That Icky-Sticky Gooey Girly Goop

Dear Aster,

You know, it’s funny because there are very, very few things that actually make me feel uncomfortable. Or rather, I am the type of person to get excited by discomfort and actually dive into it in order to swim through and out of it. I am the type of person to notice an awkward situation and proceed to do or say the one thing that will inevitably make it more awkward. I am the face of facepalm and the Inge of cringe. So, for that reason, I was really trying to locate something that not only makes me feel uncomfortable, but also disarms me of all determination to actually face it.

And, lo and behold, there it is—hanging in the closet, between the bought-and-never-worn lingerie set and the worn-once-and-promptly-stained designer dress. Essentially, ideals of femininity, sexuality, sexual femininity, and feminine sexuality scare the crap out of me and make me wish I was a gender-less amoeba, just flapping in the wind; (is that a thing? I don’t know much about amoebas).

To explain this problem in the clearest possible way, I begin by listing several misconceptions that I have carried with me since long before puberty. These questionable beliefs have both limited and defined most of my interactions and relationships with the opposite sex, my own genitals, and my gender identity. The origins of these tenets are varied, stemming from influential people, cultural phenomena, and specific events throughout my upbringing. So, in no particular order of importance:

1. If I want to be successful in life, I must be a woman that is attractive to men.

2. In order to be attractive to men, I must have a high level of both intelligence and sex appeal.

3. The terms ‘feminine,’ ‘sexy,’ and ‘beautiful’ are interchangeable.

4. My worth as a human being is directly related to my attractiveness as a woman, which is directly related to my ability to be sexy.

5. I am not sexy.

6. I am not classically, traditionally beautiful; if I want to be beautiful, I need to be able to somehow bend and twist certain realities about myself, to make them ‘work’ for me.

I have been trying to break out of this ridiculous cage for years. It is toxic as fuck, and has arguably been responsible for a slew of self-esteem and relationship failures throughout my life. And it is this framework of belief that is responsible for my feelings of discomfort within any situation that somehow tests my levels of femininity, sexuality, or beauty. (Yes, I realize how erroneous all of this thinking is, and I have been trying to battle it, but it still rears its ugly head way too often.)

I feel this discomfort any time I am in a traditionally feminine space. For instance, I get super weird in beauty salons. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb, I feel out of place; I am literally expecting some lady with a perfect manicure and a perm to look me up and down, and laugh, and tell me to get out because I clearly don’t belong. No matter how many times this ridiculous scenario has NOT happened, I still feel like it is supposed to. It’s almost like I have a weird version of impostor syndrome about being a woman. Like, I’ve been trying to play the part all my life, barely succeeding and waiting for someone to discover that I’m a fraud of a female. (There are many more examples of my discomfort within feminine spaces, but they are a bit more rated-R than I care to share.)

The odd thing is that I technically don’t have very many self-esteem issues. I love myself the way I am. I love the way I navigate my womanhood, for the most part. But the ideal of ‘the perfect woman’, one who is elegant, lady-like, sexy, traditionally feminine, pleasant, etc. is burnt into my psyche, constantly reminding me of my self-perceived flaws: I am a tomboy at heart, I am clumsy, I am obnoxious, I am vulgar, I am not really interested in fashion or beauty, I am not as in touch with my sexuality as I should be, etc.

I don’t know if this discomfort will ever go away, but for now, I am just happy that I am aware of this issue enough for me to be able to conscientiously work through it and discuss it with you, my dear Aster.

Love,

Orchid

P.S. Let’s talk about sex, baby! No, I’m not asking you to peel back the curtain and give us a glimpse into your marital bed. But I am curious about how your ideas of sex came about. When did the concept first enter your world view? What were some powerful influences? How has the way you view sex change throughout your life? Are there any deeper meanings to the act, for you? Personally, I’ve been interested in the idea of sex since before I could articulate it, honestly. I suppose it’s a side effect of growing up in the theater and the adult exposure that brings. My relationship with sex has been a weird one throughout my life, and it’s definitely still evolving.

[Currently listening to Shivaree’s “Goodnight Moon" to get in the mood ;-)]