A Sobler by any other name...just isn't a Sobler

Yo, I totally got married.

I can hardly believe it myself, but the husband and I had the weekend of our lives and I have a whole lot to write about regarding the successes and failures of my feminist wedding. Ironically, I expect to write more now on this subject than I did while planning the wedding, mostly because I will have more time, but also because I feel like I have gained some valuable perspective.

And if I was ever wondering whether I was going to keep this blog up after getting married (I didn't really, but still...) I opened up my Alumni Magazine to an enraging article about one woman's under-examined choice to take on her fiance's name.

I was meaning to write about the name change thing for a while, and so I am most excited to have this inspiration, negative as it may be.

You can find the article here, it's very short, and worth reading to gain context on what I am about to say.

I don't know Ms. Grose personally, and she is an editor at Slate, which is a well known site, so I would be interested at some point in engaging in an actual conversation an maybe even a debate on this subject...maybe give her an opportunity to further explore her decision to take her husband's name. Because from the content of this article one would have to assume she hasn't actually put much thought into it.

Look, people do it... a lot of friends of mine have done it, and despite my aversion to making that choice personally, I recognize that people have their reasons. Some people hate the idea of having family members with different names, like their kids and husband won't be readily tied to them. Maybe their life is now about being a wife and mother and so it only makes sense to adopt that identity. And I have spoken to some women who just like the tradition. Choosing which traditions to keep is obviously a woman's right, so far be it for me to judge that choice.

Blah, blah, blah. I can give an argument against all of the above reasons, but the bottom line is people have the right to make their own choice.

That said...

This article really rubbed me the wrong way. First of all, according to the writer, the ultimate reason she has chosen to take her husband's last name is it is "sweet decision". Wow. How thoughtful. I only take issue with this because she herself admits that she had never even considered changing her name. She claims her fiance was "upset" by this, but couldn't really articulate why. So rather than truly ask him to examine his motives and desires for her to give up a large part of her identity, they both shrug their shoulders at the question and decide to go with tradition. Ain't that sweet?

One of her friends, who had a most "un-traditional upbringing", whatever that means, made her case by...get this...surprising her.

"I think you should take his name." she said. "You didn't think I would say that, did you?" I didn't.

Well I don't know about you, but I'm convinced. This un-traditionally brought up friend goes on.

"I hate having a hyphenated name," she added. "And besides, I think it's sweet to take his name."

And that was what did it for our author. It was a "sweet" decision. Never mind that the history of the practice is steeped in property laws and ownership of women. And while the practice may no longer translate to complete submission and the forfeiting of your identity, the fact that it is no longer legally necessary makes one wonder...why is it so expected? When women full expect to maintain their identity after marriage, why is changing our last names such a given practice? And why is it that for someone that is not a given is so easily persuaded by the argument of "sweetness"? And sorry, but does that even mean?

In her essay, Ms. Grose touches upon two points that are almost passable, and would have certainly been a much more satisfying catalyst for a name change, at least for me. The most practical reason is that she has never liked her own last name. I have to concede, it's not the best one, and I am sure she took some abuse growing up. Her fiance's last name is a wonderfully WASPy Winton...a vanilla dream for someone who grew up with the last name pronounced "Gross".

The other argument that borders on intelligent in this article is one made by her friend. For many of us, our current last names are the names of our father's, not our mothers. And so maintaining that name is maintaining the patriarchy we were raised with. OK...

However, I do take issue with the idea she (through a "friend") asserts that "Technically, taking your husband's name is just as patriarchal as keeping your father's." We don't choose our given last names. Our parents choose for us. We re swept along in the patriarchy of our childhoods and upbringings whether we like it or not. But going on being who you are, and choosing to change your name to be the same as your husband's are simply not "the same" as the writer asserts. And anyway, you would hope that by the time you are getting married, you had established enough identity of your own that you are not merely going from someone's daughter to someone's wife.

I won't even get into the fact that at one point in her article someone questions "Is it really such a contentious issue anymore?" and she goes onto matter-of-factly state that it is not. As if now, as women, we've made our point with this whole hyphenating mess, and we can revert back to the way things were, because it doesn't matter what we do...everyone knows what we mean.

I really struggle with this issue because a lot of strong, smart, independent women I know have chosen to change their name, and so I know there is validity in it. But the masquerading of this article as an examination of this decision really irritated me. Not because she changed her name, but because I still don't understand why.

If I made the statement, "I am going to be Alix Sobler until I die," and my fiance looked upset by this, expressed that he expected me to take his name, and then couldn't articulate one reason why, I wouldn't be thinking so hard about whether I could change my name and still be myself. I would be taking a good look at the man I was about to marry, and asking "who the hell are you?"

A Very Long Engagement

Its true, in some ways, Jason and I getting married is redundant. We share a home, custody of two cats, a bank account...our blood and money is mixed, so to speak, and as far as the government is concerned we've been married for ages. After seven years, and at my age (early 30's) I have to admit there is a part of me that feels ridiculous shopping around for white dresses, and posing for engagement shots. The whole thing feels a bit not me, and if me, then perhaps a decade over due.

And then there is the fact that from the time we got engaged (or more accurately, decided to just do it already,) to the time we actually have our wedding, a year and a half will have passed, adding even more time to our already established life together. I keep thinking, "Is it silly to be bothering with all of this now? Shouldn't have we done this when we were 23, and still infatuated with each other and just dying to be together every second? Isn't a wedding something that is supposed to make you count down the seconds? I see young brides who can't wait six months to get married. I was like,'If we can't get that wedding band I want, I am willing to wait another six years.'" Considering all my issues with how this whole thing reflects on me as a feminist anyway, why are we doing it at all?

Not to make it look like I am just doing things because my man tells me to, I did get some good sound reasoning from Jason as to why it makes sense for us. (He's my best friend, of course I am going to look to him for advice). The truth is, a wedding like this one, a chance to get together all of our friends and family and declare our love for each other is a nice kick in the pants after seven years. We are examining our love for each other, we are looking at our future together, and reaffirming, "yeah, this thing is forever. At least that is the plan."

Ditto on the engagement. For the next year, we have the luxury of little positive shocks to the nervous system of our relationship. We are planning this big milestone together. Whenever we find ourselves falling into the same old routine there is some decision to be made or thing to plan related to our wedding that brings us together. And instead of rushing through it, we're milking it for all its worth.

In a way we are doing it backwards. I don't think of us as 'getting married' because in my mind we are already married. We are having a wedding, and whether its to make it official to everyone else, or to celebrate that milestone to remind ourselves, I think it is only fitting to stop and question the whole thing every once in a while. Especially for a feminist.

White Wedding? Um...

Sorry I've been away so long friends! Off in radioland...

OK, so I am getting ready for a trip home to NY, and while there I will go on my first sojourn into wedding dress territory. I know I want to keep it cheap, I am leaning towards a JCrew dress (haven't you heard, JCrew does wedding dresses now...), and I am thinking very simple...no lace, no sparklies, and no veil.

But there is one traditional thing I just can't seem to let go of...I really want to wear white. Doesn't have to be pure white, very comfortable with ivory, or even champagne coloured, but I can't seem to get away from the standard image of "bridal".

And I am not even sure why. I am a total slob and will probably have wine down the front of my dress within the first 20 minutes. Also, have I earned the white in the 'traditional sense'..um, no. But I can't picture it any other way, now that I am allowing myself picture it, and I am not sure why. I have been going with the excuse of "when else do you get to wear a white dress?" But I am not sure that is really why. Is it totally hypocritical to stick with that weird standard?

A Belle You Can't Un-ring

Don't hate me for my blog title! I know its terrible, but I happen to be working on a play about diamond rings right now that I have been desperately trying to come up with a title. I needed a place to deposit at least one of the hilarious rejects, hence the title of this blog "A Belle You Can't Un-ring".

So here it is, my first post about the dreaded engagement ring. I say "dreaded" ironically, not to be ironic. I did dread this post, and in some ways, the whole "ring question" because I really struggle with this issue on a lot of levels. I am interested to hear responses from other women and men on what they think. I expect this will be an ongoing discussion.

Full disclosure, I wear an engagement ring. I would like to say I wear ring on my left ring finger that is full of other meanings, but to the world, it's an engagement ring like any other, so let's call a spade a spade (or in this case, a diamond.) Here's what happened. I had come to terms with the fact that although I really like diamonds as jewellery, I was not going to get an engagement ring. My partner and I just didn't believe in them for several reasons:

1. Buying a new diamond is difficult if you are trying to avoid blood diamonds. It can certainly be done, but it's harder.


2. They're expensive! Duh. OK, so maybe you don't wear a diamond, but you can have another kind of engagement ring. Yes but...


3. Why should he buy me something and not vice-versa. And OK, let say I get him something really nice too, like an expensive watch. Its still not the same. No one is looking at his watch and saying, "Nice watch, you must be engaged to a real nice lady." (Plus it just so happens my partner won't wear a watch, so my options are so limited)


4. I don't want to feel like I am wearing a symbol of ownership.

There are more reasons, but you get the idea, and maybe you have your own. It's certainly not uncommon anymore to go sans ring. When we got engaged we had just planned a big trip to Belize. We kind of said that we were spending the money some couples spend on engagement rings on this big trip together that we can both enjoy and that can mark the new stage in our relationship.

But like I said, I am wearing an engagement ring. So here's how it happened.

My mother died five years ago from cancer. I will admit that her absence may have delayed my willingness to get married. I inherited her jewellery after she died, but I didn't really pay any attention until recently. When I came across her engagement ring, I really got choked up. My mother wore it every day of her life, she was never without that ring. It was somewhat unusual shape and cut for nowadays, and it was so uniquely her, I was just so drawn to it. Also, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that inheriting a ring takes away half the problem; I don't have to spend any money, and I don't have to worry about contributing to the bloodshed.

But the symbol of sexism still remains, and that is what I struggle with now. I wear it because it is a way of remembering my mother, involving her in my wedding and life in a way. But if I am being honest, I also just love the look of it at this point. I don't like being instantly recognized as "an engaged person" but the ring itself is beautiful and carries so much meaning.

I know the truth; I didn't spend an exorbitant amount on an engagement ring, nobody got on his knee with a jewellery box to pop the question. I came about my ring in the most painful of ways, and I would give it back in a second if it meant my mother would be alive. But she's not, and I carry this little piece of her with me in this way. But I now face an age old question, does the truth matter, when it appears to the world differently? I can know the truth until the cows come home, but what kind of a feminist am I if I am perpetuating an image that sets us back decades?

Look forward to your thoughts.