Tag: men

Desideratum

MissM10 Comments

Recently, I was contacted by a reader who completely chewed me out, claiming that I am practicing feminism wrong, and that while I claim to advocate for equality, he claims that I am “leaving others behind,” and that “subconsciously [I] do not believe in equality unless in this moment [I] realize that my actions are not all in line with [my] beliefs and [I] start to change.”

He also told me that my “feminism isn’t about equality, but rather about self-preservation” and that my blog proves it. He wrapped up his ignorant rant-fest by expressing his sorrow in my not fulfilling my own potential and that I could do great things if I just opened my eyes to my own prejudices.

I have been stewing over this young man’s declaration of criticism for a couple of days now, and I even resolved to remain passive, but my frustrations have gotten the better of me, so here I am.

Clearly, the intent of this blog has not been as vividly outlined as I would wish it to be. I welcome opposition to any opinions expressed here, and I even held my tongue long enough to hear this man out. I even refrained from verbally abusing his condescending ass. (New Year, New Me.) But rather than have any more incidents of misunderstanding, I’d like to make a few things clear to you, my dear readers.

I have never, nor will I ever, claim my writings on this website to be a whole representation of my belief system. If it were, it would be a hell of a lot more detailed, researched, and academic. Nay, rather, this website serves the purpose of being a platform for me to document my impressions, thoughts, and feelings as I navigate through life.

We are all guilty of being selfishly concerned by things that affect us directly. The things that affect me directly are what dominate my thoughts, ergo my writing. If my objective with this website were to express my belief system in its entirety, you better believe I would be discussing my frustrations with racism, classism, homophobia, etc. as well as sexism.

Because of who I am (a white, middle-class female) I am predominately concerned with issues in which my gender is treated differently than any other. That’s what has the most effect on my life. Think of DownWithTheNorm.com as an edited, polished-up, online diary. Because that’s what it is. I’m not here to bore you with my standpoint on every issue incorporated into my belief system.

This young man spoke to me as if by reading a post or two, he knew exactly who I was as a person, and once he decided the kind of person I am, he felt entitled enough to advise me to align the way I live my life with my false-claimed belief in equality. You, sir, have no right to point fingers or criticize anyone but yourself until you are clean of all prejudices. Good luck with that, pal.

I’m about to get all biblical up in here. One of my new years’ resolutions is to study the New Testament, and focus especially on Christ-like characteristics that I need to improve in my own life. I came across my favorite scripture, Matthew 7:1- “Judge not, that ye be not judged.”

So homeboy who conceitedly dared to point a finger at my prejudices, Jesus says not to judge others. That’s God’s job. Yours is to try to figure out how to love everyone as He does.

Matthew 7:1.

M

Assign

MissM6 Comments

You know how in cartoons, a giant lightbulb appears over one of the characters’ heads when he/she has an epiphany or suddenly solves the issue at hand? I swear to goodness that’s what happened to me on my last day of my Intro to Literature class. My giant lightbulb was caused by an epiphany. An epiphany as to the real reason why I declare myself a feminist.

On our last day of class, we were assigned to present a chapbook of poems that all relate under a central theme. Naturally, my theme was “Self-Representations of Women.” I actually thoroughly enjoyed this project, as I found multiple poems that I could completely relate to. Anyway, my epiphany hit in the middle of my presentation when I began slipping into the unscripted abyss that is a college kid’s Intro to Literature Chapbook Presentation.

At some point, I had said “The real problem at hand is that we assign virtually EVERYTHING a gender. It is either masculine, or feminine.” That didn’t really resonate with me until after i’d finished my presentation with the words “Smash the patriarchy!” with blushed cheeks and returned to my desk to find a hand-written note from a classmate that was seated nearby.

His note applauded me for presenting feminism in a way that had never occurred to him before, and he concurred that it is extremely problematic to assign everything from character traits to colors of the rainbow to a category of either masculine or feminine. I suggested hie look further into feminism, and we parted ways.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how this binary mindset our culture has ingrained in us limits us to who we think we are allowed to become. Unfortunately, femininity is considered the lesser of masculinity, giving most feminine things a negative connotation when compared to more masculine things.

For example, math and engineering, toy trucks, and football have all been deemed “masculine” and “boy activities,” and those who are not masculine are discouraged from engaging in “masculine” interests.

On the other hand, cooking, sewing, dancing, and hair-styling have all had the word “feminine” slapped to their foreheads to ward off masculine intruders.

This is problematic for dozens of reasons, and it affects all genders. Rather than allowing each individual to choose his/her interests, we steer them toward what we believe will be most fitting for them, based on their sex. This holds true not only for interests, but for emotions and personality traits, as well.

Women are supposed to be weak, submissive, gentle, soft, and nurturing. If we’re not, we’re considered masculine women, and what could be worse than that?

Men are supposed to be strong, athletic, assertive, and smart. If they’re not, they’re considered ‘femmy,’ which is even worse than being a masculine woman, because, after all, masculinity reigns supreme in the realms of the patriarchy.

I am a feminist because I don’t believe that everything a person can be needs to be assigned to a gender. Society is shaping who we are going to become, and we are playing right along with it. I am sick and tired of the “pink is for girls” and “blue is for boys.” Because I like blue, dammit. And superheroes. And math. And tacos.

Stop gendering everything, people.

M.

Veracity

MissM8 Comments

Fact: everybody has something wrong with them. That’s what makes us human.

And sometimes, once we discover what’s wrong with people, we are not willing to tolerate it. This typically ends in the termination of a relationship. I’ve been thinking lately of ways to avoid this phenomenon, and i’ve come up with a viable solution. Why don’t we all just start asking each other from the get-go, “hey, what’s the matter with you?” Just so there are no surprises.

If we all decided not to be offended by this question and just offer up our behavior-affecting issues to people as we meet them, they’ll be able to decide then and there whether or not they are willing to stick around, despite whatever issue you have shared with them. Because if they decide initially that they won’t tolerate your individualized type of crazy, it won’t hurt you as bad when they decide they’re done with you before you can develop the feels.

Like on dating websites, in addition to asking you what your hobbies and interests are, there should be a field where you can describe what makes you a little psycho. But don’t feel bad, because we’re all a little psycho. I just think that if we were all more up-front about it, we’d all get along better. It’d force us to own up to our own downfalls, too, so we can all find ourselves even if we can’t afford a plane ticket to India.

I don’t propose this idea just in the case of romantic relationships. It’s directly applicable to coworkers, friends, roommates, all of the voluntary relationships we form throughout life. Let’s all just own up to our personalized forms of crazy and wear them on our T-Shirts.

Who’s with me?

M.

Winsome

MissM9 Comments

You wanna know what i’m sick of? No? Okay, well grab a fuzzy blanket and a mug of hot chocolate with those mini marshmalllows and take a sit so I can tell you anyway.

I’m sick of being told that I am cute.

You read that right.

Woah woah woah, there, stop rolling your eyes and let me explain myself before you start calling me hurtful names like “stuck up brat-face.” That’s hurtful.

Lately, the gentlemen i’ve been interacting with seem to feel that by paying me such a compliment entitles them to something. I shall now illustrate with a real-life example.

Boy: You’re cute.(:

Me: Thank you.

Boy:…. No, really, though.

Me: Thanks.

What up with the “no, really though.” In no way did I indicate that I  disagreed with his calling me cute or discounted the compliment. I simply accepted it with a gracious “thank you.” Punctuation included, and intended to indicate that I was through with that topic of discussion.

“No, really, though.” Uhh, okay. Thanks, again. I really don’t know what more you want from me here, nor do I really have anywhere to carry our conversation.

I can’t help but feel like I owe these gentlemen my attention when they’ve paid me such a compliment. Even if I show no interest, I can’t help but feel like I OWE it to them for telling me that they thought I was cute. And that’s messed up. Maybe I’m the one with the problem, but i’d be willing to bet that you gentlemen of the universe could come to a consensus that when you pay a lady such a gracious compliment, you’re expecting a little something in return.

It shouldn’t be that way, though. This gentleman sought me out, not the other way around. I am not obligated to reciprocate anything.

In summary, yes, I do enjoy being complimented on my cuteness. Who doesn’t?! But do people even severely compliment each other anymore, or does everyone have a hidden agenda?

Help me in my fight against cynicism.

M.

Sapience

MissM20 Comments

I am the worst at dating. The literal worst.

I decided to take a little risk and attend an NBA game with some dudebro who sought me out via good old FaceBook. The whole “stranger danger” concept never really stuck with me, and I am of the naive youth who really believe that people are who they say they are on the internet. It will be my downfall one of these days, mark my words.

-Back to my anecdote-

Aforementioned dudebro was no psychopathic serial killer, though. Just a dude. Sorry to disappoint. I feel like this post would be a zillion times more exciting had he turned out to be a murderer or something. Anyway, he messaged me to tell me that he had two free tickets to the Jazz game the following day, and was wondering if i’d like to accompany him.

In my defense, the only thing I hear when asked out on a date is “free food, free stuff, come with!”

For the sake of personal gain, I obliged him and agreed to allow him to take me to the basketball game. What could go wrong, right?

Now, there are a few rules when it comes to dating dudebros on the internet. One of the most crucial rules is asking the right questions before agreeing to meet up with anyone. Of these critical questions, the most crucial is that of age. You see, I had failed to ask this vital question, and the consequence was tragic.

The guy was 26. There is a 7-year age gap between me and him. Now, that may not sound like much, but it’s hella intimidating to me. When I think ’26-year-old single male,’ I think ‘adult.’ ‘Big boy.’ ‘Not suitable dating material for a lady of my youthful age.’ To my dismay, I had not discovered this minor detail until we were rolling to the arena in his $600 Buick.

The night only grew worse as we drove to his brother’s house. Plot twist: Dudebro invited his 28-year-old brother, his brother’s wife, and their child, to come with us. Oh, and on the way there, he ran 4 red lights. Where were the damn cops?!

Call me crazy, but I find it exceedingly strange to go on a first date with some guy and his married brother’s family. Is that not weird? Tell me if i’m wrong, because I’m pretty weirded out by it.

Also, this 26-year-old dudebro had some interesting comments on my outfit choice as well as my outer appearance. He said, (and I quote) “I’m a picky guy when it comes to what girls wear. Picky, picky.” As you can imagine, my feminist-y mindset loved hearing those words spew from his picky mouth.

No need to worry, though, because he later told me that I passed the test and that my outfit choice was to his liking. Abstaining from violence was nearly impossible at this point in the evening.

It was a disastrous night, and I demanded to be taken home at 10:30.

Reveal yourselves, normal boys, I beg of you.

M.

Garrulous

MissM14 Comments

The beautiful thing about stereotypes is that they are never 100% true. A good example of this is the stereotype of the girl who never shuts up.

Lately, i’ve been socializing with various boys (boys? men? What is the proper terminology for males between the ages of 19 and 22?) and I have found the opposite of the “Chatty Kathy” stereotype to be true.

I don’t believe that gender has an influence on how talkative or reserved an individual is.

I’ve had a ton of fun hanging out with dudes and doing date activities and things, but sometimes I feel like I rarely get the opportunity to contribute relevant comments to a topic of conversation. People like to talk about themselves. It’s what they know best.

I like listening to others talk about things-things that happen to them, things they’re passionate about, things they hate, and I am an exceptional listener. Other peoples’ lives fascinate me, especially when they’re lives are more exciting than my own. (Which is typically the case.)

But sometimes, a fellow will be narrating a personal anecdote that sparks some kind of comment that I just HAVE to make, but it seems as though when these instances happen, the person i’m talking to suddenly learns how to speak without commas and without breathing, thus robbing me of any chance of interjecting my comment.

At this point in the conversation, I have already started verbalizing my thought, softly, though, as to not rudely interrupt, but my voice goes unheard by the speaker, and he continues on with his story.

As the conversation carries on, the speaker eventually leaves the topic of which I would really like to comment on, and begins talking about something else. At this point, I’ve almost stopped listening, because I’m trying to come up with a way to bring us both back to the topic of which I wanted to comment on, but to no avail.

Eventually, I give up, and the only comments I make are the occasional “right,” and “yeah,” and “I know what you mean,” to ensure the speaker that I have not ceased listening.

As I mentioned earlier, I love hearing people talk. And some people, once you get them going, they never stop. They plow through a plethora of topics, challenging my brain to keep up.

I guess what i’m saying is lately I feel like a lot of the conversations I engage in are practically one-sided. Which is fine, because typically I don’t have a whole lot to say, myself, but when I do, I wanna say it gosh darn it.

I wish there were a polite way to say “SHUT THE EFF UP I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY.” Perhaps I will try throwing hard candies at peoples’ mouths when I feel that it’s my turn for the talking stick. I will report back with results on this method of interrupting someone.

M.

Why Chivalry Is Dead From A Woman’s Perspective

MissM20 Comments

I follow a shit ton of Feminist groups on Facebook (Surprise!), which is probably not the best idea on my part, because my news feed trends posts predominately pointing out instances in which the patriarchy effs up situations.

I was scrolling through my news feed during church today, and stumbled upon a post that linked me to this article: Why Chivalry Is Dead, From a Man’s Perspective. I’ve provided a link, for your convenience. Feel free to follow along with me as I dissect one fatuous author’s theory for the death of Chivalry.

The article begins innocently enough. The author opens his article by identifying the oh-so-modern “hook-up” culture that we singles are all too familiar with as a contributing factor to chivalry’s termination. I found myself nodding my head as I read this, as the author does make some good points.

I concur with his notion that PEOPLE (not just men), are really slacking when it comes to chivalrous acts, and that nowadays, single people tend to be more interested in a short-term hookup than an actual courtship. And the reason for that is technology. (i.e. TINDER) The author states, “Where did we lose the chivalrous touch? When did it become acceptable to just text a girl, inviting her to come bang? Well said, old chap.

The article continues, but his sound logic does not. This dunce wraps up his article by blaming women for the modern man’s unchivalrous behavior. He says that it’s the woman’s fault because our gender has become complacent with the “bare minimum” and that we’ve stopped demanding what we deserve. Scoff!

So not only is it my fault if a guy rapes me, (because, well, my skirt was a little short) but I am also to blame for his lack of desire to court me properly. Damn my gender’s “complacency.”

I don’t even know where to begin. I suppose a good place to start would be the 21st century definition of Chivalry. According to some dude from ChivalryToday.com (seems legit), Chivalry can be defined as “the choice to do the right things, for the right reasons, at the right times.” I like this definition because it completely takes gender out of the equation.

I am incapable of forcing a suitor to be a good guy for the sake of being a good guy. Complacent or not, I do not possess the power to alter one’s intentions and personal values. I have no influence on whether or not a guy wants to be chivalrous.

Not only does chivalry mean doing the right things, but doing them for the right reasons. If a person is chivalrous, it’s because he/she has made the conscious decision to do so, not because the person they are courting is demanding chivalry from them. Besides, if I suddenly start demanding that every boy I romantically encounter behave in a chivalrous manner, I’ll be labeled “high maintenance.”

Our little idiot closes his article by calling all women to “wise up and start asking for the things they deserve” (meaning have boys open doors and pull out chairs for us because apparently these behaviors are chivalrous even though they insult my ability to use my own limbs?)

His conclusion? “Until then, men are going to get away with putting in the bare minimum and receiving what we ultimately want anyway – sex. It’s pretty obvious that women own the cards, and when they start acting like it, they’ll finally start getting dinner from places that don’t deliver.”

And here, we face yet another double-standard. Ladies, you heard the guy. Let’s start demanding the things we deserve, dammit! And once we’ve done that, let’s see how high our chances are of earning date #2!

In all honesty, though, let’s face it. Chivalry is dead because people don’t care about anyone but themselves.

The end.

M.

Insolence

MissM7 Comments

Lately, I’ve been feeling a lot more angsty and sassy than usual, which is frightening for those of whom I come in contact with on a day-to-day basis because my personality is slathered with both angst and sass, even on a good day.

Anyway, I’m in a creative writing class at my local commuter-university (which I LOATHE, literally a third of my fellow classmates grew up with my PARENTS) and we are currently working on our poetry unit.

I am no poet. I used to be, back in grade school. I spit out a poem about some old tree I could see through the entrapping window by my desk in the third grade, and wound up winning some statewide poetry contest. And 25 bucks, which is practically making it rain for a nine-year-old.

Needless to say, I spent every penny of it at Baskin Robbins. Sigh, those pre-anorexia days were good.

As the years passed, so did my lyrical, poetic writing abilities, as you can gather just by reading a post or two of this lovely blog of mine. My writing style is a direct reflection of my ever-increasing sarcasm and blunt ways of saying what goes on in my never-silent brain. As you can imagine, this makes it rather difficult to get in touch with my inner Poe.

But, for my grade’s sake, I was forced to give it a shot. Our prompt was, “Write a poem in the format of a letter to someone.”

I love how specific writing prompts are.

As per typical me, I put my own spin on this prompt, and decided to write a poetic letter to my alma mater, my high school. The way this creative writing class works is that each student writes his/her poem, submits it online, and the rest of us get to play critic and (both literally and figuratively) tear each others’ works to shreds.

Luckily for me, I have some pretty thick skin, and don’t really give a damn about what other people think about my work.

Here are some of the comments I received on my poem:

“I think that some lines were a bit too harsh and mean-spirited.”

“It’s unfair to say that (insert “unfair” segment of poem here)”

“Maybe you could change it to something softer and less-harsh?”

I am in a class full of sissies.

So now, I present to you the final draft of my poem, and am calling all readers of my blog to give me their honest critique.

Dear High School,

 Now that I’ve had a taste

Of that real world you claimed to have prepared me for,

I hope that you’ll take a moment

Of your bell-dictated time

To accept this, a grammatically proper token of my

Reluctant gratitude

For without you, I may never have known

 

That sitting by myself at the lunch tables with a tray of reheated mystery meat

And a fixed frown is absolutely the most solitary state I will ever be in.

 

That if you can “get with the cool kids”

Life’s problems will pass over you, after all

The lamb’s blood of today is popularity.

 

That looks are everything

And the girl with the blonde hair and size-two waist will always get the guy.

 

That the possibility of getting marked tardy will not

Get me to set my alarm any earlier,

And that Mrs. Teacher keeps a running tally of each one

In Sharpie,

But that’s okay, because “three strikes-you’re out!” Right?

 

That due dates are not do-dates

And that unpleasant assignments can easily be avoided by sluffing a day or two.

 

That the dress code was not a tyrannical act of oppression

Because showing my shoulders will force boys to lose focus on their own work.

 

That if it weren’t for your forcing me to run a mile every Friday during Gym class

I would not have the active lifestyle I lead today.

 

For without you, I may never have known

 

That every test is closed-book, and we all have differing

Answer keys.

-M.

Prevaricator

MissM2 Comments

I am kind of becoming the Taylor Swift of the blogging world.

Yes, I have endured yet another unfortunate break-up. Kissed another frog. (Insert whatever other cliche, yet encouraging phrase here.)

This past week has been the week from Hell. My family is kind of falling apart (another story for another day) and I had just gotten in quite the quarrel with my mother over familial issues. I was reduced to pathetic sobs and tears, and after leaving my mother’s house, texted this ex-suitor of mine, (let’s call him Derek, that’s a liar-face name, isn’t it? Oh, and sorry if your name is Derek and you’re not a liar-face. It’s unfair of me to generalize. Please don’t take offense and discontinue reading my blog, truthful Derek’s of the world.)

Anyway, I texted Derek and told him I was now available to hang out. He responded to my SMS messages swiftly, that is, until I had physically pulled my Camry out of my parents’ driveway. As according to plan, I drove to Derek’s bro-mance’s house and parked right out front. I shot him another text message, informing him that I’d arrived.

Ten minutes passed, and I sat and waited in my car for a response, still sobbing, though gentler now, and listening to my favorite angsty Fall Out Boy songs. I waited another five minutes before sending him another message to notify him that I was just going to head home now.

The next morning, Derek told me that he’d been sleeping in his car, which was also parked outside his bro-mance’s house, while I had been waiting for him. I responded bluntly, as I was having a horrible day, and still somewhat traumatized by the fight I’d gotten into with my mother the previous night.

Later that afternoon, Derek sent me the notorious frowny face.–> 😦

“What’s wrong?” I texted back, genuinely concerned.

“I’m not good enough for you. You shouldn’t waste your time on me, M.” Blah, blah, blah. All of the “It’s not you, it’s me,” bullshit you could think of.

I think now would be a good time to say that I am NOT in a good position to be broken up with, if there ever was such a thing. We’re talking breakdowns on the nightly, folks.

So there I was, on campus, attempting to prepare myself for a required assessment for a job i’d been pursuing, when this breakup happened.

I’m not going to lie, my initial reaction was laughter-laughter of confusion and unbelief.

Because I will probably not get the chance to ask Derek why he is not good enough for me, I am forced to jump to my own conclusions, in the sake of closure.

Although to me, this breakup seems to have come without warning, I think I can figure out just exactly what caused it. Derek, you didn’t break up with me because “you’re not good enough for me.” Well, I take that back. Perhaps that was partially it, seeing as my standards and morals are levels upon levels higher than yours, as are my ambitions. I am simply more grown up than you, and you feel pressured by me to change your boyish behavior, but aren’t quite ready to drop your bad habits. But it’s way more complicated than that, isn’t it?

No, Derek, the underlying reason as to why you’ve decided to drop me like a hot spoon is the mere fact that I won’t put out for you. Which is fine, and I completely understand that. You are a 19-year-old man-child hybrid with hormones. This is only unfair to me because we had discussed this earlier in our pathetic, little fling, and you assured me that you were fine with taking things slow.

You insisted that I “open up” to you and that you were here for me.

You told me next time I have a breakdown to call you so you can at least hold me while I cry.

You told me you liked me, and that you cared about me.

And then, when I finally gave in and decided that yes, I was ready to let you be there for me, you were nowhere to be found.

You, sir, are a liar.

Over the past few days, I’ve spent plenty of time over-analyzing this, and being plenty hurt by your deciding to go away at the time I could have used someone’s company most. And now I have blogged out my feelings. And now, I will move on.

Being alone sucks, but it’s nothing I haven’t done before.

I swear I become more and more cynical with age, or maybe people are just gradually sucking more and more?

M.

The Acceptional* Feminist

MissM8 Comments

Last night, a fairly new crony and I went on an excursion to “the ruins,” an old, torn up structure that rests on the side of a hill not out of walking distance, and not too steep to climb up to in sandals.

We sat down side-by-side and took in the city view and had deep discussions about life. Naturally, the topic of feminism, and my firm belief in human equality, was a major topic of discussion.

“I’m a feminist,” I mentioned, as casually as you would say, “I’m a sophomore,” or “i’m a dog person.”

He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, just noticeable enough for me to know that I wasn’t going to like what I was about to hear out of his pie hole.

You wanna know what he said? Okay here goes:

“Oh, but you’re a GOOD feminist,” he said.

It kind of reminded me of the way I repeatedly pat my dog on the head after she pees outside rather than on the carpet.

I blinked away any possibility of a stupor of thought before clarifying for him that Feminism is inherently a GOOD and all-around beneficial movement for society as a whole, and had to differentiate between a feminist and a man-hater.

Now what, you may ask, qualifies me as a “good feminist” to this young man?

Is it the fact that I like wearing skirts and shave my armpits (and legs, all 3 months of summer, anyway) and wear mascara on a daily basis? Is it that i’m straight and let guys take me on dates and don’t make a scene if someone opens a door for me?

Is it that the way I present myself JUST SO HAPPENS to conform to a lot of society’s list of acceptable ways to present yourself?

Because if that’s what makes me a “good feminist,” then I don’t want to be a “good feminist.” That’s the whole point, right? To show that women DON’T NEED the acceptance or approval of men and are human people who, gee, I dunno, do things because they make them happy?

Trust me, I don’t do any altering of my own appearance in pursuit of the approval of men. I wear skirts because dang it sometimes it gets really hot here in Utah and I just so happen to despise pants. I wear mascara because it makes me feel more alert, awake, and ready for my day. I shave my legs because I think it feels really disgusting when you brush your legs against each other and can feel the hair follicles moving.

Notice how none of my reasons for my feminine hygiene regimen have anything to do with men? Yes, me, too.

I guess some people really will never understand that NOT ALL FEMINISTS are bra-burning, man-hating, vengeful women.

Some are.

Some feminists are just your average-joe college girls who love bows and slug bugs and bleaching their hair and dates with preppy boys who wear Jake by Hollister cologne who simply refuse to be treated as second-class citizens because their anatomy differs from that of their male peers.

But conveniently, and luckily, for me, I have been deemed a “good feminist,” by a man.

Hooray for wanting equal rights in a manner that suits dudes!

M.

*Note: I am completely aware that “acceptional” is not a real word… yet. But this is MY blog, MY rules, and MY vocabulary. For your convenience, I have provided a reference guide.

Acceptional: (adj) containing qualities/behaviors that are both acceptable and favorable.