I'm like all the other girls
Solidarity, sister!
“I’m not like the other girls” or, “I’m not a girly-girl”: All throughout my childhood, youth and up until my mid-twenties, these were my mantras. I don’t even remember when, how or why I picked them up.
When I was a little kid, I had no use for dolls and would refuse to wear dresses, skirts or anything pink. I spent the greatest chunk of my formative years in the barn and around horses, rigorously keeping a safe distance from those “horse girls” in pink polo shirts, and rather chewing off my own arm instead of crying publicly after falling off a horse. I was cool, and I was tough. In my teens I died my hair all possible shades, few of them flattering, but never blond. I rolled my eyes at the girls in my school fretting about clothes, make-up and reality TV (I was all jeans, sneakers, books and indie music, of course).
I was trying everything in my power to distance myself from my own gender – and I was not alone. Chances are, some of you did the same. This is fairly unsurprising, considering the societal structures we grew up in. In the 90s and early 00s, the “beauty vs. brains” narrative was still at its height. A smart move by the patriarchy, forcing women and girls to chose between being pretty and quiet or being smart while denying their femininity – thereby limiting young girls’ dreams, aspirations and perspectives to one avenue. Back then, “like a girl” was hurled around as an insult and conventionally feminine interests and attitudes were considered weak and disparaged (they still are, let’s not kid ourselves).
In my early twenties I was told that a sexy woman is un-feminist and a feminist woman unsexy. In my early twenties, I loved hearing guys say that I “wasn’t like the other girls”. It felt like the greatest compliment. What I didn’t hear back then was:
It took me a long time to realize that a) my own disregard for my gender is deeply internalized misogyny, b) there is not one kind of “female” identity, and c) I don’t need to set myself apart from other women – because they are not my competition.
The latter stems from the idea of scarcity, also courtesy of the patriarchy. From early on, it’s drilled into us that there is not enough success to go around for all women. There aren’t enough good jobs, good men or good friends for each of us, so we better stab each others’ eyes out.
Glennon Doyle really nailed this in her interview with Elizabeth Day on the How to fail podcast. She said that as women we experience life as a table, and at that table there are ten seats: eight for men and two for women. We are conditioned to fight other women for these two chairs – instead of demanding the men to hand over three chairs. You are conditioned to believe that if another woman is successful, there is less success for you.
I also loved Doyle’s strategy of how to turn this scarcity mindset into one of abundance: Every time she reads something great by a woman, something that makes her go “Ah, I wish I had written that!”, she will actually reach out and compliment the other woman on it, as well as share it. Little by little, she’s hoping to prove to herself and the world, that there is enough space in this world for every woman to thrive – as long as we all work together to create that space. And I wish somebody had told me this when I was 2. Or 12. Or 22.
pop culture pleasures
Nicola Slawson makes a great case for (friendship) matchmaking in her current newsletter. I’m all for it! If you can’t read the post, I can forward the e-mail to you – in return for some matchmaking, of course.
Two fantastic celebrity portraits have been making the rounds in my bubble: Allison P Davis profiled Mariah Carey for New York Magazine, and uses the phrase “emotional vomitorium”, which I love. Ilana Kaplan (NYT) met Paris Hilton, who speaks openly about some very tough shit she went through as a kid and ends on “I’m happy for people to know that I am not a dumb blonde (…) I’m just very good at pretending to be one.” Chapeau.
🇩🇰 Borgen!!! I’m a decade late to the party, mostly because I couldn’t stand the dubbed German version – yeah I know how smug that sounds. Anyway, the Danish series finally made it to global Netflix and I can’t stop watching. It’s probably one of Scandilands finest TV exports (after The Bridge); to me it’s the perfect mix of Aaron Sorkin’s two masterpieces West Wing and The Newsroom.
Neither pop culture nor pleasure, but an important podcast recommendation: The Daily unpacked the case of Breonna Taylor’s killing in great detail. If you’ve been seeing her name everywhere, but don’t quite know the backstory, this is a very helpful (and infuriating) listen. Part one, part two.
“Such a Fun Age” by Kiley Reid is the book that got me out of my reading rut. It’s a real page-turner, light and funny while hitting all the big contemporary issues: race, class, gender and what it means to be “woke”.
If you already read the book, or if you need that final push, I’d recommend listening to Kiley Reid on the “In Writing” podcast. She talks in detail about how the Iowa Writers’ Workshop (a program which I’m obsessed with) helped her shape the novel.
Most of you will be familiar with the Bechdel Test for movies, right? Well, Frances Rayner and Irene Tortajada are taking things a step further and are campaigning for a Clit Test for sex scenes – with the goal of seeing more realistic portrayals of female pleasure on screen. Hell yeah, ladies.
You know what to do: If you enjoyed this issue of Verve Letter, please pass it on.
Until next time,
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