So, I had every intention of easing into posts like these. However, I needed a place to vent my frustration, and it just so happens that I recently created such a place.
I grew up being friends with mostly boys. I was friends with the three other girls in my neighborhood, but it was difficult for me to get along with the girls in my classes. So, I became "one of the guys." I remember being at a church youth conference, where the boys stayed up late rating the girls at the conference from 1-10, based on looks. We were 13, at the time. This information came to me from Dexter, my childhood best friend. I asked Dexter where I had been "ranked." He responded that I hadn't been brought up, because I'm not really a girl. I'm one of the guys. I mean, yeah. I'm a girl. But, I'm not a girl. (Conversely, everyone ranked Lisa, a close friend of mine, a 10. She was a ballerina. You know. A girl.)
Dexter took me on my first date, the weekend after I turned 16. I'd had two boyfriends before my 16th birthday, but had never been on a date. Dexter took me to the rodeo. I hate the rodeo, but that is neither here, nor there. I remember wearing a navy blue button-up shirt, flared jeans, and these maroon clogs that looked like boots when poking out from beneath my pants. I thought it was a cute ensemble. I remember Dexter telling me that I looked nice, while staring at the buttons that helped the shirt conceal my chest. He said he liked how the shirt matched my eyes, while continuing to not look at my eyes. We'd been friends for 13 years. He knew what color my eyes were without having to look at them.
Dexter and I haven't had a whole lot of interaction, since that night. Our academic interests put us in different classes. Our political leanings sent us to different groups of friends. Our genders kept us separated at church. He went to college in Northern Utah, and I stayed in the valley. He went on a mission for the LDS church, and spent two years in the Philippines. I changed my major six times.
He's been home six months. I've maybe said five words to him, since his return. But, we're facebook friends, so I get to read all the lovely things he posts. Today, I came home from work to find the following photo in my news feed:
I've seen the same message displayed on other photos, on facebook.
One of my favorite blogs highlighted such a photo, explaining that it isn't okay to compare "immodest" women to pieces of meat. When I saw that Dexter had shared this photo, I wanted to respond with one of my own:
Instead, I sent vibes of fist-shaking in his direction.
It is not...NOT...not okay to treat women whose attire does not conform to your standard of appropriateness as though they are somehow "dirty." Teachings such as this lead to the idea that a certain hem-length is the barrier between deserving to be sexually harassed or assaulted and being mistreated by jerks. That is not the case. No one deserves to be harassed or assaulted.
In the LDS faith, young women are taught to dress modestly. LDS youth programs are supposed to instill a desire within their participants to one day attend the Temple. Within the temple, LDS members who have been deemed "worthy" participate in ceremonies where they make covenants with God. Members who have gone through the temple are supposed to wear garments -- a kind of underclothing that is supposed to be worn out of respect for and devotion to God. Like a yarmulke and a prayer shawl in the Jewish faith. Part of the deal with garments is that the wearer is supposed to wear clothing that covers their garments. This means no sleeveless shirts, no short shorts, and no low necklines. Young LDS women are encouraged to wear clothing throughout their youth that demonstrates how they are preparing to go through the temple by keeping "covered." Though it is implied that this is out of devotion to God, it is more-frequently stated that it is to keep the young men from thinking "impure" thoughts and defiling their Priesthood by masturbating, watching porn, and/or participating in sexual activities.
I was pulled aside by my youth leaders many times, and told that my manner of dress was inappropriate. That I was going to hell because of my necklines. That if I loved God, I would wear crewneck t-shirts under my cardigans, and not tank tops -- especially considering my close friendship with a number of the young men in our congregation (Dexter included). When a lesson was given concerning chastity, modesty was always brought up as a means to living a chaste life. The giver of the lesson would then turn to look at me.
Because, somehow, wearing a tank top under my cardigan meant I was the Mother of All Harlots. I was the only girl my age, in my congregation, who wasn't sexually active when these assaults started happening. But my manner of dress was inappropriate, and bound to attract all the wrong kinds of boys.
That isn't to shame the other girls my age. I didn't care that they were sexually active. I laughed with them as they told the stories of their escapades, but had no desire to have similar experiences of my own, at that time.
But I was taught that the right kind of attire attracts the "right" kind of boys. Priesthood holders, of course, but men who respected women.
Men like Dexter?
It would seem that Dexter, by posting the above picture, considers himself a Real Man. (As opposed to a fake man?) One who doesn't go for women whose clothing he deems "immodest," because those women must be dirty. They may as well have rolled around in horse shit. And the men who are attracted to these women are all pigs. Because if they weren't, they would date women who kept their skin under wraps.
It doesn't matter if these non-Real men respect a woman's right to choose what she wants to wear, and support her decisions to wear items of clothing in which SHE feels comfortable. Whether that means she goes out in a little black dress or a track suit.
They're pigs.
But I can't avoid thinking about my first date, and Dexter's comment about my eyes that was made while his own were focused on telekinetically undoing the buttons on my shirt. Dexter is a Real Man.
My first "sexual" encounter was with one such Real Man. Boyfriend #2. We'd been dating for 6 weeks. He drugged me and decided to have sex with me while I was passed out. I drifted in and out of consciousness as this occurred, and woke up, hazy, in his arms -- thinking it had all been a bad dream.
He also just recently returned home from a mission.
And I'm the one covered in horse shit.
