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Just a short post to end this long day.

I spent the entire evening working on a presentation for transnational feminist theory - it’s the introduction to Feminist Genealogies, Colonial Legacies, Democratic Futures, written by Alexander and Mohanty. I spent more than six hours working on the presentation and still feel that overwhelming since of inadequacy that often accompanies me in the midst of this privileged education. It was difficult to get past the irony of reading about how feminist theory in the United States continues to be Western and Euro centric and how feminist praxis and activism is a key part of feminism, but is often left out of feminist scholarship - for my feminist theory class (a class located, in case we didn’t know, in a small town in California).
Theory is so difficult for me to understand, and not simply because of the vocabulary - it’s difficult because it is so resistant to including emotion and experience as a valid source - a source that I would argue is strongly tied to the identity of many women of color. What does that mean for women of color theorists? Can there be any? Should there be any? The idea of writing theory makes me cringe a little, I’ll admit. The audience is limited and it’s difficult for me to see the possibility of bridging the gap between feminist theory and feminist application. I know it happens, but tracing the path seems impossible.
I guess my question is, what does feminist theory enable me to do as a feminist and activist(-in-the-making) and most importantly, as a woman of color? I wonder if Mohanty considers herself a theorist - I bet she considers herself a writer with the privilege of an education who understands the prioritizing of praxis over theory and knows that “feminist theory” still has a normalized connotation of white, Western, urban, straight, and upper middle class. It’s why we have to keep adding “transnational” to the beginning of the phrase in order for it to even begin to include women of color as theorists and writers instead of marginalized tokens.

On a completely unrelated note, I’m getting quite attached to peppermint tea.

Someone recently remarked that in his college days (circa 1990) at the one women’s studies class he had taken, what he wished most was not that the “man-haters” of the class would speak less or be a little less angry, but “would bathe…or at least shave”.

I took it as a kind of divine sign to finally sit down and write this post, which probably would have been written differently prior to the conversation above.

First a bit of context. I grew up in Texas, and went to a suburban middle school filled with very white Christian blondes who all sought to be the next pageant winner or at least find Mr. Right as soon as possible. The girls in my year took physical education, which involved changing into a uniform of thigh length shorts and a large shirt that popular girls would make tight by rolling a knot in the back. We had one talk before middle school P.E. began and it was to remind girls of a phrase that would rise from it’s dusty-pre-teen-grave and be reiterated in high school textbooks and infomercials: personal hygiene. I was educated about personal hygiene in three ways:

1. Young women wear bras. It is part of staying clean and healthy.

2. Young women wear deodorant.

3. Young women shave their legs and underarms. Everyday.

The everyday bit was never explicit but it became the habit expected of all hygenic girls in gym - All I can really say about it is that was the way it was.
I stopped shaving everyday in high school (I had moved to San Francisco at this time) and only began shaving “when necessary” (parties, events, skirts, dresses). And then when the stream of problematic boyfriends started, well then that became an additional necessary situation. Every one would praise me when I “finally got around to shaving”.
Now, shaving is something I do (and I say this with hesitancy and considerable fear of casting aside my feminist identity) “when I feel like it” (eg. it’s been a month and I need something to make me feel accomplished) or for family situations (my father associates shaving for women with shaving for men - it’s what you do. For personal hygiene.). Except my underarms. Those I do as soon as it becomes fairly apparent.

I struggle with this to some extent, yes. Yes, it’s a choice that stems from a sexist institution, yes a real choice might give way to some kind of women’s liberation that I have yet to experience. To that, there are only a few things I can add to complicate such a solution/logic.

First, I’m a South Asian American women’s studies major. That’s enough to send my extended family into cardiac arrest as it is. My parents stand by this diligently but it is a very real factor in my life that isn’t going to go away - and though I grit my teeth when I lie and say I am also an English major (that I chose women’s studies as a stand-out major for graduate schools), and take the constant stabs at being a “man-hater”, “one of those feminists”, etc., shaving is one thing they can’t say anything about. It stops being proof at Americanization or reckless youth or the result of the blasphemous liberal arts education. It’s normal - so it isn’t talked about.

And this isn’t just in the case of my family. Because family (aside from my parents who are pretty consistently supportive of all feminist related actions, or at least generally keep questions to themselves) is an institution that I can battle tactfully (I like to think of it as an art). This campus is quite another story. Besides being marginalized as a woman, a woman of color, a working class woman of color, a South Asian working class woman of color, a liberal SAWCWOC…I am a women’s studies/english joint major. And I’m loud. And I’m intimidating to many. I get asked about what I’m going to “do after I graduate” more here than I do at home. Where is the safe space? To some extent, it comes in the ability to blend in feminine personal hygiene. And I’m not proud to admit that, I’m not. But there it is. To think about it any further is privileging an issue over more important ones, such as my racial and ethic identity, my battle with culture, marriage, the elitist nature of transnational feminism, even the hair that grows out of my head. Until those larger conversations become more moderated in my head, I can begin to identify what a “my choice” really is. And I hope that changes one day. I really do.

Until next time.

Yup. We all know that if I’ve started my day thinking I have time to post on a topic entitled “Diwali Barbie”, it’s not going to be good.
Sk sent me this, and I can’t decide whether the actual doll or the blurb alongside it is more disgusting.
I think, being a full believer that it isn’t what you say (or in this case, sell) but how you do it, the text is what put my heart into figurative cardiac arrest.

Let’s take a closer look, shall we?

The most important and magical festival celebrated in India is Diwali. Homes are decorated with marigolds and mango leaves, thousands of oil diyas or lamps are lit as auspicious symbols of good luck, and everyone enjoys sweets to the sound of firecrackers and revelers. Diwali Barbie doll wears a traditional teal sari with golden detailing, a lovely pink shawl wrap, and exotic jewelry. The final detail is a bindi on the forehead - a jewel or a mark worn by Hindu women to indicate that they are married. Doll cannot stand alone.

I know, I know. “But this is to diversify for all the brown children who need a Barbie to look up to!”. Actually, if we wanted little Indian children running around and worshipping a disproportionatly tall woman whose skin is unnaturally white and lives up to the standards of exotic in the West, we would point them all to Aishwarya Rai. At least she does something. Where is the President of the US Indian Barbie? Where the hell is Prime Minister Barbie?
I think the thing that kills me is how white looking she is. Her skin is white and Lord knows she’s letting her buyers feel like they can never live up to true Indian beauty standards.

What’s most ironic to me is the line “Doll cannot stand alone”. Thank you Barbie for reminding us that at the end of the day, no woman should really be able to stand alone. Especially not the exotic ones.

Happy Wednesday.

This is a post that I’m actually working up to. I’ve been busy with midterms and whatnot so the opportunity to write a post that is going to do justice to this topic will simply have to wait until the weekend.

But I found this post today during my moments of procrastination and I have to say, it is both thought provoking and articulate. But it poses an interesting question between the idea of real choice and choice that stems from conformity.

Much to say, no time. Soon blogosphere, soon!