Week 5: Confidence and Self-Image

The authors we have read thus far have been remarkably candid and open with their readers. Fey, Poehler, and Kaling have a confident, self-assured voice in their writing, but Phoebe Robinson’s confidence and openness is far above whatever scale you could put Fey, Poehler, and Kaling’s confident writing on. Robinson’s complete confidence in herself has made me think about my utter lack of confidence in myself. I want to use this post as an opportunity to present my ideas on self-image, even though this would disrupt the pattern—strict analysis with minimal personal reflection—that my previous posts created.

I’ve struggled with my self-image since I was nine years old. In third grade, I loved wearing vibrant, stylish outfits that, at nine, I thought reflected my vibrant personality. I stopped wearing fun and colorful outfits soon after a boy in my class called me fat in a creative way. This boy looked me up and down, put an inflated Ziploc bag under his shirt, and said, “Look! I’m Vivienne!”, mocking the way my chubby stomach created a bulge in my yellow, plaid shirt. To make a long story short, I never wore that shirt again and I became hyper-conscious about how my body looked. I had never even thought about my appearance in that way before, but because of one boy’s stupid comment, I stopped wearing my favorite shirts, and went to school every day wearing an oversized hoodie or sweatshirt so that I could hide my body as much as possible.

Because of one boy’s comment, I decided that the best thing I could do to survive school was blend in. Wear gray hoodies that make you barely distinguishable from the walls, and hide all of your personality so that you become just one more of so many conforming students. In elementary school, I educated myself on calories, and carbs, and dieting plans so that I could achieve the body that all of the popular girls had. Your body image is an inherent part of your self-image. If you have no confidence in your body image, then you have little to no confidence in other areas. I was ashamed of my body, therefore I was also ashamed of my overall personality. I suppressed all of my passion and enthusiasm so that I was as interesting and noteworthy as a brick wall. I didn’t want to give anyone the opportunity to notice me or make fun of me again.

My experience is not unique or exceptional. Everyone, no matter what race, gender, or sexuality, struggles with their self-image at some point. Why is that? We are not born nitpicking ourselves, yet we grow to critique every aspect of our identity and appearance. We are taught from a young age that physical appearance is one of the most important parts of life on Earth. Women especially have this message drilled into their heads. If you’re not physically attractive, society tells women, then you must change yourself in order to reach that goal. Additionally, if you feel as though your interests don’t match the interests of your peer group, you feel pressure to dim your non-conforming passions.  Since that initial wound in third grade, I’ve had to fight to sustain a positive self-image and a semblance of confidence. Phoebe Robinson discusses her journey to a positive self-image in her book, You Can’t Touch My Hair.  Robinson is able to love and respect herself even with all of the negative things that society tells her about herself. If she can face daily racism and sexism and have the strength to be confident in who she is, then I can work to improve my own self-image.

No, You Can't Tell Me What to Do

Of course, there are people in this world who can, and rightfully should, tell me what to do.  Teachers should probably give me assignments so that I am held accountable for my learning. My parents should probably give me a curfew so I don't stay out until the ass-crack of dawn with my best friend "spilling tea". My tuba instructor should probably tell me what I can do to improve my playing so I can become a better musician.  A doctor or dentist should probably tell me to stop eating so much candy at odd hours of the night because it will inevitably negatively effect my health or my teach.  A yoga instructor should probably fix my yoga pose so I don't break my wrist or something else I would probably do. A police officer should probably read my my Miranda Rights so I realize for once in my life I should probably shut up before I get myself into more trouble than I already apparently have in this hypothetical scenario... The list goes on.  I will swallow my pride and acknowledge that there are probably a handful of people in this world who should tell me what to do.  But there are EVEN MORE people in this world who despite how hard they may try, CAN NOT tell me what to do. 

Growing up, 8 out of 10 times, if my mother told me not to do something, it meant I was going to do it. "Hannah, don't touch the burner, it's still on!" Yeah okay mom, whatever.  So what did I do? I laid my hand on a hot burner and burned my hand.  I was around 3.  Has anything changed? Maybe a little. I no longer lay my hands on burners out of spite, but I do act out of spite quite often still.  I do not  like being told what to do.  I like to feel in control of my life and my self.  Unless I can see some validity in what you may be telling me to do? Then maybe I MIGHT, (emphasis on MIGHT) listen to what you have to say.

In most, if  not all of the texts we have read thus far, we have seen women saying a big ol' F*CK YOU to what people tell or expect them to do.  Fey and Poehler both said screw the male dominated world of comedy and came right out on top.  A true mark of Fey and Poehler's success? The fact I thought both of them were respectively Sarah Palin and Hilary Clinton. I truly could not have identified the real from the fake until probably this year after reading their books.  Robinson is most notable for saying No to what people expect her to do (or look like or act like). I mean, after all the title of her book is, You Can't Touch My Hair and Other Things I still Have to Explain.  Robinson is no stranger to the things people seem to believe they have the right to say, do or expect her to do. She explains she was one of the only Black people in her high school.  I can only imagine everything that came with that she didn't even touch on.  She also explains how she was expected to wear her hair.  Black hair, clearly a large area of topic, almost always.  But what I loved about Robinson's book, is in chapter two she explains all the people who paved the way in doing what they want with their hair (Robinson, pp. 27-52).  I love to see a woman who is empowered by those who came before her, both female and male. 

After reading the foreword, introduction, and chapters 1 and 2, I couldn't help but feel secondhand empowerment from Phoebe.  If a young black woman who definitely does not have the privilege of me, a white woman, can feel empowered simply by the hair of people, then why the heck am I bogged down by the men in my life who are clearly clueless over what it takes to be a woman?  I feel like going out with a hammer now and crushing the metaphorical  patriarchy... okay maybe not a hammer... maybe just some colorful poster and a pointed tongue.  The point I am trying to make is that no one ever should get to tell us how to live, how to act, or what to be.  We get to choose our path. Self expression is one of the greatest treasures in this world, and while woman and POC have not always had this treasure at their fingertips, it is 2020 and no one can hold us back any more.  A woman can be president.  A woman can be a doctor. A man can be a stay-at-home father. Our opportunities are endless and I say flash anyone your extra-long middle finger who tells you that you cannot be whatever you want to be or do whatever your heart desires.  Yes, I would suggest you continue to listen to your doctor or a police officer.  And maybe even sometimes the government...but only sometimes. I think we can all see that it is quite often a mess down there...

Honestly, there’s bigger fish to fry...

In class, we discussed the fine line of oversharing and not sharing enough in books written by women authors. The books that we’ve read are all by women comedians, all of whom are successful in their own rights. As I tried to come up with a blog topic, my mind drifted to my plans after college. I want to be elected into a political office, which means I have to be very careful about what I say and do in person and online. I’m not exactly a “Nancy Pelosi” or “Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez” figure as a college student who’s going through bagel withdrawal (cutting out gluten is a nightmare, by the way),  so most, if not everything, I say is inconsequential (unless I do something-or rather somethings-really stupid. See Justin Trudeau, Canadian Prime Minister, Virginia Gov. Ralph Northam, Virginia Attorney General Mark Herring, Alabama Gov. Kay Ivey, and Florida Secretary of State Michael Ertel.)

You might be wondering how any of this connects with our readings. Think about Hess’ article for a second: her main argument was that women authors hide who they are from the public. She isn’t explicitly stating that this is for their own safety, but there’s an implication that these authors are trying to keep some control over what information is shared with the public. If that’s true, then something like “painting your face black without thinking about how you’re perpetrating cultural stereotypes at the expense of other racial groups” is something they would want hidden. Of course, I don’t think any of the authors we have studied so far would do anything like that, but there are other life events that aren’t for public consumption. 

Let’s take Amy Poehler as an example: she mentions in her book Yes Please that had a “depressing run-in with a grabby producer”, according to Hess. However, she never says the name of the producer-why? She names the nanny, and that was after describing an embarrassing situation even I wouldn’t admit to (I stand by my statement that I have never texted the wrong person. I am too paranoid for that.), so what exactly is the issue here? Is she afraid that naming the producer will cause her to have legal troubles? If the name is kept anonymous, does it save the producer’s and her own reputation? Why does she have to admit this happened to her, but not have the ability in sharing the name of the man who made her feel uncomfortable?

And why is this okay for the public to know about? Are we really that nosy that little tidbits like this are required for a book to fly off the shelves?

Perhaps the point of writing out this sequence of events was for Poehler to illustrate an important point: it doesn’t matter who made you feel uncomfortable. It matters how you deal with it. Or maybe it really is about making more money. For some reason, though, I don’t care about the motives behind it. As long as no one is digging into her personal life without her permission, then my only role is to make people see the real issues presented by other characters in women authors’ books: sexual misconduct, misogyny, and micro-aggressions. 

Week 3: The "Myth" of "Never Enough"

It is hard to feel "enough" when subjected to constant competition. I am reminded of this simple, yet devastating fact every time I unlock my phone. As I scroll through the seemingly effortless, calculated glamour shots of every woman I wish I could be, I tell myself that I will never be enough. Yet somehow "I will never be enough" rings throughout the beautiful heads of the women I envy as they envy others "more beautiful" than them. To be a woman is to be sucked deeper and deeper into an endless whirlpool of competition. Sadly, some of us struggle to stay afloat and disappear into the abyss of loneliness and shame born of something we ultimately cannot control. Through examining Tina Fey's Bossypants and Amy Poehler's Yes, Please, I hope to make a statement about the harmful effects of social media on the presence of "not enough" in women's minds today. 

In Tina Fey's Bossypants, she briefly discusses the concept of "not enough" and coins the term, "The Myth of Not Enough," to describe her feelings toward it (87). She claims that competition between women, which is encouraged by society, is actually a myth. Furthermore, she suggests that the true competition lies between "everyone" (Fey 88). While that statement contains a nice sentiment and is valid, I would argue that women are pitted against other women more often than they are seen "in competition" with men. In other words, society has yet to progress enough for competition to be a completely genderless concept. Even if it is not direct, women are competing with each other constantly, and this issue can especially be seen through social media. 

Along with Fey's ideas of "not enough" and competition, Amy Poehler's ending remarks against technology, particularly cell phones, adds another layer to this argument. Specifically, Poehler mentions that one of the numerous reasons she despises technology is that "my phone wants me to feel bad about how I look" (319). That statement directly correlates with this idea that social media aggravates "not being enough." We are constantly being exposed to "things [we] shouldn't see" that make us feel less than (Poehler 320). Personally, I do not need to see picture after picture highlighting extreme wealth and perfectly chiseled bodies. I would like to say, "Good for her! Not for me," but I find myself wishing, "How about for me too?" (Poehler 32). This dialogue is incredibly dangerous, however, as I am comparing my current life and physique to something I will possibly never attain. It is not only being "not enough" in this situation but forever being "never enough" that is so disheartening and harmful to my self-esteem.  

Social media affects women negatively in a multitude of ways, which predominantly include low self-esteem and feelings of worthlessness. However, we may not understand just how much social media makes us feel "not enough." Numerous experiments and studies mentioned in an article from Sex Roles, a feminist, scientific journal, claim that "exposure to thin-ideal media images increases women's dissatisfaction with their bodies" which leads to "eating disorder symptomatology among preadolescent girls and young women" (Perloff 363). Along with unhealthy body image, women remain exposed to out-of-date, stereotypical gender roles "despite decades-long social activism designed to increase gender equality" (Perloff 364). This unfortunate fact relates to Fey's point about competition. It remains a gendered aspect of our society, and the media continues to reinforce this division between genders. Thus, it is "not enough" to say that us women are in competition with men as well as women, because we are still expected to compete with only each other. To argue otherwise is only feeding the "delusion" that we are anything more than "not enough." 

Works Cited 

Fey, Tina. “The Windy City, Full of Meat.” Bossypants, Little, Brown and Company, 2013, pp. 87–88. 

Perloff, Richard M. “Social Media Effects on Young Women’s Body Image Concerns: Theoretical Perspectives and an Agenda for Research.” Sex Roles, vol. 71, no. 11–12, Dec. 2014, pp. 363–364, EBSCOhost, doi:10.1007/s11199-014-0384-6. 

Poehler, Amy. Yes Please, Dey St., an Imprint of William Morrow Publishers, 2014, pp. 32–320. 

A rant about technology causing me issues when it’s really my own fault that I can’t control myself

When I set out to write this blog post, I had this grand idea of comparing the relationships Amy Poehler has with my own. I was going to talk about how she is communicating with her friends with technology without necessarily relying on it, and I was going to critique my own methods of communication with my friends and family. 

However, I recently downloaded TikTok, and I think most of us know what happens when you visit TikTok.

(Spoiler for those of you without TikTok: you have good intentions of looking at one video, but you tend to lose track of time, and by that I mean you find yourself watching videos of cats hitting the “woah” two hours after you started.)

In summary, I’ve decided not to pursue my original topic. Instead, I will be ranting about how technology has caused me to become a procrastinator, much like Poehler discussed in her book Yes, Please.

You see, before I had an iPhone or a tablet, I was able to get my work done without a hitch, and still have time to watch The Incredibles yet again. Now, I can waste hours on Youtube and by the time I’m aware of myself and the time, I’ve already watched “Top 10 Saturday Night Live Members Who Always Break Character” (shoutout to WatchMojo) and had time to start writing in the comments section (not that I have, although really? Jimmy Fallon is number one? I’ve got to support my main man, Bill Hader!

But I digress.)

Amy Poehler and I both have a relationship with modern technology that’s almost toxic in a way. Not just when it comes to body image or emotions, but also bringing down our work ethics. Her first item of proof  from the chapter “The Robots Will Kill Us All: A Conclusion” is literally “My phone does not want me to finish this book or do any work in general” (317). It seems as if writing this book was just as difficult for her as it is for some students to write five-hundred words (cough cough me). If you go back and read everything under that heading, that happens every time I take a break from doing homework or studying. It starts with searching for something useful, like a synonym for the word “scatter” (like “shower”); it turns into remembering you wanted a new shower curtain, so you go to Amazon and look at artsy shower curtains; then you remember that you liked the shower curtain back home that your brother got while you were gone; for some reason, you realize you talked with him in almost three weeks and decide to give him a call; he proceeds to not answer, so you panic and think somethings wrong, so you call you’re mom thinking she might know what’s wrong; that’s when she answers and asks “Elana, why are you calling me at 11:40 at night?”

And that’s when you realize you screwed up. It’s been four hours since you touched your homework. Thanks, Apple.

I’ve come to realize just how obsessed I am about what I can see on my phone. The phone itself is only important because of everything stored on it. All of my photos, contacts, memories-everything is on this device that has a screen the height of my face. I know that there was a time when I wasn’t obsessed with stuff on a small screen. I know that there was a time when I was obsessed instead with The Incredibles, Batman (1966) and Toy Story 2. Poehler used to be obsessed with movies on the big screen, like The Omen, Caddyshack, and The Jerk (315-316). All of a sudden, we both turned our attentions to smaller screens with even more power.

That makes me wonder about my obsession. Why did it start? I didn’t just watch fictional movies-I read a lot of fiction books. I would be transported to other worlds and my imagination would run wild. Am I transported to the worlds of other people, and so transfixed with the creations of others that can’t bring myself to leave? Am I anxious about my own reality, so I use the work of others to distract myself? Do I need to focus on why I want to escape my reality? How much of this can I actually control?

Do I even want to stop?

*Here’s what the shower curtain kind of looks like back in Morgantown. Yes, it’s a bunch of saxophones-my brother is a band geek.

**Here are a couple of the videos I’ve saved from that recent Tik Tok trip:

The Proud Female who Plays with Dinosaurs and Swears like a Sailor

            All of my life I’ve never really felt as if I fit into the check box of a “girl.” I do identify as a woman, and I am proudly a woman, but I never really understood why I was expected to act certain ways or maintain certain stereotypes.  When I was about 5, my mother took away my toy dinosaurs.  She said that they weren’t girls toys and encouraged me to play Barbies or Polly Pockets with my sister. She bought my sister me an American Girl Doll, and continued to push for me to choose those toys over my preferred toys: my trains and my dinosaurs.  I remember pretending to ballroom dance with my sister as a child. I always wanted to dance the male part, as I felt that’s what I identified more with. Never because I felt like a boy trapped in a girls body, but because I didn’t feel like society’s idea of a girl. I was never dainty. I was never quiet. I liked to play rough and wanted to ride my bike with no hands like the boys who played in the street over from mine.
             Reading about the “Good Girl” expectation in Barreca’s text felt all too close to home. All of this was shoved down my throat so harshly that all I wanted to do was retaliate. I wasn’t like my Good Girl friends. I didn’t stay quiet in class. I didn’t want to change myself to be what boys wanted from me. I didn’t play innocent. All throughout elementary school, I wanted to be seen as equal to the boys. I couldn’t wrap my innocent mind around the fact that I was going to be expected to act a certain way just in order to make other people happy.  That was until middle school came around. All of a sudden I couldn’t be friends with guys. I couldn’t act like the guys. I had to be the Good Girl if I wanted to make it out alive.
             Like Barreca mentions in “They Used to Call Me Snow White...” in order to be accepted by the guys and not be torn to shreds for having “no sense of humor” (whatever that means,) I took the harassment. As my chest developed, I took the jokes about my breasts and I laughed them off because after all that must be what I am supposed to do.  I adopted the self depreciating humor into my normal every day conversation in order to fit in amongst boys and girls alike. Boys appreciated that I attacked myself so they could continue to feel superior, and girls jumped in by one-upping my self deprecating comments by tearing themselves down worse, or proclaiming whatever was wrong with them was way worse than any thing that could ever be wrong with me.
            Along with what Fey mentions in “All Girls Must Be Everything”, I began to realize even more was wrong with me as girls complained about things they were experiencing which I was also experiencing. I’d previously not seen an issue with these things, but as soon as someone pointed it out as an issue in themselves, it then became this huge flaw in myself. Through all of this, I continued to use humor to laugh off these flaws, secretly hoping maybe if I made people know me as the funny girl, they would ignore all of these flaws society pinned to my existence.  Being known as the funny girl only lasted for so long.  These jokes I pinned against myself began to only open doors for people to feel more welcome to tear me down.  I feel this happens quite often as humor is misunderstood.  Ali Wong joking about her promiscuity in her younger years may seemingly open the door for people to attack her for being promiscuous.  It may make people feel as if because she is joking about this herself that she won’t care if someone makes a joke to her about her being a “slut” or a “whore” or any other beautiful name women are often called for having sex (I could easily go into how when men have lots of sex it’s celebrated, yet for women it’s highly frowned upon, but I am sure you can all assume where that conversation could go.)
           Through my comedic take on my pain and awkward teenage development, I opened the door for people to only wear me down even thinner until I utterly fell apart.  I had filled every ounce of my soul with self hate and disgust because my “coping” jokes actually tore me apart where it was supposed to be a band aid which covered up the wounds, not pulled them open every day refusing their healing process. As a few other blogs mentioned how self love is a journey that they’re traveling, changing the internal dialogue which narrates their day. After falling to pieces from years of self depreciating humor, I made the same change. I still follow the expectations of female humor and make jokes about  “women’s things”, but any guy I spend time around will tell you I have the mouth of a dirty sailor. I am again fully comfortable with saying “I don’t fucking care what you think” (like Poehler) in regards to what a man, or any human for that matter, tells me I can or can’t do.
            Self love and moving away from home freed me to take my journey to be myself once again.  Honestly, I hope my journey is never ending. I hope I’m able to love myself more and more each day. I hope I’m able to make people laugh each and every day, hopefully without tearing myself to shreds every time.  Will I continue to roast myself because that is just my type of humor? Probably.  But will I continue to say “fuck you” to any expectation someone has for how I’m supposed to act, think or speak? An unwavering strong Y E S. Reading these texts only made me feel stronger. It is always motivation so to hear another woman publicly say, “Yeah, I’m doing my own thing, and no one can stop me.” I hoe that wave carries on and is able to reach every woman.