Tag: sexism

Feminists Can Like Flowers, Too.

MissM1 Comment

I am very open about the fact that I identify as a feminist. I love talking about my philosophies on the matter of equality, and I DON’T like people opening my doors for me.

Because feminism is such a huge part of who I am, I think I give off the impression that I don’t want to be taken care of. People tend to think that ALL feminists are bra-burning, anti-chivalry, prideful people. I can’t speak for anyone but myself, but I do not fall under any of the aforementioned categories. (Well, I might be a little prideful, but I think that we can attribute that to my German-ness more so than to my feminist attitudes.)

I LOVE chick flicks. I would literally melt if someone gave me flowers and/or chocolates. I’m soft and love polka dots and bows. Sometimes, I want somebody to take care of me. I want to be wined-and-dined as much as the next girl, and no, none of that invalidates my membership in the feminist community.

What it does, though, is make me feminine, and that’s not a bad thing.

And maybe that’s the problem-we tend to think that feminism and femininity are contradictions. By my understanding, however, the whole point of feminism is to put femininity on an equal playing ground as masculinity. To eliminate the stigma that feminine traits are less desirable than masculine traits.

Wanting to be taken care of and “swept off my feet,” so to speak, does not make me anything but human. The need to be taken care of is a basic human need, and one that man and womankind alike spend their lives pursuing. Wanting romantic gestures all that jazz in no way undermines my desire and belief that I should be treated as an equal.

It goes both ways. In order for a dating relationship of any sort to work, that romance thing has got to be going on. Both partners are equally responsible for keeping that “spark” alive, and co-dependence should be the desired outcome.

I am obviously capable of taking care of myself 100%. An ideal romantic interest would be able to take care of himself 100%. The co-dependence thing comes voluntarily. If people are interested in one another, they will do cute, cheesy, romantic gestures because they want to make the other person happy. Not because they are so inclined to fulfill certain roles. And I definitely don’t believe that allowing a man to court you puts you in a submissive position, especially if the both of you are putting in equal work to date each other.

The other day, I was discussing this topic with a friend of mine, and she presented me with an ultimatum. Either I put down my equality guns and let some knight in shining armor place me on a pedestal, or I keep my “independent woman” front. Why can’t a girl have something in the middle? I understand that it’s a delicate balance, but I don’t believe that it’s unattainable.

Just thinking.

M.

The Problem of Modesty

MissM3 Comments

“Modest is Hottest.” The all-too familiar chant for anyone who grew up in the LDS Young Women’s program. We grow up being taught that as women, it is our responsibility to cover ourselves up, in order to protect the thoughts of the young men in which we interact with. Exposing the shoulder, midriff, cleavage, or thigh causes young men to have lustful thoughts, and we best not corrupt them.

I never bought into this whole “modesty” thing, mostly because in this instance, the word “modesty” is being completely misused. I would suggest we substitute “modest” with “conservative,” but “Conservative is Hottest” isn’t nearly as appealing to say, and doesn’t rhyme, either.

Also, I never felt that the burden of controlling someone else’s thoughts was a burden assigned to me. After all, if I was busy controlling my dude friends’ thoughts, who was controlling mine for me?

Back to my point. So I was always that girl in high school who stuck out like a sore thumb in homecoming pictures because my dresses lacked sleeves, and rarely reached past my mid-thigh. Tank tops in the summer were a staple, as were two-piece swimsuits. (Except at Girl’s Camp, of course.)

Today, I was at the gym, minding my own little business on the weight floor, when an older man (estimated age 60) approached me.

“Excuse me,” He said as I ripped out my headphones, DMX blaring. “I know i’m an old man, but I just wanted to thank you for not wearing those tiny running shorts.” I looked down at my Ultimate Yoga Pants, my cheeks growing hot. I blinked.

“I’m new to this gym,” he continued, “I switched here because at my old gym, all the girls would wear these tiny, little running shorts. I’ve been coming here a week now, and I haven’t seen a single girl wearing those. I appreciate you covering up.”

Dumbfounded and jaw agape, I mumbled, “I like stretchy pants.” and marched out of the gym, ears fuming, and cursing myself for not having a better response.

To be frank, my dear old gym friend, I did not choose to wear pants as opposed to shorts for modesty’s sake. The last thing on my mind when dressing myself this morning was “gee, how can I present myself in a way that will promote clean thoughts from the men that see me?” Because let’s be honest, I will be objectified regardless of the length of my leg wear.

This cultural attitude that women must cover themselves in order to protect men from entertaining lustful thoughts and desires is problematic at best.It ingrains a sense of shame in young girls over their bodies. Girls as young as they come are being told that tank tops are immodest. The shoulder has been sexualized. Girls are shamed into conforming to some arbitrary dress code and told that if they don’t, they are causing men to have lustful thoughts.

And we layer EVERYTHING. Which is fine, if that’s what you’re into. But when it’s 112 degrees on a July afternoon, you can bet your bottom dollar I will not be sporting more than one layer.

So sure, let’s keep the fun “Modest Is Hottest” motto. But let’s stick to the literal definition of the words within that phrase, and let’s hear the boys chant this at scout camp, too.

According to our friends at Merriam-Webster, Modesty is defined as “freedom from conceit or vanity.”

Where, exactly, does the shoulder coverage fit in there?

M.

Cyber Courtship

MissM7 Comments

Alright humans, we need to have a talk.

Have you heard of Yik Yak? Maybe it’s a very well-known app, and i’m just behind the times as per usual, but it has been installed on my SmartPhone as of recently. I love it. It’s like, you can post anything you freaking want to, and every Yik Yaker in your area can see it without having a clue as to who the author is.

This app can be used for good, or it can be used for evil. For the most part, the newsfeed consists of humorous, slightly embarrassing entries. But, as with most things, there’s gotta be a couple of assholes who ruin it for everyone.

I’ve noticed a lot of posts on the Yak from young men (assumption) complaining about girls catfishing them on online dating sites, i.e. Tinder. One of the posts was complaining about girls that look “thick” or whatever terminology the kids are using these days, but in real life they’re just fat. I dunno, a lot of really fat-shaming comments were made in response, which was completely problematic on its own, but it got me thinking about this whole catfishing and online dating business.

So, we have social networking platforms that enable us to share everything from photos of our food to photos of ours and others’ faces with our dear friends, enemies, and strangers from Ethiopia of whom we’ve never met before, but accepted their friend requests anyway to be polite. (Guilty as charged.)

It’s no secret that basically anything posted on the World Wide Web can be viewed by anyone with access to it. Because of this, we tend to shed ourselves in the best light possible, because let’s face it, at one point or another, someone is going to see something we’ve posted on our personal pages, and it will change their opinions of us forever.

This applies especially to dating or “hook-up” apps such as Tinder. The intended use of these apps is to find an attractive being to date or make out with or whatever activities you guys do when you meet up with a Match from Tinder. I don’t wanna know.

With the objective of making oneself attractive to others, it would only make sense that we post only the best photos of ourselves, complete with the best filters that Instagram has to offer. That’s not just us ladies, I know dudes be using that Sepia as well. And yes, editing photos enables us to present ourselves in completely unrealistic ways.

Back to the catfishing, I don’t think that enhancing one’s profile photos is considered catfishing. People on dating websites should be going into these accounts with the knowledge that the information presented on anyone’s profile is a reflection of them on their very best days, plus or minus a filter.

So stop getting upset when the individual you are meeting up with from these sites doesn’t look quite like his/her photos. That would be an unrealistic expectation.

Actually, y’know what, scratch everything I just said. My real advice to you would be to get yourself off the computer and go meet some people face-to-face so that you can avoid the whole catfishing problem all together.

Swipe right!

M.

On Acceptance

MissM2 Comments

I just noticed that an annual charge to my debit card to maintain my web address, so I guess i’ve been at this blogging thing for a year now. How fun!

I have a question for you guys. How does anyone justify the marginalization/oppression/degradation of any community of people?

Perhaps peoples’ prejudices are engrained in them on a subconscious level, thus disabling them from seeing that they are marginalizing a specific type of person?

I mean, even from a religious perspective, there is NO viable justification for holding any type of prejudice toward anyone. Hate the sin, not the sinner, am I right?

I dunno, I’m not excluding myself from holding prejudices, and i’m sure I have them. But what I don’t do is treat others differently based on things as silly as their ethnicity, gender, or sexual orientation.

If you think about it, all of the characteristics that a person can be marginalized for are just that-they’re characteristics. An individual’s gender identity, ethnicity, SES, or sexual orientation are a PART of a WHOLE person.

I don’t think it’s fair at all to stereotype individuals based on these parts of them. For example, Alan Turing (the WWII war hero) will always be labeled as “that gay guy who broke Enigma.” What in the hell does being gay have to do with breaking Enigma?

We wouldn’t say “that straight guy who became the first president of the United States,” would we?

And why so?

Because it’s entirely irrelevant to the aspect of a person that we are discussing.

I know it’s childish of me to say, but I just don’t and can’t comprehend why we can’t all just treat each other like equals. I hate stereotypes. And I hate the marginalization and discrimination of any group of people. And it kind of tears me apart that it happens so frequently and drastically and can affect virtually every aspect of a person’s life.

It’s not right.

M.

Felicity

MissM3 Comments

Hey guys! Yup, i’m still kicking. Not that I owe anybody an explanation for my lack of posting, nor do any of you probably care, but I have been super busy figuring myself out lately, and I’m happy to report that I believe I’ve made substantial progress in that regard.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about happiness, and how even the basic definition of the word varies from person to person. For me, happiness is individualism, the rewarding feeling of accomplishment, and independence. I know many others who would define happiness as the complete opposite. That’s what’s fun about it-happiness is completely subjective.

Because of this fact, there is no one way to live a happy life. What uplifts some may frustrate or even hurt others, and it takes a lot of getting to know oneself in order to navigate to the kind of life that will truly make you happy. I think that for someone who has only been here just shy of two decades, I have come to know myself extremely well. Over the span of just a few months, i’ve been really immersing and engaging my mind in the search for truth and knowledge in this life, and also forming my very own, unique belief system about this knowledge. There is so much knowledge out there-so much that I could spend the rest of my life-60+ years, if I’m lucky- studying, and still not even make a dent in the copious knowledge that humankind has obtained to date.

Now, I am no scientist, but I theorize that one of the main causes of unhappiness in this lifetime is depending on the beliefs and behaviors of those who come before us and raise us, and never really take the time to evaluate things on our own. We are social creatures, and have a constant need for acceptance within a group in order to survive, and I think that that kind of inhibits us from exploring our own thoughts and beliefs. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but I find it really easy to take new knowledge for its face value. Critical analyzing of the data we intake on a daily basis takes a conscious effort, and as a full-time student and part-time registrar, I don’t exactly have much free time for soul searching.

I have to attribute all of this thinking and over-analyzing to my Intro to Philosophy class. I have a bittersweet relationship to this class. Bitter, because sometimes, ideas are presented that are simply too vast and broad for me to wrap my tiny head around, (ahem, Euthyphro’s Dillema) and sweet, because it raises questions that would never cross my mind otherwise. Real questions. We’re talking questions about morality and what is good and evil, right and wrong. The best thing about this class, though, is that sometimes there is no right answer, and that’s okay.

The most frustrating, yet valuable thing i’ve learned from this class is how truly little we know about anything. It scares me, really, and is truly humbling to realize. However, I find myself wanting to know so much more about what I don’t know, and I think the more we learn, the more we know how much we don’t know. Have I confused the hell out of you yet?

Okay, so i’ve gone off on a bit of a tangent. My point is, since we don’t know anything about anything, it’s up to me as an individual to decide what is true and false in my world, and the only way I am going to become qualified to make those decisions is to learn more.

In summary, belief systems need to be developed on an individual basis, including beliefs on what happiness is. Nobody can tell me that the way I choose to live my life will not bring me happiness, because they are not subject to my individual belief system. So rather than decide whether a person is living in a way that will lead to lasting happiness, I’d like to propose that we all focus on developing our own definitions of the word, and pursue that route.

M.

The Mommy Paradigm

MissM5 Comments

The other day, i’d sparked yet another heated discussion on my FaceBook status. We were discussing gender roles, primarily, and who should take on the role of the primary care giver. One of my friends said that he believed that women shouldn’t be limited to being “just a mother.”

When a woman describes herself as “just a mom,” I find that completely problematic. You see, when individuals who have careers are describing their occupations, they rarely say, “I’m just a salesman,” or “I’m just a doctor.” Though not equal in compensation, each of these occupations is as equally demanding and deserving of equal recognition.

Though I, too, agree that a woman should not be limited to the role of the homemaker, I don’t believe that any woman is wrong for choosing to do so. People seem to forget that feminism is all about choice. The whole issue is that women are taking on this task by default, rather than choice. Both genders are sliding into their predetermined roles without really considering what would fulfill them the most and bring them the most satisfaction out of life.

Aside from the fact that being a mother requires a 168-hour workweek, (that’s 24/7, for mathematically impaired individuals) mothers, as well as stay-at-home fathers (which, frankly, there could be more of) are burdened with an immense task of influencing the direction and values of our future. And no, they don’t have a bi-monthly paycheck that keeps them motivated to maintain their quality of work. They get tantrums, messes, and chronic fatigue.

Though I don’t believe that a woman should, by default, become her children’s primary caregiver; I think that those women who do dedicate their lives to the raising of children should start giving themselves the recognition they deserve. Trust me, all the stay-at-home daddies are getting ample extrinsic recognition, because it defies the norm.

Which brings me to my second issue of the “mommy” paradigm. When it comes to occupation, how is a girl to win? You see, if she chooses to remain in the workforce, with or without children, she will have the label of “selfishness” slapped on her forehead, and will be looked upon disapprovingly. Conversely, if she stays home with the kids, she’s “just a mom.” Seems a little unfair, doesn’t it? Welcome to the patriarchy, my friends.

The stereotypical gender roles provide a blanket solution to a very individualistic problem. Not only should the parent who is most suited to raise the children take on the role of the primary caregiver, but a couple should also consider who would be most fulfilled in that role. I think that if we evaluated those two criteria before assigning roles, we’d be surprised by how many bread-winning moms and stay-at-home dads would result.

Just a thought.

M.

Lucid

MissM7 Comments

It goes without saying that I am pretty darn comfortable expressing my thoughts. Not only do I express them, but I express them in a very blunt nature. I’m German, sue me.

The day before Valentine’s Day, I scrolled upon yet ANOTHER petition against the 50 Shades of Gray movie, and my frustration boiled up to the point where it earned its own post upon my FaceBook page. I have a question for you petitioners: Do you honestly think that just by rounding up X amount of signatures, you have the power to stop a movie from being released? Wake up call-money talks. And this particular film made a shit ton of money. Your signatures are literally meaningless to the producers of this film.

I find this method of petitioning completely ludicrous for two reasons: first, as I mentioned before, they are completely ineffective. Secondly, why do people seem to feel entitled to take other peoples’ choices away from them? Let’s say, just for giggles, that these petitions were successful, and Hollywood decided to withhold 50 Shades of Gray: The Theatrical Version from us. What have you accomplished here?

You have taken away another person’s agency to choose what he/she wants to watch. Essentially, wasn’t this Satan’s ultimate plan? To take away our ability to choose for ourselves right from wrong? This may be an extreme comparison, but i’m sure you can see the parallels.

Don’t get me wrong, we are all entitled to our opinions, and they can be strong and firey and passionate, and we can believe our opinions with every fiber of our beings, but for heaven’s sake, leave those who don’t agree with you alone. This isn’t an argument as to whether or not 50SOG is porn. It’s not even an argument of the morality of pornography. It’s an issue of respecting other peoples’ choices.

Besides, you’re not doing anybody any favors by attempting to make viewers of this film feel guilty. Most of them are just annoyed, and are seeing the movie anyway, partly in spite of you. If you think 50SOG is porn, that’s a hundred percent fine. Don’t go see it then. Cover your kiddo’s eyes when you pass by movie posters. Choose to read other literature. Keep in mind that not everyone feels the same way as you do, and let them enjoy their media choices.

In short, I am fed up with people thinking they have any right at all to take away other peoples’ choices. Stop petitioning Rated R movies. Stop blogging about why you refuse to wear leggings any longer. These type of issues affect only the individual participating in whatever is at hand.

Why don’t we, instead of wasting our energies on issues that, in the grand scheme of things are completely insignificant, focus on fixing societal issues that are affecting and harming select groups of people? If we must petition, let’s petition injustices. Let’s petition inequality, discrimination, violence. Let’s petition something that will actually make a difference.

‘Murica.

M.

Primitive

MissM38 Comments

I thought i’d humor myself this semester by enrolling in a “Marriage as an Internal Process” course. The entire focus of the class is to stress the importance and benefits of the institution of marriage, and to help all of us suckers figure out what we can and cannot demand from a spouse. It’s been fun, for lack of a better word.

My class has quite the diversity of students. One girl is a single mom, we have three newly-wedded hubbies in the house, a handful of us single people hoping to learn how to change that via this course, and a handful of married women. On the first day of class, we were assigned to break up into small groups and discuss why we thought divorce happens, and why people  choose not to get married. Some of the responses that were given literally caused my head to explode across the four walls of the classroom.

My favorite response? A perhaps twenty-five-year-old wife raised her wedding-banded hand and said in a negative tone, “I think that the cause of divorce can in large part be due to women’s rights.” *Clank!* That was my jaw hitting the floor. Psycho say what?

Let’s dissect this bone-headed comment for a moment. This woman blames the accumulation of human rights for a specific gender as being the culprit for tearing a marriage apart. May I remind everyone that there has to be a cause for a woman to want a divorce, and that there was a time when if a woman was being abused by her husband, she just had to shut up and deal with it and make sure she had dinner ready on time tomorrow to avoid another abuse?

I refuse to see women’s rights as the cause for ANY negative outcomes. Women should have had the right from the beginning of whenever marriage became a thing to back out of it for any time and for any reason, ESPECIALLY if that reason is due to abuse or unfair treatment by her spouse. End of story.

Today in class, we watched a documentary on mail-order brides. Don’t even get me started. Well okay, i’ve already started. Mail-order brides are a perfect example of objectification. And it makes me sick. The featured “couple” was a British dentist who had mail-ordered a bride from Thailand (I’d estimate she was approximately a third of his age). He seemed like the happiest camper alive-his arm flab draped over her shoulder as he told the story of how they came about as a couple. She said nothing, she couldn’t speak English. He was the most gluttonous, repugnant man I’d ever seen, and she was a dainty, lovely, submissive Asian woman.

He talked about their relationship, and she sat in total oblivion. She spoke no English, but he told us not to worry, he didn’t mind so long as she had food on the table for him when he came home. He told us how he allowed her to visit her friend who lived down the street so long as she called and asked for permission. I’m not sure how she did so, due to their language barrier. She bore him three children, and she looked like the saddest, most disappointed woman I’d ever seen. But we’ll never know how she felt, she wasn’t given the opportunity to express herself.

This crap i’ve described for you goes on TODAY. It’s trafficking. It’s wrong, and it’s dehumanizing. Any old rich guy can hop online and pick himself out the prettiest, naive, foreign woman, and take her to wife. Granted, these women go into it willingly, falsely believing that these rich, old Western men will respect and love them. I cussin’ hate the patriarchy.

I’ve been angry about this all day. Mostly because there isn’t a damn thing I can do to change it.

On a lighter note, I learned that the reason i’m attracted to Brad Pitt is his exceptional facial symmetry. So do with that information what you will.

M.

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

Parity

MissM7 Comments

I remember the Spice Girls. I remember all four of us: Cortney, Tasha, (my cousins) McCall, (my sister) and myself, dressing up and choreographing dance moves to all of their songs. None of us could be Baby Spice, because all of us wanted to be Baby Spice. I still think I should have been her, though. After all, I was the only one with blonde hair.

I remember long summer days at the pool, and our quad piling into the back of my mom’s minivan in our bathing suits. I remember sitting side-by-side with my cousins and comparing the sizes of our thighs. Mine were way bigger.

I remember asking my mom later if I was fat. She told me that I wasn’t, and that my cousins were simply too skinny. I was seven years old.

I remember the summer before 8th grade when I decided to participate in the Miss Kaysville Fruit Heights scholarship pageant. I won the Director’s Choice Award, but I know that the pageant was rigged, and the only reason I got any sort of award was because the director of the pageant just so happened to be my neighbor. I’m still glad she didn’t let me leave empty-handed, and still have that little trophy sitting on my dresser.

I remember Lakin Larsen, my favorite babysitter, who always made me two packets of Easy Mac and played Kim Possible outside with my little sister and me. She was always Kim Possible, and we were the bad guys.

I remember going to bed with one little sister, and waking up with two.

I remember when the only things that mattered to me were whether or not I would be sleeping over at my cousins’ house for the third time in a row, and who had the most Water Babies.

I remember when everything mattered.

I remember when everything mattered so much that I couldn’t bring myself to fall asleep at night because I had too much worrying to do about things that mattered.

I remember how in 8th grade health class, we had to practice reading each others’ blood pressures, and mine was so low that even Coach Downs couldn’t find it. I’d never seen a teacher look so concerned before, and I doubt he’d seen a student so underweight before.

I remember buying Coach a snow globe with a John Deer tractor in it for Christmas that year. The man was obsessed with John Deer tractors.

I remember our summer snow cone stand out in the front yard and how we got a whole gang of older kids on bikes to buy fourteen dollars worth of snow cones in one day. They came back once a week, and we’d always spend our entire earnings on syrup and ice so that we could re-open shop the following day. We owned that neighborhood.

I remember when I finally decided that I was going to stop taking myself so seriously, because, let’s be honest, nobody else does. Life has been significantly easier since I’d made that decision.

I remember starting high school with a brand new clique of friends. My best friend, Brooks, introduced himself like, “Hi, I’m Brooks! And I’m a giant teddy bear!” and then shook my hand. I knew right then that we were going to be best friends for a long time.

I remember Brooks coming over to my house for the first time. He laughed at the chubby third grade version of myself my family had mounted on our living room wall. I locked myself in my closet and wouldn’t come out until I felt that he’d adequately begged for my forgiveness.

I remember my Chemistry teacher, Mr. Stevens, and how one day, in front of the entire class, he advised me in his British accent to enroll in medical school for the sole purpose of finding a mate. He said once I’d done that, I could just drop out and be a trophy wife. That was the day I decided I was going to get a PhD.

I remember back in high school when I was a ballroom dancer, and I’d have to get spray tans for competitions. I remember being told by a fellow classmate that I looked like I “rolled in a bag of Doritios.” I blushed, but you couldn’t see it due to my artificial tan.

I remember waking up at 5:30 every morning to get ready for school, which gave me two whole hours before class started. I didn’t mind, because just like everything else, looks mattered.

I remember when I’d foolishly decided to sign with a modeling agency. The agents were all real smooth-talkers, and wrongly convinced me that I “had a great look” for modeling and said that if I worked hard, I could be successful. Guess who didn’t get an ounce of work through aforementioned modeling agency?

I remember how in junior high school, the proper way to tell a boy you liked him was to hurl Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups into his back yard while he was jumping on his trampoline with his friends. This method was successful on all trials but one.

I remember being labeled a perfectionist by some shrink my parents made me see one time

I remember deciding that things didn’t matter any more, and how that mindset resulted in really poor grades, and a lot of sneaking out of my house on school nights.

I don’t remember ever finding a balance.