My Apologies

 

For the second time since the regime change at the night job (that currently pays my bills), I find myself dealing with the kind of ridiculous treatment I'd only experienced through the words of feminist bloggers and childhood memories.

I'd convinced myself that no "professional man" would dare be so blatantly biased and dismissive of the accomplishments of an employee just because she wasn't six feet tall and composed of testosterone. I told myself this was a dying breed and males acting like entitled children when their errors were presented to them was the thing of elementary school and spoiled jocks. Somehow, despite all the evidence, I made myself believe that misogyny was becoming a rare thing, that the Boy's Only Club was losing members.

Unfortunately, those spoiled boys sometimes turn into entitled men. Men who can't stand to admit their mistakes, especially when those errors are presented by a woman. Men who can't work with independent, empowered women because they have no idea how to speak to women as equals. Men who reward sterotypical displays of masculinity even at the detriment of the social environment and the businesses to which they show loyalty.

One of those men dug through the professionally spoken interview he conducted with me and came to the conclusion that my experience, work ethic, and sparkling history could be ignored because I admitted to a habit of explaining concepts in more detail than was necessary. And by ignored, I mean treated as so insignificant that a man with none of my experience or skills was deemed a better candidate.

This experience shook me, caught me off guard. Despite everything I'd learned and read, I wasn't expecting the treatment.

I knew there were women all over the world dealing with this kind of treatment on a daily basis, but somehow thought myself immune. I now recognize this thinking, and the patterns of behavior around me that led to its formation, as a form of bias, and privilege, all its own.

Subconsciously, I held myself as too exceptional to be treated with the same indignity as the average woman.

And that was shitty of me.

To all the women everywhere, I apologize. I regret having internalized the Exceptional Woman trope to the point that I was mentally discriminating against the members of my gender who don't have the privilege of my skill set. I'm sorry. From this point forward, I'm going to check that internal gender bias and do better.

And I plan to start by using what privilege I have to make it as uncomfortable as possible for the aforementioned men to continue treating women the way they do. Even if the only recourse I have now is to demonstrate to them that "sometimes info-dumps on people" and "lacks communication skills" are not the same thing.

The Public Arena

Part of the difficulty I've faced when discussing my art are the sideways questions that amount to, “Don’t you think you’re being naive?” The talk of statistics, how so few artists “make it.” And how the term “making it” is used when what they really mean is “making a living from it.”

I've been wondering lately…

Who decided the purpose of making art was to make a living?

Making money from our art can be fulfilling and even add a level of joy to our work. But it isn't the point of going to the page, the canvass, the piano, the stage. The point of showing up is to make art, not money.

Demanding that all artwork be backed monetarily means demanding that all artists put themselves under the scrutiny of the public eye. And that eye can be toxic.

The world is full of blocked creatives whose fear of embracing their own art causes them to denounce the fledgling muse of an individual new to the craft. Making a leap of faith takes courage, and it is easier to belittle another's attempt than it is to make the jump for oneself.

“Trend” and “tradition” are tossed about as if the only good art belongs to the past and those who follow in its rigid footsteps. Being creative involves leaving tradition behind, which is a frightening prospect to some.

The public eye is quite fond of measuring the baby steps of a creative toddler to the great strides of an artistic pro. We don't test kindergartners on advanced algebra, yet somehow a young artist is required to know how to navigate a project while adhering to ever-changing whims and staying true to their unique voice.

All of these things feed a beginner’s dark inner dialogue. We hear individuals claim that “they don’t make music like they used to.” Fans of realism sneer at the wobbling lines of a modern sculpture, meant to say more than stark edges ever could. Critics tell us the firewalls of business are meant to keep the riff raff out.

We doubt ourselves. We doubt our art. And we stagnate.

It doesn't have to be this way.

If we truly seek to have better art (as opposed to rigidly hunting more of the same), we must nurture the gawky seedlings. We must learn the difference between criticism and shaming (the former asks, “How can this be made better?” while the latter claims there’s nothing worth saving).

If we want to have more variety, we have to embrace the idea of different paths. We cannot continue to hold one method of delivery as more sacred than another (i.e…the ridiculous declaration that indie artists are ruining their respective genres).

To grow art, we must be willing to grow artists. And growth is a painful and sometimes ugly process. But if the desired outcome is flow, it won’t be achieved by standing still.

This is Not a Void

[Content note: this post contains examples of topics that may be triggering (fat bias, rape, rape culture, misogynistic slurs, gun violence)]

We do not live in a void. The things we do and say have consequences larger than the immediate ramifications that are apparent to us. This goes especially for marginalizing tropes and “jokes” that feature mendacious stereotypes as the punch line.

“But it’s just a joke,” you may say. Except that it isn’t just a joke.

“Jokes” that feature marginalizing tropes (like “dumb blonde” jokes or “put down the cheeseburger fattie” jokes) aren’t just an attempt at poking fun. They entrench and normalize ideas that make living difficult for individuals who aren’t thin enough, white enough, male enough, heterosexual enough (etc...) for society at large. They present a falsehood as fact and pretend an entire population of people can be described by a single adjective.

“What about free speech? I shouldn’t have to police my words to save someone’s feelings,” you may say. Except that it isn’t about feelings.

It’s about medical professionals whose fat bias is entrenched to the point they ignore a fat person’s symptoms, resulting in further injury or death. Talking about obesity as if it has only one cause and pretending it causes disease allows such individuals the comfort of their hatred. It’s about white men shooting young black boys for using a sidewalk. Narratives that paint all black men as violent gave this shooter his mental ammunition. It’s about teenage girls being raped by their boyfriends because those boyfriends are taught that women “don’t say what they mean” and have no right to refuse because they’re no better than dogs (i.e. calling women who don’t act like you want “bitches”).

“That’s not what I meant,” you may say. Then say what you mean. If someone who is a member of the group you’re marginalizing can see the bias in your words, then so, too, can someone who believes that group IS lesser.

“You’re being too sensitive,” you may say. How do you know? Have you lived in the shoes of the person you’re hurting? Have you been forced to listen to those same tropes day after day, sometimes from people who claim to love you? Have you ever been denied a job, healthcare, or marriage rights because someone believes those tropes?

I could go on.

These are all silencing tactics. Ways to prevent yourself from hearing that your attempt at humor was harmful to another person. Ways to prevent yourself from learning something new and being expected to change because of that learning. Ways to prevent yourself from having to examine those you’ve put down and realize they’re people.

And I believe you’re better than that. I believe you can grow past mendacious tropes and see the beauty in diversity.

I believe this, and I expect it.