Friday, June 14, 2013

Designing for diversity

I've been dipping my toes into the literature on the importance, the value, of "diversity of thought" in business lately. Yes, there is actually a literature on this - mostly from the business world - yet another example of things I never realized someone was doing well. So many things aren't given their due in the practice of academic life, that it is like one easter egg after another some months.

So the thought that surfaced sometime yesterday (anywhere between being barely awake to going to sleep, I don't remember) was that one measure of diversity is how much all participants in an organization have to adapt to it when they arrive. Because usually, it is the women or the minorities or someone else who needs to become more outspoken, more confident, more assertive, more this and more that. And I think this results in a group that is less diverse, regardless of the reproductive organs or skin color or native language of the group's members.

I mean, how often do you hear, in addition to women having to become more assertive, that the men in a group had to become more sensitive to the feelings of others, and more soft-spoken? Maybe you have heard of it, and in that case I'd love to know where. Because apart from a few token sexual harassment seminars that don't actually require anyone's behavior be different in order to succeed in the field, I don't see talks about how males should practice acting less confident and being better at service roles in academia.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Footie-blut

Or something like that. My kid has been going around saying "footie-blut!" as a sort of toddler curseword. I'm told it means something like totally naked, but in a kid sort of way. So, I've decided not to try stopping her from saying it on buses and trams and in public. And at home. As long as she's not going around yelling "sweet mother of jesus, what the fuck is that?!?!", she can toddler-curse, I guess.

Totally naked. Brings me to that discussion from the last post where she brought up body hair and I proceeded to skip happily down the rabbit hole of women on the internet who don't shave. I also managed to avoid, by careful forethought of Google search terms, all those other unshaven women one might find on the internet when one is in to that kind of thing in a way I am not. Phew.

It took me to lots of photos on a blog of hairy legs, which is meant to be a positive space for women to share photos of their legs (and all else clothed, thankyouverymuch) with hair. Lots of it, not so much of it, in sneakers, in heels. I have to admit many of the photos made me cringe inside. Not a reaction I'd like to have, but the "hairy legs = male" association is strong in my mind. So I just scrolled down, and kept looking. Kept thinking about how it made me feel, and why. About whether or not I was ready to do this thing, too.

I'm still bothered that I'm still bothered by women's hairy legs. But a few things came through all that rumination. This isn't about making all women stop shaving their legs or other, um, areas. It is about really feeling like it is a choice instead of a fear that small children will run away screaming as their adult counterparts make puking sounds in sheer disgust. I also learned that my legs and their fur lie in about the middle of the distribution, which is not something I ever imagined was true. Yes, we're mammals, but I honestly thought I was the furriest one around. And, after having a dream that my unshaven legs looked like Chewbacca's, and waking up to realize that is not true (probably not even for any human being on the planet, in fact), I went out today in a dress and whatever legs. It didn't matter. I may shave this summer (I probably will), but I don't have to do it to be presentable. I may be itchy if I shave, but if I don't, I'm presentable the way I am.

(Note: I found another site today, about not wearing make up. I wear lipstick about once every 10 days and mascara once a month. I don't wear foundation or anything else, so these photos were not so shocking to me. But I imagine this is the same feeling for women who do wear make-up daily as it is for me with the shaving. And then, just for good measure, I let my tummy pooch hang as I went to the grocery store. It was an anarchist sort of day over here in northern Switzerland.)

Monday, June 3, 2013

Sugar, and spice, and everything nice

The thing is, I don't want my daughter to think she can't also be made of snails and puppy dog tails. I don't want her to think she is most valuable (and powerful) for how she looks in lingerie.

This weekend we went to see a kid-circus open house. It was awesome. So many of the things I'd hope for in an environment for A: kids from 6 to 16 years old, in mostly unisex costumes that were neither too tight nor too gendered, kids doing what they could do but without big tears or worries on their faces if they made a mistake, boys and girls holding hands or bodies in a non-sexual way, not worried about touching. A chance to use one's body, to enjoy movement and skill.

Of course, one the way there, we had to pass an advertisement for women's underwear - "Why is that woman naked, mama?" It was the first time she has noticed that kind of ad for its strangeness. Nakedness is usually reserved for home, for the pool locker room, for quick changes at the beach. And I wasn't sure what to tell her. "Yeah, that women sure looks cold." Or my usual, clumsy fallback: "They are trying to sell underwear." Great, so we establish that is an advertisement (whatever that means to my 3 year old), but what about why a naked woman sells that. Because there is an element of seduction in every underwear ad I've seen - I have yet to see normal women's bodies in normal underwear in full color, large poster format. I swear I'm getting t-shirt post-it notes made up (and maybe sandwiches, too, because most of these ladies are looking not just cold but like they could use a meal) to stick up on posters like that.

I don't want my child to start learning, already, that women's bodies are for selling things.

On a related note, this morning we had a conversation about body hair, as we were all getting ready for the day. There were showers, and wiping of bums, and all sorts of naked in the process of 3 people getting dressed, and A noticed that we, her parents, had hair. Why did Papa have hair under his arms? Did Mama? Where else was there hair? Where did A have hair?

And it was yet another sweet/heartbreaking moment, as she took a good look all over herself and announced that she had hair on her arms and her legs. Statement of fact and nothing else. How lovely, how envious I am of that, and now how protective of her getting to look at herself and not make a value judgment.

My first instinct is to fiercely protect that for her. My second thought is to chuck my own razor this summer. Yikes - no shaved legs or armpits, although I may have to hold on to the shaved armpits, given the more "natural" deodorants I've been sticking with lately. But the rest? How else am I going to stop her (okay, at least slow her down) from shaving her legs at age 10, like I did, to get rid of those fine white hairs? How else can I mount the assault on her thinking of her body for how it looks instead of how it feels? And how can I try to calm my inner fears if I stop shaving this summer? What does it mean to be a women with hair on her body? (This woman gives a very powerful answer to that question). And then I got to this artist's website, where she had asked women to stop shaving, plucking and generally de-hairing their faces and took photos, and it has had the effect of a spring breeze, or a 10-minute meditative sit. Oh, the places (the conversational places) we could go, if only people looked more like themselves instead of each other. The shades of grey (those books just kind of messed up that phrase for the rest of us) we could explore, and find comfort in. The subtle and complex, instead of photoshopped and self-doubting.

There sure is a lot of walking-the-walk in parenting. I never thought it would be such a daily dose of reinterpreting our cultural norms. I like it, I'm just surprised at the intellectual work that goes into having a 3 year old for me. I find it refreshing. Just like this font.