Hilary Moore: Feminism for today's woman

I don't feel oppressed.

How could I? I'm doing a PhD at an Ivy League university. I'm writing a column for The Daily Pennsylvanian. I get to say what I want, do what I want and (most important) eat what I want. I stand at the front of a classroom three times a week and tell people what to do and when to do it. Many of them are men -- future businessmen, sports heroes, politicians -- and they all need me, to get a good grade. I'm empowered.

So what possible need is there for hostility? We no longer need to fight for the vote, or fight to be educated. We can pursue careers as soldiers, lawyers, doctors, accountants and politicians. Maggie Thatcher's steely (if questionable) politics, and Madonna's celebratory thrustings seem to have signaled a new beginning for females.

The word "feminism" sends shivers of fear and confusion down most men's spines, who, however Neanderthal, now know that they are under observation. They know they should consider us equals, respect us at all times and try not to stare at our breasts too long. Many of them have even come to realize that God is actually female.

Now tell me that's not progress.

So is it possible that those of us who still proudly uphold the banner of "feminism" are just being pedantic -- or even a little old-fashioned?

Well, let's see.

Last week, I was sitting in a mixed-sex crowd when a cockroach scurried across the floor toward me. I was in bare feet so I lifted them to avoid an unhappy meeting with one of nature's less appealing bugs.

Meanwhile, two of my female friends gave out high-pitched yelps and jumped onto their chairs, as one of them screamed: "Where are the men? Go on -- squash it!"

Now, I've lived in southern Africa, so I have become a well-practiced cockroach-crusher. With the same experience, my hapless female protagonists would no doubt have emulated my calm reaction. So my motivation for telling this story is to highlight the level to which we, as a community, are still being socialized into one of two roles: the lovely, sweet, passive female and the heroic, muscle-bound male.

For example, while I am free to eat anything I wish, every popular magazine on the shelves tells me that I am 20 pounds too heavy to be a real "lady." They tell me that if I wear all black, I'll get closer to "that" look (or will at least be less conspicuous), and that my thighs should not be able to crush the necks of my mates. They should be lithe, elongated, hairless sculptures of grace.

Oh well, not to worry.

But before this column turns into yet another account of the trials of privileged, well-fed women, let me make an important point. Men also face these pressures. For if women are being forced (or are forcing themselves) to play a role, then men must be getting coerced into playing that corresponding opposite role. How useful, after all, is the helpless, beautiful heroine without her virile, fearless hero?

I find a hint of hope in this thought, for it opens up new possibilities for co-operation between our two battle-weary sexes. We should make a deal -- we'll give up the diets, and you can give up weight training and trying to drink yourself stupid to prove that you can. We'll stop being helpless and you won't need to do all the hard work anymore. We'll get paid the same money as you for the same job and you'll get the satisfaction and self-esteem that comes from working in a true meritocracy. You can admit to loving a good gossip, if we can admit to loving a good football match.

And men -- next time you see a woman whose sexual appetites exceed your own, think to yourselves, "What a stud!" In return, if we women see a guy doing cross-stitch, we'll think: "Hello Sexy!"

The rules are only there to be broken.

In this new spirit of co-operation, men can cease to feel like misplaced relics within 21st century liberalism. Instead, they become truly invested in allowing -- even encouraging -- women to become as strong, as brilliant and as mechanically astute as they can. Their own escape is in fact reliant upon it.

Feminism has a long way to go before it reaches redundancy -- but the journey need not be traveled alone.

Hilary Moore is a third-year Ethnomusicology graduate student from Perth, Scotland.

Please note All comments are eligible for publication in The Daily Pennsylvanian.