Reflecting Men At Twice Their Natural Size

I don’t suppose young women read books like this any more. Feminists are probably bracketed together with suffragettes and anti-slavery campaigners in their minds. Women from olden times who fought for freedoms that we all take for granted now.

But damn, we still do it, even those of us who were righteously steeped in the doctrines of the sisterhood. I feel like a character from the opening chapters of The Women’s Room when I’m doing the family laundry while they relax upstairs. I know Fat Is A Feminist Issue, but I’m still fat, right? I understand The Beauty Myth and how women are objectified, but I still feel good in lipstick and heels. And I know that reflecting men at twice their natural size perpetuates some situations that are unhelpful, both individually and socially.

Let me give you a for-instance. He is medium height. Not ridiculously short, but not tall either. Sometimes he has mentioned that he is not tall, so I divine he has a sensitivity about this. Without ever discussing it, without even consciously thinking it, I buy low to medium height shoes, so he is always a good margin tall than I. Knowing that he feels my ridiculous porn-starlet breasts make him look unprofessional (another whole story there, for another day...) I have been used to wearing minimiser bras to squash them down, and loose tops to draw attention away. Unmentioned and unacknowledged, I replace his worn socks with new ones, take his suits to the cleaners and buy new shirts when the old ones fray on the collar. I wrote a whole series of best practice articles that were published under his name, as I thought that would be better for the company brand.

And I ask myself suddenly: what kind of a sucker am I?

I feel like I’ve only just woken up to life. I’m starting small, with a new Tits-and-Heels wardrobe and leaving him to look after his own clothes. But who knows where it will end?