Archives For Slut-shaming

My Short Dress

October 6, 2016 — 101 Comments

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My short dress is not an invitation. It’s not a political statement. it’s not feminist; it’s not slutty.

I’m not even sure it’s fashionable.

My short dress is one of the only dresses I own. I’m not a ‘dresses’ kind of girl. I prefer jeans and rock tees and clothes that align my outside with my inside. My clothes are wearable art.

My short dress is perfectly comfy. It’s made of the softest fabric ever. It’s loose and flowy and billows out in a way that allows me to eat and drink whatever I want and never feel constricted. My short dress feels like FREEDOM.

My short dress is black, like most of my clothing. It’s not body conscious enough to be considered sexy nor frou frou enough to be considered a sundress. It’s kind of rock and roll and kind of funky and hard to categorize. Like me.

My short dress has a black lace trim all around the bottom. I love wearing it with combat boots; the juxtaposition of the lacy hem with rugged boots. Feminine and tough, all at the same time. Rarely do I get to be both simultaneously.

My short dress shows off my legs. They’re almost always covered up in jeans. So it’s an occasion when I show them in a dress – “THERE they are!”

 

My short dress does not say “come fuck me.” The clothes I wear in public do not communicate a desire for sex. Or a reason for you to expect it from me. It doesn’t mean I am “asking for it.” My short dress is not the reason why women get raped.

While we’re on the subject, women don’t get raped because of clothing. Or lack of it. Or flirtatious behavior. Or alcohol.

Women GET RAPED BECAUSE OF RAPISTS.

 

 

My short dress is not meant to stir uncontrollable lust in a man, creating in him an overpowering urge to yank it up and slam me against a wall. To suggest that is demeaning to men.

It’s also a flaw-ridden concept. How can we possess this inescapable power over men, wielded primarily through our bodies, and yet find ourselves subjugated through most of history?

 

My short dress was not worn to flaunt my body in a sexual way. I have moved beyond the desire to show you my tits and ass.

It’s easy to show you my tits and ass. I want to show you my intelligence, my wit, my courage, my compassion, my vulnerability. I am worth infinitely more than the sum of my body parts.

My short dress is not worn in the hopes that you will find me desirable. I won’t self-objectify, simply because the media has lied to me about what TRUE beauty is. I will not spend my days fixating on how sexually attractive I am. This leaves me with far less mental and physical energy to pursue what really brings me happiness.

My short dress is not an easier way to reach my pussy, although you said that while you pawed at me. You groped at my crotch through my tights and told me that was why I REALLY wore that dress, wasn’t it?

 

My short dress was not a reason for you to slut-shame me on Facebook, although you most certainly did.

slut-shaming

 

My short dress is not a means to an end, but an end in itself. It’s a choice I make.

My short dress is not attention seeking. My short dress is about comfort, visual appeal, mobility, my emotional state, the fabric, the cut. It’s an homage to my icons and an expression of whatever I was feeling when I reached into my closet.

My short dress does NOT say, “I’ll wear what I want, whenever I want, where I want.” That’s as extreme a viewpoint as “she was dressed provocatively, and that’s why she was attacked.” Both ends of the spectrum oversimplify a complicated issue.

My short dress was not meant to weigh in on that issue. It’s just a dress I feel good in.

 

My short dress does show my body, but it should not lead to judgement, pain or dehumanization.

It shows the line of my calves and the strength of my shoulders and the soft skin of my chest, but don’t overcomplicate my motives.

My short dress is a simple celebration; a reminder that I was blessed with one life, and in that life, a perfectly functioning body.

My short dress is not for YOU. It is for ME.

 

Have you ever been shamed because of what you were wearing?
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

 

Come hang out with me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, so I can have friends without leaving the house. 

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slut

 

 

I may incite the rage of many people, in this day of sexual harassment, objectification of women and rape culture. But I’m going to say it.

I’M A SLUTTY WHORE. 

Jarring? Perhaps. If you don’t feel something when I write, then I’m doing it wrong.

 

Is it bad to be a slutty whore? When did that happen?

I thought that whole stifled sexuality thing went out in the 50’s. By 1969, wanton Woodstock nymphos were taking on bushy haired bohemians two at a time in the mud at Yasgur’s farm, urged on by Country Joe and the Fish.

He spelled out F-U-C-K to the crowd. They did it.

They just don't make rock festivals like they used to

They just don’t make rock festivals like they used to

 

They were slutty whores.

I love being a slutty whore.  Not being labeled one by others.

ON MY TERMS.

The words “slut” and “whore” are aggressive. But I will not let society control me with the use of these words.

Being labeled “slutty whore” by others is abhorrent. In a patriarchal society, there is an inherent danger in these words. Because these words support Rape Culture. Blaming the victim is the dark side of the American Way.

There are compelling reasons to support sensitivity around the use of these words; why feminists fight against the use of these words.

Sexual harassment is UGLY. Objectifying women is UGLY.

.

Still, I’M A SLUTTY WHORE.

And simultaneously, a card carrying feminist.

I’m wholly independent, and always have been. I’ve supported myself since I was 16 years old, and support a child as well. On my own.

If that’s not female empowerment, in a world where not only are women competing against men for jobs, but where we are all competing in a global environment for gainful employment, than nothing is.

 

I’m not always a slutty whore. In this moment, I’m in a thick fluffy purple bathrobe and slippers.

I’ve just fed Little Dude homemade chocolate chip cookies and milk, and he’s doing his homework while I write. I’m in full-on Mom Mode.

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Homework really fucks with Mama’s cocktail hour

 

But later on, tonight maybe? Will I be a slutty whore?

Hopefully.

 

There are many situations in which being a slutty whore is a positive thing.

1. In Bed with Your Man (or Woman)

Here is where you should be the sluttiest whore you can. This is a key component to sheet ripping sex.

If you love the person, all the better. Extra credit if you’re married. Triple extra credit if you’ve been married 10 years or more.

Can you imagine couples married for 20 years with enough fire in the relationship for the wife to want to be a slutty whore in bed? That’s extraordinary. It’s a 2-decade hot and heavy romance, and that is PURE GOLD.

 

2. Going Out/Escaping Real Life

When I was in my 20’s, I went out clubbing in New York all the time, and yes, I frequently dressed like a slutty whore. That’s what your 20’s are for.

These days, I’m a working mom. I’m in total denial about my age, which is somewhere between 30 and none of your business. I rarely go out, and when I do, Saturday nights at Applebee’s is not the forum for a slutty outfit.

BUT – don’t we all, even just once in a great while, need to put on a costume and play at being something we’re not? Don’t we all occasionally need that brief respite from being a Parent and a Grown Up and a Super Responsible Human Being?

Last December, I saw Patti Smith perform at a club in New York. I was meeting up with college friends I hadn’t seen in 22 years.

I went all out and dressed goddamned slutty to pay homage to my High Priestess of Rock.

I wore black, skin-tight, low-cut clothing and high-heeled, over the knee black boots.

THESE BOOTS WERE NOT MADE FOR WALKING

These boots were NOT made for walking

 

Little Dude actually blocked the door.

“MOM! You can’t leave here LOOKING like that!”

It was the first time he’d ever seen Mama look like a rap video ho, and he did not like it one bit. He’s fine, now that I’m back in the fuzzy bathrobe. Hopefully, he hasn’t been scarred for life.

 

3. Shopping For Lingerie.

My college BFF fought a brutal battle against breast cancer. An entire year of pure torture. But she fought like an amazon warrior. She recently had her reconstruction done, and we went online and ordered a cornucopia of bras. A lot of them were super charged, high octane slutty bras that say,

“HELLO, WORLD. CHECK THESE PUPPIES OUT. I’M ALIVE, AND I’M HERE.”

Because if ever a woman needs to feel that way, it’s her after what she endured this past year.

Her boobs will damn sure be saying "Hello!"

Her boobs will damn sure be saying “Hello!”

 

4. Writing.

I’m not talking about writing erotica (although by all means, do. Whatever tickles your pickle.) I’m talking about using those words when you write.

“Slutty whore” is an incredibly evocative phrase. When you write, “I was such a slutty whore when I was in high school,” we know JUST the girl you were.

Words inform the mind.

They thrill and excite, kindle the flame, affect as powerfully as physical actions.

Wordplay is life. Handle with care, but USE them.

 

5. Out With the Girls

It’s like African Americans using the N-word. Outside the community, it’s a racial slur. Inside the community, it’s an expression of solidarity. My girlfriends and I have reclaimed those words, and if we want to banter with them, by God, we will.

They’re multiple meaning words. We can use them to express appreciation or dismay. For example:

“Ooh! Where did you get THOSE, you whore?” might be said to my girlfriend who has on the perfect pair of stiletto ankle boots.

“WHORE!” I might say to the same girlfriend, when she shows up 30 minutes late for coffee.

Any excuse to use a Regina George reference.

 

To use these terms pejoratively is one thing.

But to describe yourself that way in a celebration of your own uninhibited freedom;

to rejoice in the escape from your everyday world of work/mom/PTO drudgery;

to bond with friends in an exclusive language that allow you to metaphorically take back the night;

to be evocative with words; words – the lifeline that connects this cherished community online comrades;

Right now, I’m not a slutty whore.

I’m a writer.  And I want to know how you feel about those words. 
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

Good_vs_Evil_by_umerr2000

Daily Prompt: A Bird, a Plane, You!

You get to choose one superpower. Pick one of these, and explain your choice:

 

I think I am two warring souls living within one body.

*other soul nods in agreement*  Yes, we are.

There are two of me. They are in constant conflict.

All my life, I’ve saddled the seesaw of contradiction. It hurts my pussy.

On one side: The Mother. The Teacher. The Professional. The Upstanding Citizen. The Good Girl.

On the other side: The Mother Fucker. The Deviant. The Law Breaker.  The Slut. The Bad Girl.

I’d like to make them agree, once and for all, on who I am.

It makes life really difficult when one person shows up where the other is supposed to be.  They never see eye to eye.

Like when I’m with someone and Bad Girl just wants to fuck him/her six ways til Tuesday, and then Good Girl butts her slut-shaming face in and pussy/cock blocks me.

Reminds me that I’m a mom. That I have a business, and a reputation to uphold. That I have too much self respect to screw someone in the parking lot of a restaurant, regardless of how deliciously hot that scenario is.

Or when Good Girl Mom was teaching her son to ride a two wheeler, and I had to keep squashing down nasty-ass Bad Girl’s remarks: “Get those mother fucking training wheels, off, Pussy Boy! Man up! If you fall, you fall, bitch!”

Good Girl goes shopping, and Bad Girl shop lifts. She shouldn’t do that. If she gets caught, it would not bode well for her. She just can’t help it…she’s really good at it.

Good Girl is tutoring a student, and Bad Girl starts explaining to her how to give a really good blow job. Which is not on the curriculum.

I’m bringing these two to couple’s counseling. If they don’t start agreeing on who I am, I’m ditching both of them and coming up with a completely new, third personality.

Now I just need a really good Superhero name.