A Letter to the Culture that Raised Me
Growing up, you read me the Ugly Duckling. And for years I believed that was me. For so long you taught me I was nothing more than a bad copy of the standard (men).
I couldn?t run as fast or lift as much. I didn?t make the same money and I cried too often. I grew up in a man?s world where I didn?t belong.
And when I couldn?t be him, I wanted only to please him. I put on your make-up and wore your short skirts. I gave my life, my body, my dignity, for the cause of being pretty. I knew that no matter what I did, I was worthy only to the degree that I could please and be beautiful for my master. And so I spent my life on the cover of Cosmo and gave my body for you to sell.
I was a slave, but you taught me I was free. I was your object, but you swore it was success. You taught me that my purpose in life was to be on display, to attract, and be beautiful for men. You had me believe that my body was created to market your cars. And you raised me to think I was an ugly duckling. But you lied.
...So I am honored. But it is not by my relationship to men. My value as a woman is not measured by the size of my waist or the number of men who like me. My worth as a human being is measured on a higher scale: a scale of righteousness and piety. And my purpose in life ? despite what the fashion magazines say ? is something more sublime than just looking good for men.
...I?m not here to be on display. And my body is not for public consumption. I will not be reduced to an object, or a pair of legs to sell shoes