As I get older I've come to appreciate anew the weight and density of these cultural "screens", layers through which women are seen and judged. The dichotomy and contradiction, of course, as well as the underwear. And while I've become more interested in and attracted to some of the garments associated with the female archetypes (aprons on the one hand, garters on the other), I fully realize the tendency of society to desire the symbolic female form over the complexity of the internal woman.
That said, I'm not a neo-feminist. I live in relationship with others. When I want to, I can use the language of a woman's body to my advantage, and I do so often. My body has never conformed to a contemporary notion of beauty, though I get close enough. I'm too tall, my hips are too wide, my thighs are too big, and until recently my hair was too short. Growing my hair long has catapulted me into a whole new realm of desirability, as has losing 25 pounds. I don't mind. It helps me feel better about myself -- versus swimming upstream. I've become a Christian too, and I doubt very much that God cares how much I weigh.To the point though, if people occasionally do what I want them to because my looks persuade them, so be it. I won't complain.
I've known men who wanted androgyny in a woman, but these guys are mostly closet bisexuals and underdeveloped college students reinventing the virgin for the 21st century (or rather, believing they have, though the flat-chested gamine took her place in the Western gallery of desirability long ago; and even androgyny has gone by the fashion wayside now.) Having very short hair never made me a prepubescent runway waif. I looked like a woman already in the 8th grade.
But I struggle still with that notion of purity, of goodness. More on this later.
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