Inspired by a Human: Egon Schiele

To make up for how much I suck at this whole blogging thing, I decided to make a post about one of my favorite artists, Egon Schiele. That much you were most likely able to deduce from the title. You can tell I'm a little rusty. 

I stumbled upon Schiele last spring--that damn Internet is always stuffing my brain with new things--but I forgot about him for a while. Then this winter, I was talking to Ramona and she mentioned him, and I ended up borrowing a book about him from her. I read it cover to cover (that's usually what one does with a book), soaking up all of the deliciousness of his oeuvre. 

What I love about his work is how much he just doesn't care about certain things. He treated the body as an object when creating art (and sadly just in general...there were several accounts of him sexually molesting his young female models. Why people gotta be dumb, ya know?), which added a dimension of rawness to his pieces. The bulk of his work was self-portraits and nude portraits of himself and others, but he started doing more landscapes and houses in his later years. He was only 28 when he died in 1918, so his life was pretty short, but for such a young artist he accomplished a great deal artistically and even politically. His style was sort of revolutionary for his time, with all his blunt nudism and contorted bodies and stuff, but people love(d) him. My sense of it is that he was sort of that really crazy guy that people were like, "Okay are you even human what is your brain doing plz explain????" but at the same time totally respected that they would never fully understand what he was all about. He just did his own thing, and I think that really rocks. So here are some of my favorite of his pieces. I didn't include any full-on naked people in case that would make anyone uncomfortable. The captions are not the actual names of the pieces, because I couldn't find all of those. 

[Photos via Tumblr.com.]

A self portrait 

A topless woman

Portrait of Johannes Harms

Double self portrait (this was my computer background for a while)

A house

Self portrait (I think)

Mother and baby

Kool kat, n'est-ce pas? 

Okay, I'll be back soon. In the mean time read stuff I wrote if you feel like it, or don't. 

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The Baby Turns Two

I simply cannot believe that it's been two years since I began this blog. I remember that fateful Sunday night as though it were yesterday (although, to be honest, I don't remember yesterday too well. Tuesdays are just sort of like that): I was lying on the floor in my bedroom, looking at street style photos online and probably reading Man Repeller when I realized, "Hey, I could do that, also I'm bored and I'm thirteen and I like fashion and middle school is kinda weird so why not?" And at the time, I just knew it was something I would stick with. I could feel it.

I was self-conscious about having a blog at first, so I didn't tell anyone for a few days. The first person I told was Lola because I knew she wouldn't judge me. Why I thought anyone would judge me I'm not sure, but that was what I was concerned about. She immediately told me that it fit, that it was something she could see me doing. Lola's got some sort of funky intuition, it would seem, because here I am, two years from that April evening as a completely different person. I never imagined myself to be a writer. I won't even get into all the things that have changed since the end of eighth grade, because obviously there are about a million.

I know last year I had a giveaway, and I was going to do that again this year, but right now I'm so trammeled by school that I haven't been as devoted to my lil' baby as I wish I were. When good ol' summer rolls around, I'll be back to writing and sewing and crafting and all that deliciousness on a much more regular basis. For now, let us celebrate the funtime happiness of today, 'cause today is a birthday, and birthdays call for several things:

1. Birthday cake 

2. Party hats

3. Party shoes

So the moral of the story is: Feliz Cumpleaños, Abuelita. 

[And I will be back before you know it.]

Also, support your local writers and read the article I wrote about the robot apocalypse for the Brooklyn-based online magazine, Hypocrite Reader!

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The Right To Be a Woman

"Feminism is the radical notion that women are people."

--Cheris Kramarae and Paula Treichler

I never really understood why feminism existed. In my earlier years, that was because I was considerably ignorant on the subject. I grasped the fact that women have never been socially, economically, politically, or anything-ly equal to men, but I just didn't understand why that was true. We're all just people; I couldn't wrap my head around why anatomical differences have engendered so many contentions and inequities. I still can't, although now I am more educated on the subject. 

I went to a very progressive middle and elementary school, an environment in which we had weekly lectures and activities about racial equality and LGBTQ rights (this was before the umbrella term trans* was created), but I don't recall ever discussing women's issues. When I began reading Rookie Mag--where nearly everyone on the staff is either a self-proclaimed feminist, a women's rights supporter, or something in between--was around when I started to understand what feminism actually means. I had always dismissed it as some sort of extreme movement that involved misandry, bra burning, and public protests, like the time Eric and Donna go to a feminist demonstration in an episode of That '70s Show. That was about the extent of my knowledge. I had never bothered to further enlighten myself because we are taught that feminism is something negative, and the subject was so foreign to me that I didn't even want to get involved. As I entered deeper into the trenches of my adolescence, I went around thinking that if someone looked at me lecherously or made an unwelcome sexual comment that it was my fault. I had led them on, in some way. So I stopped wearing V-neck t-shirts and never thought about it. Even at my equal-rights-for-everybody-even-though-we-only-talk-about-certain-groups-of-people-because-they're-minorities-and-women-aren't school we were taught, "Don't get raped," never "Don't rape." That never seemed out of place to me. It's extremely stifling and maddening to live in a world that objectifies women to such a degree that we don't even notice it anymore; that's how large a part of our society it has become. Or, I guess, always has been, for millennia. I only recently realized that as a teenage girl I was being affected by misogyny, disrespect, and degradation just by simply existing.

The fashion industry is one of the main propellants of the rigid concepts of femininity and womanhood that are held so highly in our culture. For decades, even centuries, women have been expected to either be a perfect combination of elegance, sexual appeal, and vulnerability, or urged to act more like men. Even with revolutionary members of the media popping up everywhere--Lena Dunham, Tavi Gevinson, Miranda July--women are only being more forcibly squished into these molds. We all already know that the supermodel-skinny standards are a major part of what's dragging us, meaning females, down. That topic deserves an entire article in and of itself, but it's not all that the fashion world is contributing to this huge dilemma. It's the clothing itself. It's a topic that I've written about before, without really knowing what I was saying. Taking a tip from the boys, menswear for women, things of that ilk. That concept has taken a turn for the worst.

While reading the Man Repeller a few months ago, Leandra Medine mentioned that in order to embody "swag," one must look like a male sixth grader: messy cropped hair, boyish clothing, baseball caps, the whole deal. I admire and respect Leandra immensely, but I felt that she had almost betrayed her fellow ladies in this post through words like: "achieving 'cool' is wholly about how well a girl can emulate a prepubescent boy." My immediate response to her story was a big, bolded, upper-cased WHY? I understand that this could potentially be misconstrued as me being ridiculously sensitive, but hear me out. Here's what I'm seeing. Looking cool now entails dressing like guys. That would be fine, if the same had ever been true for the opposite sex. When has it ever been considered trendy for a man to wear a dress, or heels, or another garment of clothing generally associated with women? Approximately never, except for in the seventeenth century, when almost everybody in the aristocracy wore heels. And Marc Jacobs's pink polo dress that he wore to the opening of his museum exhibition in Paris last year doesn't count. Marc Jacobs is not a valid representation of the general male population. 

I don't personally feel the need to wear anything characteristically feminine in order to feel good about myself or how I am presenting myself to the world. That probably stems from the fact that I grew up completely unaware of how these injustices applied to me. Do my androgynous tendencies--short hair, near exclusion of pink in my wardrobe, very little makeup, unshaved legs--imply that I am actively aspiring to look like a teenage boy? Not in the least bit. I like my loose jeans as much as I like my shift dresses. I cut my hair short because I hate feeling weighted down by masses of dead cells on my head. I don't wear pink because it makes me feel like a sickly amalgamation of an infant and cotton candy. I don't wear a lot of makeup, if any at all, partly because I hate having to worry about taking it off at night, partly because I prefer to present myself in my most natural form. I stopped shaving my legs because I have much better things to be doing with my time. I dress the way I want to because I like the way my clothing looks. 

One of the greatest misconceptions about people interested in fashion and clothing is that they care too much about their appearance. It takes a significant amount of indifference towards other people and their judgements to walk outside into a world where everyone feels entitled to share their opinions on every subject, whether they be valuable or completely uncalled for. That translates directly into the issue about women's rights. People make comments, assumptions, and evaluations on women's semblance all the time, thinking we crave their approval, that we strive for their acceptance. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. Some women definitely seek that sort of confirmation, but that often is a result of insecurity or lack of self-confidence. That isn't to say that ladies that choose to ignore others' criticisms on their looks are not insecure, nor is it to say that women who attire themselves in a more sexualized manner are doing so for the benefit of those around them. This may somewhat of a mantra for feminists, and hopefully eventually for every person: we are not trying to look a certain way for you, whoever you may be. I don't know who gave the general populace the power to decide who is a "slut," or at least looks like one, and who is not, but they should feel pretty crappy right about now because they are painfully fallacious. I don't think that word should even exist; I don't believe that promiscuity is so terrible as long as no one is hurt, either emotionally or physically, in the process. A woman has a right to use her body how she wants just as much as a man does. I've always wondered why nearly every rape story I've heard or read about involves a male rapist. What it is about penises that makes men think they can just stick them everywhere? I have a supposition that it has less to do with biology and more to do with social hierarchy. It boils down to the fact that women are simply not considered equal to men. 

When we ask ourselves where this inequality stems from, it's easy to say that way back in the Paleolithic and Neolithic Eras the men were the ones that hunted and the women tended to the children. The latter's fatal infirmity was their inherent femaleness: the menstruation and subsequent complications, the decreased ability to maintain dense muscle mass, et cetera. Men saw themselves as superior because they could go out and spear a buffalo for the whole clan and not have to worry about doubling over in pain from cramps or what have you. Sure, women have their weaknesses, but men don't? They absolutely do. The number one argument that I feel neutralizes everything is that women can have babies, and men can't. In theory, that should give us immense power, but it doesn't. Instead, guys just went ahead and took the liberty of impregnating women without their consent. I know it's completely inarticulate, but my instinctual response to that is: what the hell. I've never been pregnant before but I have taken freshman biology and I know plenty of people that have bore children, and it sounds like having a small person growing inside of you doesn't feel so fantastic. Forcing that on someone who has not asked for it is one of the most heinous crimes I can think of. Perhaps that's one reason why we don't see a lot of female rapists: we're at a higher risk of suffering the consequences of having non-assented sex both physically and socially. 

As a high school student and teenager, my future is like a massive, daunting, multi-colored cloud that looms ahead of me at all times. I have high hopes for that cloud. I want to be able to pursue a career in something I enjoy and not have to be concerned about whether my male occupationally equivalent colleague is getting more perks or has a higher salary purely because of my physical constitution. People's intellectual capabilities are purely a result of how much work they put into cultivating their garden, to cite Voltaire. In other words, my brain and all it can do and create is a product of my own labor, not genetic chance. 

I often think back to the time in my life when I had no idea what sort of unjustified prejudice I was in danger of facing because of my chromosomal makeup. I was ignorant and had been brainwashed by the patriarchal society we live in that, as a female, it was my duty to protect myself from harm but to simultaneously exude femininity. That only works if you're the only person you're ever around. There's no way to control what other people perceive as suggestive or girly (not that the two are synonymous in any way), thus it is impossible to satisfy everybody's personal requirements. If that's the case, then I don't see why I should bother trying to live up to the world's expectations for me as a woman. I would much rather strive to please others on the basis of what is expected of me as a human being. That's what we all are. Male, female, non-cisgender, somewhere in between, we are all just people. What baffles me is why we can't treat each other as equally as the universe intended us to be. If we were supposed to have hierarchal distinctions within our race, some of us would be born with five extra retractable limbs and x-ray vision. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but I highly doubt that anyone possesses those abilities. 

Feminism is not about hatred or anger or misandry. It is not negative. Feminists are not intrinsically evil, nor are they lesbian by default, nor do they wish to purge the Earth of all non-women. "Male feminists" shouldn't have to be a term that distinguishes men that promote equity from those that don't. All of this is about equality and freedom and love. It isn't up to us to decide our anatomical structure, but we can most definitely choose to act in particular ways despite our natural differences. The power rests entirely in our hands to change, if not reverse, the undeniable misogyny of the world we live in. Once people can stop defining each other by their gender, appearance, ethnicity, or any other uncontrollable quality of ours, and begin to appraise one another based on the substance of our thoughts and merit of our deeds, we'll be on the right track. 

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