Going Against the Grain – Demanding More from Lovers as a Non-Standard Femme
Make it stand out
“I’m in my bag but I'm in his too,” I want this tattooed on my wrist, then I want to have it incorporated into a painting that I hang above my bed so I can stare at it while I ruin someone's son.
I ask for a lot. I fly my brat flag high. I believe in being a brat and the vilification of brats is a violent act of misogyny. For femmes who exist in bodies that are subjected to societal and systematic oppression, living like this is a beautiful act of rebellion.
“If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give” me the kind of heat I give myself and more. I like nice things. My nipples get rock hard when I saunter into sexy restaurants looking like “the sex” to spend disgusting amounts of money on food and criminally overpriced alcohol. Doing this for myself on my little “medates” feels good but when someone else does it for me I start to create a snail trail.
___STEADY_PAYWALL___
The standard of whiteness or being in close proximity to whiteness, silky haired with good skin. Slim, breasts not too big but not too small, a perky bum and invisible stomach. Not too short but most definitely not too tall, without disabilities or mental health issues have been shoved down our throats for as long as we have been conscious. Even the most self-assured of us have this parasite nibbling away at the back of our minds. Regardless of how personally attractive we may be, our proximity to the standard for feminine beauty set for us will always exert some control over how we are perceived, treated and the desires the world will let us have without making us feel like we're deranged.
In spite of all of the personal privilege I have as a beautiful, educated, well-spoken woman who grew up in relative comfort; I know that the perceptions of me as a big black bitch will at times trump that. I do not know whether it is my internal responsibility politics playing with me or stubbornness but for this very reason I only allow myself to accept the best.
There seems to be a commonly misplaced expectation that women who do not fit the standard of universal attractiveness should take what we get. That because we are not deemed desirable by whatever Bullshit norms that society has created for us, we should pick up whatever mulch that decides it wants to fuck us from the bottom off the barrel. I hear and read too many stories about femmes putting up with substandard treatment from scum of the earth type people because we've been poisoned into believing the violently oppressive narrative that since we don't fit the standard (or even in the same room as the it); any attention is good attention and asking for anything is asking for too much.
We are all guilty of shrinking ourselves into little Poundland Tupperware containers to pander to weasels and fit the ill-conceived notion that feminism in action is about equity rather than equality. With all the big stuff the feminist movement seeks like equal pay, equal representation, autonomy over our bodies we forget the little things like the freedom to be whoever we want. Any assertion that we would lose feminist points for being high maintenance or demanding more from the people we share our bodies and energies with is inherently misogynistic. Anything that infringes upon the ability of femmes to express themselves or feel safe and contented is an act against us.
We may not place our perceptions of self-worth on our love lives and being desired should not be an indicator of our value but this is so personal that the way we conduct ourselves and the things we want and accept become a reflection of our perceptions of our own worth.
Femmes are expected to go to the ends of the earth to make ourselves perfect in the hopes of being picked of the shelves of singleness. We go to lengths try to mould ourselves to fit the needs of whoever we are trying to attract: spending hours crafting the perfect responses to messages or shedding blood, sweat and tears to look hot to trot on dates. So why, after going to all those lengths to present our best selves should we accept people not their best selves and actively refuse to cherish us? Femmes who have been pushed to the margins are forced to reckon with ourselves and don our best facades to exist in. Forget body positivity; even body neutrality takes exceptional effort in a world where fatphobia, colourism, racism, ableism, homophobia, and a bunch of other pungent aromas stalk us through life. After all that labour it is disgusting that we should be expected to accept bums who mistreat because we are blackies or have bellies.
We lie to ourselves that it does not take much to make us happy, that we're easily pleased because we fear that what we truly want is unattainable. In films, female protagonists demanding anything more than the basics from and of love interests is always seen as a tragic flaw. These blonde, modelesque women are chastised for being demanding; their singleness treated like an apparition. Even my stunning, conventionally beautiful friends who demand a lot less than I do feel like the little they want is too much. With a belly, dark skin, chins, a wheelchair; you will feel like a heretic.
At times it seems that people think that because they express their attraction to fat or black or disabled femmes in secret, they are the only ones doing so. The wider world has told them that we aren't worthy of being loved or respected so they see their attraction to us as a perversion that should be expressed in the shadows, thinking they're the only ones who will look our way so we must take whatever gnawed bones they throw. Regardless of how many souls pine after you, it is important to set a standard, the bare minimum for who and what you will accept. It is not enough to ask for the cute shit like someone who is respectful and has a good personality; there is nothing wrong with requiring more, after all you are sharing your body with and donating your energy to this person.
In the words of the knee weakening Ben James “you have to take out to eat out”, I demand that my hands be held proudly in the streets for these wonderful cheeks to be clapped in the sheets. I must be wined and dined to be sixty-nined and any lover must exalt me like the queen that I is!
Words: Ann-Marie Ayibotele of Phat Files | Images: Demetria Marie
