try to provoke a response. Maybe he's just being friendly, but I'd wager that that isn't the case.

I roll my eyes to myself, hit 'block' for the hundredth time in my life and, unfalteringly, tap the music app so I can change the song.

……..

If you're a female and you're reading this, I know you've become all too accustomed to things like that, too. Maybe you're reminded of the guy who used to pick on you in Biology but suddenly wants to talk because 'you're fit now' (this is not a supposition, it literally happened to me); perhaps you're remembering the old work colleague who had a girlfriend at the time but is newly single and trying his luck, or the message request from the complete stranger.

I would like to state that in this post I exclusively discuss young women because clearly that is the social demographic that I represent, though I appreciate that certain dimensions of these issues also affect men.

As young women, we have grown under the cloud of our online presence. In fact, it has grown with us, eclipsing truths about our physical bodies, our social lives and our ever-changing place in society. We struggle to read between the lines of others' Instagram highlight reel. We compare ourselves to augmented curves and over-saturated images of the-one-thing-that-girl-did-that-week. Facebook is not innocent, but Instagram is the real villain.

Under the pressure of our society, we get to work on the production of our very own highlight reel. I started doing it on 19th January 2012, Instagram tells me. Perhaps two or three times a week (any more than that is deemed excessive, any less is 'boring') I publish my very favourite photographs, edited to perfection. I was 16 in 2012, but I know that Instagram is riddled with girls who are far younger. Heartbreakingly, children are feeling this pressure earlier and earlier. 

Travel more. You need wide hips and a fat ass. Get a cute dog, go on more nights out, exercise more, get a skinnier waist. You need bigger tits, bigger lashes, a bigger car. Instagram is a breeding ground for ruthless capitalism, a dog-eat-dog attitude and ultimately, feelings of inadequacy and depression.

But we know this, don't we? We just choose to play the game anyway. But I digress. Instagram is not the sole focus of this discussion, I just get aggravated when I think about its effect on all of our mental health.

September 2013

Social media provides yet another platform on which women can be objectified and harassed. When I was 15, a boy in my class told me he'd wanked over my profile picture. When I was 17, someone sent me a picture of their penis on Snapchat even though I'd never asked for it. Every fucking time I reject or ignore a man online, he turns turn nasty, telling me I'm ugly or a bitch or a slag. In spite of this, I know that so many other girls deal with exactly the same thing. I've seen the screenshots. Yet somehow, we consider ourselves lucky. We shrug and say that some women are physically violated and that we got off lightly.

Yesterday, after I casually hit 'block' on that man's profile, I got to thinking about my place in this world. My work as a waitress is overshadowed by my femininity - I am leered at, patronised and called 'love' or 'darling' every day. Men kiss my cheeks without asking and compliment me in front of their wives. In the administration sector, everything about Charlotte Dover disappears under the blanket of my role as 'just a receptionist' or 'just a data input clerk'. 

Most perplexingly of all, my dissertation and my participation in Association meetings should speak for themselves, and yet, above all else, I am a WOMAN. It is a label which overrides all others. Before I am Charlotte, I am female. That label identifies me as someone you're free to hit on; someone you can disregard as a 'girl' even though I'm 20 fucking 2 and probably smarter than you.

Feminism has become a dirty word in recent years. One with connotations of hostility, extremity and man-hating. Feminism is none of these things. It is the understanding that though we are very fortunate to experience relative equality in the United Kingdom, significant social barriers remain.

Last night, after I'd thought about it for a bit, I paused my music, walked to the bottom of the stairs and shouted up to Joel because I was furious and needed to explain all of these things (rant). He replied with something that both shocked and resonated with me. He said, 'isn't it shit that right now you're in the best position you could possibly be in life... But it's not only because you're doing well academically and have a decent job, which is credit enough for a man. It's also because you're young... and you have long blonde hair and a skinny waist.'