Opting Out

There are many good things about being a woman.

Other than the crippling societal inequality, I am quite pleased with my assigned gender. I feel comfortable identifying with the fairer sex. I like women and girls. And I love girly stuff – pink everything, whimsy, expressing all the emotions (not just anger and pride), freedom of expression via clothes and makeup, soft toys, Pilates, being trusted by lost children, hyperverbal communication styles, being underestimated in almost every field (except child rearing) and therefore being able to dazzle with our brilliance, everything Lady Gaga has ever done, a persistent refusal to accept our subjugation, feminism, being ‘difficult’, Riot Grrl, Debbie Harry, an unshakeable fury that can burn cities to the ground (I’m looking at you Boudica, Cleopatra ll, the Trung Sisters, Johanna Ferrour, Granny Nanny, Rosa Luxemburg, Ani Pachen – to name but a few), Tarot reading and crystals, matching bed linen, sisterhood, nurturing, enduring, and that’s just the stuff that immediately comes to mind.

 

However (because there is unfortunately always a ‘however’), there is plenty of societal bullshit to put up with too. I am endlessly thankful that I am lucky enough to be a woman in the western world, to be a daughter of feminism that lives on in the legacy of the Suffragettes. Our rights, such as they are, have been hard won. I am grateful I’ve never had to throw myself under a horse just for my basic humanity to be acknowledged by the systems of governance. But just because things are better, doesn't mean that they are perfect (or in some cases even good).

For me, and many women I know, we are living under the boot of ridiculous patriarchal beauty standards. I was a teenager during the 2000’s obsession with SKINNY. I’ve already lived through hipster jeans and body shaming starlets. Anyone else remember when Lindsey Lohan was considered fat? The fat shaming of Britney Spears? Wild! And now this desire for childlike female physiques is returning, like some plague that will wreak havoc on the collective female psyche.

A real article for the 2000’s… it was disappointingly common

The fact they call this young woman fat is genuinely astounding. Do they not see what I am seeing?

 But I flat out refuse. It was bad enough the first time. And I was never really that good at having an eating disorder; I lacked the commitment for anorexia and found purging to be far too difficult, messy, and gross.

This state of affairs (the shrinking of already tiny celebrities to catastrophic smallness, GLP-1’s, rampant diet culture sold as wellness, everything on social media, fear mongering over grown women looking like grown women) has given me pause. As societal standards of beauty narrow once again, the goal posts change, and we are expected to run a little further with a little less in our bellies.

Troubling to say the least

Someone let these women eat! And this is not meant as a criticism of these talented ladies, but of the trend for shrinking frames

The overt ridiculousness of it all has made me stop and question what covert ridiculousness I am taking part in. Because its not like this stuff ever goes away during brief periods of body positivity, it just morphs and hides, disguised as something else. It's insidious like that. So, I took to my bathroom cabinets and the dusty corners of my girl brain to investigate.

The beauty industry is massive, worth approximately US$698 billion globally. And most of this is driven by women. We are sold insecurities and their cures in the same breath. There is so much beauty stuff that has been normalised to the point that I don’t even question its purpose. I just take it as the baseline that is necessary to perform my gender.

Standing side by side in our bathroom in the morning, Michael is the perfect foil. He regularly uses no more than 3 toiletries (soap, moisturiser, and toothpaste). When we met, Michael had a set of exquisite dreadlocks he acquired by the simple expediency of refusing to brush his hair. Now he may be a bit far down on the extreme end of the grooming spectrum (even for a man) but still, it’s a good example of what we actually need to be clean, neat, and presentable members of society.

One day, as he was applying his $6 Nivea moisturiser, he asked me what the hell I was putting on my face. It was the 3rd item in the regime. A niacinamide serum in fact. One of three serums I use everyday. As well as face wash, moisturiser, Vaseline, and a tinted SPF. And that is just the skincare. Once that is done there is the makeup and haircare stuff too. I spend considerably longer looking in the mirror than Michael. I have also spent a not insignificant amount of time researching what kind of skin I have, what products work best for managing that skin, and in what combination they should be used. I now have a 5-step morning routine and evening routine consisting of different products. And this is the streamlined version. It’s taken me a year to get down to just these products. And my skincare is nothing compared to others, it's nothing compared to what is the new normal.

This tin does a lot of heavy lifting in Michael’s skin care regime (it is the entire thing)

My own collection of potions

 I have already opted out of many of the expensive and time-consuming rituals that are considered necessary for women. There was a time when I wouldn’t leave the house without a full face of thick makeup and my hair blow dried (with rollers and everything). It was about 18 months ago that I decided to stop wearing makeup. I was consistently depressed at seeing my make-up free face and found this to be a distressing realisation. It wasn’t like it was so awful or anything, I just wasn’t used to it. So, I got a skincare regime and hung up my full coverage foundation, inch thick eyeliner, and red lippy. Nowadays I just rose my cheeks with blush and occasionally pop on a bit of winged eyeliner when the occasion calls for it. Makeup has become optional to me. And honestly, I have never been happier. And it turns out I quite like my face. More so than I ever have since I started wearing a full face of makeup everyday at 14. I’ve also chilled on the hair a bit too. I can’t remember the last time I gave myself a blow out. I will still straighten it or curl it, or I’ll just run a brush through it. It really depends on the day and how much time and upper body strength I’m willing to expend. Not to mention I’m usually pretty keen to get away from the bathroom mirror. I don’t think it’s necessarily healthy to spend so much time staring at yourself.

As to the other rituals, well I have given them up entirely.

At one point I was getting my legs waxed and bikini line waxed every 4-6 weeks, my eyebrows waxed and my lashes lifted and tinted every 8 weeks, nail extensions every 2-3 weeks, a pedicure every 4-6 weeks, and my hair coloured every 16 weeks, and a twice yearly haircut. I basically had a schedule of rolling appointments all in the service of making me acceptable. Because, I want to be clear here, none of this stuff made me stunning. It’s not like I was rendered red carpet ready by this Herculean effort of cosmetic products and services. It was just what I felt was the bare minimum to be a reasonably attractive lady.

I don’t know what I resented most, the time or the money. I hated the hour in the nail salon making small talk. I couldn’t even use my hands to hold a book. And it is considered rude to listen to a podcast, apparently. It was booking the appointments, driving to and from them, squeezing them into my already busy weeks. And for what? I could’ve used that time to go for walks in the park, or re-watch Sherlock, or wander around the local library. The hair appointments were the worst. The last time I went I was there for 5 hours. 5 full hours of butt numbing drudgery. And I didn’t even really like the results. The hairdresser refused to do what I’d actually asked for on the grounds that it would damage my hair. But it’s my hair to damage I thought while I agreed to subtle highlights and a treatment, then forking over close to $600 for something I didn’t actually want.

And the price! Fuck me. I needed to put aside a minimum of $150 a week for all those appointments. And thats not even including the skincare, and cosmetics, and salon quality shampoo and conditioner, and at home hair treatments at $60 a bottle. It was like I was paying a tax on having a vagina.

The most startling thing about this situation was the shrugging acceptance of my fellow women folk. When the price of these painful ridiculous procedures came up, most of the women I know just gave a what ya gonna do shrug. Like, sure it was a pain in the tit, but what else are you going to do? It’s like the electricity bill, or your car rego – a necessity. Now, not all my women friends do this, everyone has their own combination of beauty rituals tailored to their preference and aesthetic concerns. Some have their brows laminated and no lash lift. Some get eyelash extensions but don’t dye their hair. Some get Botox (an area I forayed into briefly and will write about in detail at a later date). And that’s before all the time and money women spend on clothes, bags, and shoes.

We are the gender that gets paid less, and yet we’ve allowed ourselves to be convinced that we must spend large sums of that money to do all this stuff to be, not fabulous superhuman examples of perfection, just normal looking women. It’s infuriating. I genuinely believe this money would be better spent on hardbacks of your favourite books, croissants, travelling as far from your home as possible, or your retirement.

 

It’s the covert boot and I want it off my neck, thank you very much.

 

I have given up basically all of this time-wasting bollocks. I dye my own hair, paint my own nails (when I can be arsed), pluck my eyebrows, and shave the lower half of my legs when and if necessary. I will still pay for a once yearly haircut, as there is a limit to my skills, but I cut my own fringe now. Is it always a bit wonky? Yes, but it doesn’t cost me $28 every two weeks so who cares.

I’ve also found that you can simply google whatever astronomically priced beauty item you desire followed by the word ‘dupe’ and you’ll get at least a hand full of reasonably priced alternatives you can buy at your local discount chemist. I’ve saved hundreds of dollars this way. I have also instituted a ‘no buying any product until the old one is empty’ policy. This saves money and waste. Also, use up all those little free sample bottles before you buy a replacement item, they go a surprisingly long way.

Now there’s stuff I will always just buy, like my $46 sunscreen. I wear it every day and it lasts months and it’s the only one I’ve found that doesn’t make me break out like the greasy teenager I once was. Or the mid-range dry shampoo that allows me to go days without washing my hair. You will pry that $21 spray-can from my cold dead hands.

Overall opting out has made me happier (and richer). And I am no less a woman either. By most external measures I still appear to be performing my femininity faithfully enough. And even if I wasn’t, who cares. Gender is a spectrum, and the bit marked woman has widened considerably. Not to mention that no matter what anyone says, there isn’t actually a right or wrong way to be a woman, just the way that feels good to you. So, if you feel good wearing the makeup and doing your hair and getting the treatments – then DO IT. I will happily fight for your right to do so. But, if you’re only doing it because you feel pressure to do so, because you fear you’ll fail the test if you don’t – then please, put down the fake tan and breathe easy knowing that you do not have to do it. The right people, the good people, your people, will not give a flying fuck what you look like. They’ll love you – hairy legs and all, because ultimately the body is just the thing that carries around the person. It’s the container for all the brilliant, sparkly, stardust stuff that is you. So, whether you are opting in or opting out, just make sure that the choice is yours alone.

 

And if anyone questions that choice, cheerfully tell them to fuck off, from me.