Life as a Woman: My brush with street harassment

I usually use this space to reflect on pop-culture or my opinions on contemporary feminism. But today I am sharing a story of an experience that I had that directly affected me as a woman.

WARNING: The following post contains very graphic language and a very pissed off feminist.

I was standing on the street in the Exchange district with some friends this past Saturday night enjoying the Winnipeg Fringe Festival.  (If you don’t know of it, it’s awesome. Find out more here). Anyway, the square was packed with loads of people, live music was on the stage and a grand time was being had by all, for the most part.  I was chatting with a work friend, and some ladies she had come with to see a show and because of the loud music and huge crowd it was already a bit hard to hear each other.  After a few minutes of standing there we were approached by a group of four or five young men, I would guess mid to late twenties. One of them was wearing a chicken suit.  They immediately interrupted our conversation by bursting in with a boisterous, “Hello Ladies! Out on the town tonight?” trying to suddenly chat up the women I had been in conversation with up to that very second. Chicken Dude in the meantime,  made eye contact with me and gleefully said, “Want to see my little cock?”

I looked around at the interrupted group and responded with, “What the fuck is going on here? Can you go away?”

I don’t think it was the response they were expecting.

They were still amused by our presence there for some reason, but they seemed shocked that I would speak to them that way. And instead of apologize and walk away, instead of roll their eyes at me and walk away, instead of saying, “Fuck you lady” and walk away (all, including the latter, I would have preferred to what actually followed), they stuck it out.

Never mind that they came out of nowhere and demanded our attention, they seemed legitimately surprised when I a) didn’t feel like humouring them and b) wasn’t particularly polite about it. “Whoa! Whoa! Relax! You don’t have to be rude! What’s wrong with you?” And so on and so forth.

Clinging to his HILARIOUS bit, Chicken dude pulled out a tiny plastic rooster. His ‘LITTLE COCK’ I presume.

GIVE ME A SECOND WHILE I DIE LAUGHING.

 OK, I’m back. And just as irritated as I was before.

“OK, OK, ha ha. I get it. Can you seriously go now?”

But oh no, they were in it, to win it (the former “it” being my face, and the latter "it" being, what? My approval, I guess.) They explained to me that it was Chicken Dude’s bachelor party, and that they were celebrating his upcoming nuptials by getting drunk and harassing women on the street  out on the town and making him do silly things.

“You’re too grumpy,” the Leader of the Pack informed me. “Is that right?” I asked. “Yeah, you should chill out. Stop being grumpy.” 

“Well,” said I with a smile, “I’m standing here with my friends and I’ll be whatever the fuck I want to be.”

And here’s what’s weird: at this point, despite the exchange of words, the interaction had taken a turn from hostile, to neutral, and was teetering on friendly. It seemed like they were gearing up to walk away, and my spidey senses that had alerted me to their presence were wearing off. For a moment I thought, well, maybe it’s no big deal after all. Maybe they’re just out enjoying the fringe.

Which was the precise moment that one of them stuck his finger up my ass.

Just to paint the picture and so people don’t start calling the cops, I was wearing jeans, and it was an outside the clothes poke. No skin touched. But somehow, in the moment, that didn’t provide me with much comfort.

"WHAT. THE FUCK. DID YOU JUST DO?" A voice said. A rumbling, deep, fire laden, hell-cloaked voice that came from inside me.

"This guy just touched me! He stuck his finger up my ass! Do you understand that you just assaulted me on the street? Do you know that I could call the cops right now? This just went from barely cute, to majorly fucked up, and you had better WALK THE FUCK AWAY RIGHT NOW."

To which they all looked really scared and apologetic. One of them took the offender by the shoulders and pulled him away which the other said, "Oh my god, I am so sorry. He's really drunk. I am so sorry he did that. I hope the rest of your night is really nice."

Oh no wait. That's what happened a world called "Appropriate responses from decent dudes who occasionally cross a line but know how to be human beings about it." In the world known as "Downtown Winnipeg" this past Saturday night, here's what really happened after I lost my shit:

For a moment they all looked at me with dense eyes. "Whaa?

ME: You're friend just touched me.

LEADER OF THE PACK: So?

ME: So? So he fucking touched me! That's assault! You just assaulted a woman on the street!

FINGERER: (Sarcastically) Yeah. Yeah I assaulted a woman on the street.

ME: But...you did! You need to go away! Now! Leave.

(All the men stand there.)

ME: Why aren't you leaving?

(This goes on for several minutes. They play dumb. I angrily explain dropping many F bombs. Finally, from what seemed like boredom, the Fingerer and another guy wander away, in absolutely no rush,  leaving me with Chicken Dude and Leader of the Pack, the latter whom starts STOKING MY ARM)

LEADER OF THE PACK: (Trying to touch my arm) Why don't you just relax, baby?

ME: (Pulling away) What the fuck did you just say?

LEADER OF THE PACK:  You need to chill out.

ME: I need to chill out? You're friend just touched me on the ass!

LEADER OF THE PACK: I don't know that he did.

ME: Um, well, I am telling you that he did.

LEADER OF THE PACK: He was just kidding.

At which point my head exploded and angry feminist brains rained down on all.



No, to be totally honest, I was so fucking pissed off at this point, I am not even totally sure what happened. Eventually they sort of wandered away. I yelled after them to Chicken Dude: "I feel sorry for your fiancé!" To which he made a big show of being offended my and stepping up to me. But his chivalrous friends pulled him away. This is where they stepped in!

I would like to find his fiancé out there trying to enjoy an evening with friends and shove my finger up her unsuspecting ass. See what he has to say about that. Oh no wait, I wouldn't because a) ew and b) I'm a normal human being who doesn't treat other humane beings like (literal) puppets for my amusement no matter how drunk, rowdy or engaged I get.

And here's the thing that really, really, really bugged me about the whole event. It wasn't the obnoxious way they invaded our space immediately upon showing up. It wasn't the way they tried to make me feel like it was my fault that I didn't enjoy their playful little game that at no point had I opted to play, and it wasn't even some entitled, drunk, frankly gross douche bag violating my body on the street. It was how totally powerless I felt when, while standing up to him, I explained what he had done, I stood up for myself, and yet he and the "men" around him didn't fucking care. They didn't care that he had touched me without any consent. They didn't care that I was offended, hurt, enraged. They didn't care that I was screaming in their faces and threatening to call the cops. I didn't matter one fucking bit. It was irritating to them when I didn't laugh at their jokes. I possessed holes they found mildly amusing. I made noise when you pressed certain buttons. That was it. I had never felt so inconsequential and dehumanized in my entire life.

And if I can feel this way after one, tiny violation of my personal space that lasted three seconds, I can only have nightmares about what it must be like for sexual assault and rape survivors who have their stories questioned and ridiculed. What a fucked up fucking world.

Where my girls at?

When I got cast in Margaret Atwood's The Penelopiad,  I couldn't have been more thrilled. Atwood is one of my favourite writers and her work has always spoken to me on a feminist wave-length. Even better, I thought, was the fact that the cast was made up of 11 local women, playing all the parts from the maids, to ducks to flowers, to rapists. What an interesting concept and challenging work it would be.

So I found it interesting that whenever I would describe this upcoming project, people would cringe and look at me with pity. "11 women? That is gonna be hard." And stranger than that, looking back, was my reaction. "Yeah, I know." I would say with a shrug of my shoulders. "We'll see."

Did I think it would be a problem, really, in my heart of hearts? I'm not sure. I can barely remember now. I did go to an all-girls camp for 5 summers as a kid. And with a few exceptions (allowed for sharing living quarters and the follies of adolescence) it was an idyllic experience, untainted by the pressure of dating or the pain of unrequited love. I have such wonderful girlfriends all over the world, many of them in the theatre, why would I assume that this experience would be any different?

But I allowed myself to. Or I played along. I agreed with people's unfair assumption that a gaggle of women in the same room can only lead to fighting or pettiness or competition, or whatever it was that people were referring to. I bet they couldn't even tell you what they were expecting. It's a knee-jerk reaction. "Oy vey, a bunch of women? Look out!"

And with a cast of 11 and a creative and management staff of almost all women (one man, the lighting designer) it was an unusual situation. But as it turned out, it was a remarkable experience, unusual in all the best ways, and it makes me ashamed that I entertained the idea that it would likely be anything else.

A few Peleopiad-ers modeling our new MTC sweatshirts.

From the very first day the room was filled with humour, positivity, excitement and an unbelievable breadth of talent. We all got along because we were professionals there to do a job. But pretty quickly we realized we were more that just working together...we liked each other. It never dissolved into the competitive bitching I was warned of...not even close. These ladies were supportive and encouraging and humble.  There were no nervous breakdowns or freak-outs at rehearsal. We were led by a supremely confident, competent woman, replete with vision and creativity and a butt-load of hilarious stories. Everyone pulled their weight, and when someone needed carrying, we did that too. I formed friendships that I am confident will last, and I learned from my director and fellow actresses in an environment unfettered by male egos or male attention.

It's a lesson to remember. We can't let a preconceived notion of how females interact predispose us to cattiness. It's an idea designed to keep us down. To promote the concept that girls aren't cool. That we can't be friends with other girls. It's an idea that reinforces the image of women as children who need to be policed, or beings that exist only in relation to the men in their lives. And without those men, well look out!

I call bullshit. Who came up with this idea that women can't get along, and why do we let it persist? Perhaps it is derived from a time when a woman was expected to view all other women as competition for male attention. Perhaps it is reinforced by reality television and the portrayal of women as conniving backstabbing gold-diggers. Perhaps it is a male fantasy that such a situation can end no other way but cat fights and name calling (with either jello or mud involved.) Or perhaps it is a fallacy emerging from a very real fear of just what women might be capable of if we see each other as the powerful allies I know we can be. A fear that empowered and befriended, women united might just take over the world.

Well it's true. Without men, look out! Women can be more than you ever thought possible, male chauvinist world.

I have seen enough to know it can be done. And I say, let it be done.

I was a teenage "friend-zone" victim

There are a lot of fascinating things about the tumblr blog Nice Guys of OK Cupid. Whether you think it is a cruel, troll-driven exercise in schadenfreude, or a clever, simple take down exposing some dark strands of misogyny and narcissism, there's no denying it's just a really clever idea. Social media and dating sites have coaxed us (especially the younger generations who don't remember the time before) to post our pictures and intimate thoughts in the public domain. There is almost no editorializing and very little speculation. NGOOKC is simply taking people at their own word, and it is usually, enough. 

 

http://niceguysofokc.tumblr.com/image/39594094455

The whole "girls like assholes" and "nice-guys can't catch a break" sentiment is so enraging and blatantly ridiculous I can't even spend any time breaking that phenomenon down (not today anyway, no promises for the future) but the thing that really make me go "hmm" is the whole "friend-zone" lament.

Intellectually I know that the "friend-zoned" concept is problematic, and not only in the case of our "rape ambivalent" friend above. (You guys, he's such a hopeless romantic!) The "friend-zone" implies for men every relationship with a woman is a journey toward sex, that getting "stuck in the friend-zone" means that their ultimate goal was thwarted. Not only are they disappointed that this friend doesn't want to have sex with them, but they are angry, in some cases, really angry that they have somehow been "duped" into being friends with a woman, "conned" into being there for her, with absolutely no sexual reward! Bum-mer!

Yeah, yeah I know that none of that is cool. But here's the thing...I kind of feel like I spent some time being "friend-zoned" myself, and this NGOOKC thing has sent me on a soul search of how my experience in the "friend-zone" is different from the sad, misguided Misogynists Nice Guys of OK Cupid.

Me, freshman year. That's a Stussy cap by my feet.

In high school,  I wasn't what you would call an instant hit with the fellas. I mean, I had a sense that I had a lot to offer...I was funny, smart, there was even a pretty face beneath some of the baby chub (that still hung on until I was about 17) and I had an active sexual imagination. (yep, girls have those too!) But I found myself stuck in the "friend-zone" pretty often. For me, that meant I was often "in love" with my male best friend. Keep in mind, we were not already best friends like Keith and Watts. I didn't wake up one day and I realize I was in love. We became best friends because I thought I was in love and it was the only way I knew how to get close to someone. I spent a lot of time pining away over these boys, cultivating a weird, drama-fraught friendship because some attention was better than none.  They weren't way out of my league or anything (I'm not sure I even really believe in "leagues" to be honest, but for the sake of clarity I will use the trope), they were mostly nerdy like me. But they usually had girlfriends throughout, and THEY KNEW I was in love with them most of the time. They completely played into it, as I imagine it was pretty flattering, and on some level they did like me. So if I was friends with them in the hopes of getting into their pants, and they were "leading me on" in some way even though they had no intention of dating me and were involved with other people, how am I different from the poor saps of NGOOKC?

Well, maybe I'm not. Maybe I was just as angry and bitter and the time but didn't have a public forum in the same way to air my grievances. But I don't think so. Here are a few important differences between my experience in the "friend-zone" and what it seems like these guys are experiencing.

1) I wasn't angry with the objects of my affection.  Frustrated sometimes, confused at others, but I don't remember feeling angry at them, because I understood they didn't owe me anything. They liked me as a friend, that's all. It made me sad, and resulted in some pathetic poetry, but I didn't blame them for ruining anything because I understood that it wasn't all about me, but the result of many circumstances beyond my control.

2) I didn't think the girls they chose were bitches, or assholes, or that I was better than them. Did it bug me when they like thinner, prettier, quieter girls instead of me? You're damn right it did. But it didn't make me angry at them, or the other girls for that matter. If anything, it was a pain I internalized and turned on myself. Of course they liked girls who were prettier, thinner, more popular. Who wouldn't?  What bothered me was not that they chose them over me, but that I wasn't more like the girls they chose (btw, I am not saying this is a good option, merely pointing out how it was different that how NGOOKC process this experience.) Often it was the girlfriends who hated me, because even though she was supposed to be #1, for some reason their man kept me hanging around, confided in me, enjoyed my company. I imagine this was confusing and annoying to them.

3) I was still grateful and enjoyed their friendship. While there were peaks and valleys in those relationships, ultimately we were friends, and on the day to day, I had fun in those friendships.

4) I was a kid. We are talking experiences I had in High School and early college. By the time I hit 20, I was over it. I either moved on, or got over my sexual attractions where they weren't reciprocated to let a platonic friendship grow. To allow this shit to go on into your 20s and 30s is just indulgent. 

 As an adult looking back, I might have advised myself to branch out a bit. Spending a lot of time with someone who is never going to reciprocate your feelings is not a good idea. Not because you are never going to get laid and that is the ultimate goal, but because it might be distracting you from other possible friends and relationships. There may have been other boys that might have been interested in me that I didn't even notice because I was so focused on the drama of those friendships. But whatever. I was a kid, and I learned a lot and in the end we had a lot of good times together.

And maybe, just maybe, being "friend-zoned" might have actually been the best thing for me. I learned that friendships come in many forms, and that I could be close with a boy without any pressure of sex. I never felt insecure in terms of "hanging with the guys" because that is what I was used to. I learned a lot about what guys were looking for in relationships by being on that end of things, and if I meet a man who doesn't want to sleep with me, it doesn't wreck my self esteem or make him a write-off.

Maybe me and the NGOOKC aren't so alike after all. And yes, the differences in our experience in the friend-zone is going to be inherently different and men and women. But I know a lot of men who have been in the friend-zone and came out the other side of it as normal, non-psychopaths, so I am sure it can be done. And for this reason it is important to examine, expose and even ridicule the guys on this site, because its not OK to take a basic human experience and turn it into a personal tragedy.

An Open Letter to Ben Stein, et al

Another year, another version of that obnoxious Frankenstein quote that people are so fond of posting. I hadn't thought about it since last December, but there it was in my Facebook feed again yesterday. Normally I would ignore the whole thing and move on with my life, but this year I am particularly offended by so much of what is in there. I had to pause, and pick a fight. 

Is it a feminist issue? Not explicitly. But I am a feminist and I have issues with it. So there you go.

Here'e the thing, it's not enough that the current posting of stupid Ben Stein's stupid face is predicated on the  myth that Obama decided the call the Christmas Trees in the White House "Holiday Trees" (spoiler alert: he didn't). Nor is it the point that this statement is not even really from Ben Stein but is actually a conglomeration of statements,  including elements from Anne Graham Lotz, daughter of Billy Graham. Forgetting then that this is built on a mountain of falsity (because hey, I am a fan of fiction) let us examine the content of this odious post.

BEN STEIN: I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejewelled trees, Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are, Christmas trees.

Come on. Is this really a thing? Because you know what? I am with you on this. But really? Who is walking around threatened that people call Christmas Trees by their name? Who feels discriminated against because they're not called Holiday trees? I mean, listen I'm a Jew too. And every single one of my ancestors was Jewish too (I think anyway. Actually, now that I think of it, this is a ridiculous and un-provable claim to make, but whatevs.) And let me tell you, having grown up around Jews, nobody over the age of 11 cares all that much about being included in the whole tree thing. A lot people think its kind of stupid. And those that have trees in their house might call them holiday trees in their own home. What the fuck do you care?

It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, 'Merry Christmas' to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year.

Um...what? Actually, this shows that people assume that you celebrate the same holiday as they do. It shows that in fact, they have no interest or sensitivity to the fact that not only aren't you brothers and sisters, but that you come from a whole other line of people (all of your ancestors are JEWISH Ben!) and you DON'T celebrate Christmas. And gee, golly, gosh, shouldn't that be OK too?

The thing is, I really, truly, honestly don't care if people wish me Merry Christmas either, but not for this stupid, broke-ass reason. Life is hectic and busy, and maybe you don't know I'm a Jew from looking at me, and whatever, it's not like my skin melts when you wish me Merry Christmas. But it sure as hell doesn't make me feel closer to anyone. And thanks for speaking for all us Jews Ben! (Oh, but not. And like, not ever.) Because like you, I too never felt left out. I was lucky to grow up with a strong cultural identity, ties to the Jewish community and a family that surrounded me with holiday cheer about our own holiday (which you fail to mention once. It's called Hannukah. Here, I looked it up for you!) and an appreciation for other's holidays too. We went to see the Macy's windows. Then we went for chinese food. We went to the movies. Bam. Perfect. Jewish. Christmas.

But you know what? Not every Jew feels that way! (I bet not EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR ANCESTORS even felt that way.) Some Jews really struggle to feel a part of American culture, and for them, this time of year and its constant reminders of their "otherness" can be kind of a bummer.

And also, Ben, I don't want to upset you, but Christians and Jews are not the only people in America. There are people of many other religions and cultures who don't celebrate Christmas. People who might like to feel included in the holiday that dominates television, radio, the newspaper, the shopping mall, our work schedules, and everything else in our society for the entire month of December. 

And does wishing someone Happy Holidays or calling something a Holiday Tree really put someone out so much that they can't bear to do it? Does it really dillute your holiday experience so much. Because if so... that's just...pathetic. As John Stewart illustrated perfectly on the Daily Show Christmas is doing JUST FINE, so relax. I make room in my life (and my waistline) for endless Christmas parties, packed mall shopping, obligatory holiday gifts because I am living in America, and I partake in elements of popular culture, and it is often enjoyable. Is this tiny gesture to make room for me and others like me (or nothing like me) in our society really such a terrible sacrifice? Or is it in fact, the least you can do? LITERALLY?

Phew. Let's pause for a minute here to catch our breath.

OK, still with me? Because here is where (in this most recent version anyway) Billy Graham's daughter kicks into the conversation (although it is not clearly stated that way in the Facebook post). And I will state that if you thought I seemed pissed before....

In light of recent events... terrorist attacks, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found a few years ago) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK. Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school. The Bible says thou shalt not kill; thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK.

What? I can't even...this is so...wow. There is so much here I am not sure where to begin. It's so obvious that the line "In light of recent events...terrorist attacks, school shootings etc." was tagged on either in this or a previous go around, considering that it is not even a sentence. But, that said, IN LIGHT OF RECENT EVENTS, HOLY SHIT, KEEP IT TO YOURSELF.

And then there's the dig at Madeleine Murray O'Hare and mentioning causally that she was murdered, as though one thing has anything to do with the other. And if you do think being an atheist will lead to your death (um, I don't remember hearing a lot about that from the Christians by the way. I mean, where you go after you die maybe, but actually hastening one's death?) what about all those atheists who live to 100? Or young Christians who die at 40 from cancer? What were they doing wrong in your estimation? Do I really have to point out this incredibly simplistic hypocrisy to you, you sanctimonious pricks?

Also I love this idea that because we're not reading the bible we don't know not to kill, steal etc. This is so absurd. If you fail to mention these basic rules to your kid because there is no bible reading going on, you are kind of shitty parent. Sorry (not sorry).

Also, that whole argument, "How can you be moral without God?" Ugh. I think the better question is, "Why do you need God to be moral?" Doesn't your stomach flip at the report of a murder? Doesn't your heart break when a child or animal is abused? Doesn't a bell go off in your head when you are doing something that will harm another person. Whether you believe in God or not, do you NEED him to tell you what you are doing is wrong? If so, check yourself. You might be a sociopath. 

Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave, because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said okay.

WHAT. THE FUCK. DOES THIS HAVE TO DO. WITH CHRISTMAS TREES.  Also, as though it was Dr. Spock and him alone who decided spanking was bad, and not all of society and countless studies and years of proof that corporal punishment is a disaster. 

And by the way, his son did NOT commit suicide. Sensitive in bringing that up though. Maybe you want to go hang out with these guys. They too are all about sensitivity, appropriate responses, and loving thy neighbor.

OK, there's more but I think you get the point. This whole thing is just exhausting. And ironically, it is posts like this that make me, actually hate Christmas, when I wasn't feeling so angry about it before.

I might piss some people off with this one. But that's what I'm here to do, no?

Allow myself to (re)introduce myself

Hey friends and folks!

I have been gone so long. Did you miss me?

Don't answer that.

A couple of things have happened in the past couple of years. Some of them were really good! Some of them, not so good.

Anyway, allow me to take this opportunity to declare an early New Year's resolution: More blogging for this feminista!

I have decided to stop letting real life get in the way of my virtual life. Start spending more  time online, and stop letting quality time with loved ones stop me from having arguments with anonymous strangers. So back to the blogosphere!

I am thinking about changing  the name of my blog. Now that I am an old married lady, and will only be posting about feminist weddings along with myriad other feminist (and occasionally leftist agenda propoganda not directly related to feminism) is it unfair/unwise to keep the name Feminist Wedding?

Looking forward to your thoughts.

"Bridezilla" is an anti-feminist concept

In my many travels as a feminist bride, and in the several interviews I have done with reporters, it is inevitable to come across the notion of whether or not I consider myself better than those "Bridezillas" out there. You know, as a feminist, who has basically completely rejected the notion that my wedding was going to be about me as a bride, people assumed I would have a natural aversion to these monsterish, spoiled demanding brides with their faux tans, brazillian waxes and diamond studded veils, standing at the door of the chapel foaming at the mouth because the hydrangeas are the wrong shade of puce.

But while you might think my journey of self discovery would have put an even wider wedge between my and my tiara donning counterparts, that is not exactly what happened.

Look, its easy for me to make the case that my wedding day is not all about me, and not the most important day of my life (although I will say, it was one of the most FUN days of my life), but that is because I was raised to believe I would have many important successes and that finding a partner, while incredibly important, would not be defined by the day we made it official.

And even I, to whom getting married was not a main focus of my life, felt immense pressure when in the thick of it. When you have so many people coming to an event, when you know everyone is going to be looking at you, when you have some significant money invested (and lets be honest, its almost impossible to do it without that unless you are having a picnic in the woods, which sounds really nice, but comes with its own challenges I imagine)...basically, unless you are eloping, there is a lot of stress involved. And its hard to get help. Because a wedding is perceived as female territory (a designation both imposed on women, and by women), many men feel uninterested or uninvited to take part in the planning. Wedding planners and merchants make "once in a lifetime events" everyday of their lives, and a lot of them are terrible at making you feel like yours in anything special. Often there is strife between in-laws and parents and siblings and couples regarding the details and then there is the subtle, corrosive societal pressures that very few among us can ignore completely.

And in the middle of it, is a bride. A woman who is told that this is the most important day of her life, that she has to look perfect, be fit, have her makeup and hair just right. She has to have planned the perfect event, having thought of everyone, foreseen all details, and wear white no less! Can you imagine the pressure cooker situation this is for the average person who has never planned an event before, has no experience in public speaking or even posing for pictures? And when there are cracks, when a bride has an explosion, or makes demands, or get extra frustrated with uninvested parties, we turn around with shock and awe. "What a bitch!" We think. "A total Bridezilla."

Now, I am not above this gawking. I have seen the shows and looked at the pictures with disgust. But going through the wedding myself, and having a few borderline moments, I have a different feeling for these stressed out brides: Pity.

I just think as a society, its really unfair to teach a girl from the time she is born that her wedding day is the crowning acheivement, that it is a reflection of who she is and how well she has done in life, set up IMPOSSIBLE standards for her to reach economically, physically and emotionally, and then turn around and point and laugh in horror in what she becomes.

Not that some of them aren't horrible women, and would be detestable in any situation. But then why are we focusing on them on what might be one of the most stressful days of their life? "Peoplezillas" maybe. "Bridezillas"...I say no more.

A Prairie Chic Love Story

There was a sweet little article about our wedding in the most recent issue of Winnipeg Weddings.  You can find the spread with a whole bunch of pictures here:

weddingsinwinnipeg.ca/winnipeg

It's mostly the simple story of how we chose our clothes for the wedding and who made the centre pieces, and other really important things. But I was very pleased to see that they highlighted my quote, which I had written as advice to future brides:

“Plan your wedding together as a bride and groom. It’s so much fun to see a shared vision come to life.”

Looking back, I wish I had said, "Plan your wedding together as a couple", not "a bride and groom", because, obviously not everyone getting married is male and female. But aside from that, I think that despite the fact that I am still searching, discovering and on some level, still making peace with weddings and marriage in general, I can say honestly that this is the best lesson I have learned, and the most important tenet of the feminist wedding as far as I am concerned.

When a wedding (and by virtue, a marriage) is planned by the couple getting married, its a major step toward a true feminist wedding. It takes the pressure off of the bride, off of the idea that the day is somehow more about her. When a couple enters into a wedding and a marriage together, having planned and worked toward a common vision, it makes the day incredibly special, and true representation of two people's commitment to each other.

Somehow, in this day and age, this is still a novel idea to a lot of people. So I am glad I got to say it, especially in a mainstream wedding mag like Winnipeg Weddings.