put me down, punk

Put Me Down, You Punk

When I first began dating my current boyfriend, he came with the disclaimer that it was his way to try his hardest to abide by chivalry. The entire, ‘Damsel in dainty distress’ never really suited me. Maybe it would’ve been fair of me to come prepackaged with a side note in my instructions stating in my angriest, punk-rockiest capitals: I DID NOT COME DISTRESSED, DON’T MAKE ME BE. What’s more, knights in shinning armor aren’t about to come rescue me; not because they all died out, but because they didn’t want to deal with me/the situation when this lady is “distressed”.

Maybe a better way to start off would be with my own disclaimer: chivalry can truly shove it.

According to my friends, this is foolish. Bashing a code of ethics set hundreds of years ago with the “sole intention” of sending a man off to strive towards virtuousness, and the utmost respect of women-- shouldn’t I embrace this golden period for feminism with open arms? No, not exactly. First of all, who said there were only two ways to treat a woman? A man can put on his white trashiest accent and start smacking me... or a man can adorn that shining armor he keeps next to that business suit in his closet, and whisk me away from the fire breathing dragon. Well, I don’t see any dragons around here I can’t handle, and abusing me won’t win me over either.

When I brought up my opposition to the pedestal chivalry wanted to set me up upon, I was shot down immediately. If I cared about women’s rights ever so much, why wouldn’t I want the gals treated well? This logic, I’m afraid, is oversimplfiying the situation/our basic rights as humans; because I don’t feel comfortable being hoisted above all on this ancient pedestal designated for women to sit their pretty behinds on, I’d much rather a man lower me to substandard levels. Well, Mr. Man, what if I’m afraid of heights? Maybe this pedestal of yours is just a little too high. Put me down, you punk.

Is Ani Difranco honestly the only one who understands? In a world of kittens in trees and dainty damsels, what would happen if we let all our shiny knights in on the secret feminists have known for the past fifty years? “Don't you think every kitten figures out how to get down/ whether or not you ever show up.” What’s more, “what if there are no damsels in distress”? This would upset the fabric of chivalry and the “good guys” everywhere: women (and kittens, apparently) aren’t waiting on you to get them. Am I “unfeminist” for refusing to wait? It’s not like me to get into a tree I know I can’t get out of, anyway.

Secondly, respect does not constitute as equality. In fact, putting a woman any higher or lower than the onlooker doesn’t strike me as equal at all; I’d much rather look you in the eye. Equality cannot be gained through women being trodden on, nor can it be gained by keeping our heads in the clouds, where it’s [been deemed] “safe”. I want in on all the action men have seen, good or bad. Maybe I don’t know “what I’m getting into”, but I think it’s up to the individual to truly decide what can be handled by said individual.

A great misconception I’ve seen through interviews and everyday encounters alike is the exact meaning of “equality”. Respect is a building block to our feminist goal, but we can’t stop there.

Gauri is a sweet natured, soft-spoken young lady, in all meanings of the word; a personal acquaintance of mine for five years now, she’s always held herself in a graceful, always respectful manner. She was just recently accepted into Columbia University. When asked of her Indian heritage, she immediately divulged into details of the severe respect and upheld traditions in the Asian home. During the hour long interview, she brought up an abridged version of middle-eastern and asian views of women in the home. “The woman is the most sacred part of the family. And,” she added after a thoughtful pause, “the family should do all they can to protect her.” From our discussion, two things were made clear.

Women are to be treated like gems; they are the center of the family, and whilst the father is typically seen as the head of the household, it’s the mother that must never be spoken back to, or abused in any way. Whatsoever. She is to be protected and cherished.

And pertaining to this point, any woman in general must be respected. Protected from society, and severely respected in her home.

“Would you consider it equality?”

After a pause, Gauri struggled to answer answer; “I wouldn’t consider [the treatment] equality... even though it’s severe respect.” This is not a bad thing, but again, we’re left with that gap.

Really, thank you sir noble knight, for going out of your way to protect me. Compared to other things a man could do to me, that’s really quite sweet. Now, we’ve all been told feminism has reached a stalemate, we’re equal now. So what’s left for a feminist to complain about? The funny thing with this situation is, well, would that nice man who walked you to your door because (although you’ve been living just fine up to this point) your neighborhood isn’t “safe” enough for a lovely lady such as yourself-- would he have walked his close guy friend to the door, then waited expectantly by the door as you went in without turning around [to meet his lips]?

The idea of chivalry is nice; and yes, I would not mind someone “watching my back” every once in awhile, but my girlfriends can do that for me too. And I don’t need a stranger showing me his kindness because he noticed I lack the bulge in his pants.

Respect is not equality, and I for one refuse to settle. Don’t you dare put me up on that pedestal, I just want to carry on a conversation with you at the bar after a long day at work. Eye-to-eye. Nothing higher, nothing lower. Hold the door for me if you wish; only if you would do it for that gruff man on the other side of the bar, or if you truly were listening to our conversation and enjoyed me. But don’t, pretty-please, rush to my dainty aid from across the street when I can step over the puddle just fine, with or without your jacket to trample upon. I don’t need it. Just because I was born with a clit does not entitle you to do everything for me; in fact, I’m pretty well off on my own.

As a young girl-- as a woman-- I refuse to leap into any man’s arms who totes a sword and a white horse. If anything, I might just keep a distance from this creep; I’ve got my own car, I don’t need to ride your stallion anytime soon. If you catch me in a tree, you should probably come right up with me; because if I’m truly that high up, there’s something down there I don’t want near me. Come to think of it, maybe it’s that sword-and-pony guy from before.

Speaking of knights in full-out chivalry mode, let’s take a closer look at the “damsel in distress” ideal. The definition for a damsel is a “young maiden or girl”. Well, what about that raving middle-aged woman in distress? Mid-life crisis can be a bitch too, you know.

(to be continued... because I lost my train of thought)
© 2007 Lucia Doyle