This One's for the Girls

The amount of times I’ve almost written a blog post regarding my views as a feminist is out of the ballpark, but after a while, regularly seeing complete ignorance and general lack of understanding all over my social media feeds gets old really fast.

This is not an attack on anyone, I’m simply trying to give myself a little peace of mind in hopes that at least one or two people will read this and maybe learn something from it. I’m just scratching the surface here and hitting the points I see most talked about by my peers.

Feminist. Feminism. Two words that ¾ of the American population do not understand. Believe it or not, feminism for most women is not bra-burning and head-shaving. And if it is, then that’s okay, do what you want! When I write this post, I am speaking for myself, but I’m sure a few if not most of my lady friends will agree with what I have to say.

On chivalry: I’m not going to lie, it is nice when a man holds a door open, gives up his seat for a woman, or even pays for dinner. I’m not someone who is going to see this happen and protest because it’s “sexist”, because honestly, most men were brought up and taught by their parents that this was the polite or correct thing to do. I appreciate chivalry because it is mostly formed from good intentions and comes from a good place. HOWEVER, the origin of chivalry and the reason these customs came about is because women, for thousands of years, have been seen as ‘unable’, and they’ve definitely been seen as inferior. When you dig a little deeper into tradition, when a couple goes on a date and the man pays, this is his demonstration that he will be able to provide for the woman. That is what it boils down to. My counterargument to chivalry is not that I think it’s sexist or that it is necessarily wrong, but rather that I do not want to be taken care of because a man thinks I am unable to take care of myself. I do not have a problem holding the door for a man, and I think it’s healthy and normal for guys and girls to take turns paying for meals. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a girl paying for dinner, and I certainly am not going to talk badly about any guy who doesn’t offer to pay. Honestly, if I have anything bad to say about a date when I’m filling in my girlfriends, it probably has something to do with a bad joke you made or what you had to say – not whether or not you paid for dinner.

Subject change. Reasons why girls may react negatively to compliments, the good ole’ “up-down”, and everyone’s favorite, cat calls:

1.     Compliments. Compliments given to women from men generally stem from sexual desire. It is that simple. Why else would you be so butthurt when we react negatively? “You are beautiful”, “That dress fits you well”, or something of that sort, no matter how many lovely little adjectives you use to embellish it, will not be accepted in the manner you want it to be if we do not reciprocate that attraction. I am not obligated to react positively just because you made the effort.

2.     Staring, checking out, and the “up-down”. Many men wonder why girls do not like being stared at because they are under the impression that their attention should be flattering. If I am out with friends at a bar, restaurant, or any other place for that matter, I do not appreciate being stared at like a piece of meat, there is nothing else to it. Do not give me the smolder and a smirk, I am not here for your viewing pleasure, I am a human being, thank you very much.

3.     Oh, cat calls. Like staring and compliments, men seem to think that their attentions and affections should always be welcomed because “it’s flattering” or “I’m just being nice”. No. You are being invasive and disrespectful. I remember as a twelve year-old girl walking to the Tom Thumb with my friends for an Icee, we would be honked at and yelled at by men in passing cars. I didn’t even have boobs yet! How do people still find this acceptable? Women should be able to walk down the street in their smallest bikini and not get any backlash or unsolicited attention from anyone, because it’s completely acceptable for men to walk around without shirts on or with their pants hanging around their knees, and no one thinks anything of it. Women are not pieces of art sitting around waiting to be critiqued or judged or compared to other pieces of art. We are human beings with real thoughts and opinions, and those are the things that count and should be sought after, not our butts

.

Another misconception about feminists: we hate men and think we are better than them. This is not true. There are exceptions to every generalization, but feminism today is not based upon the notion that women are better than men, it is based on the thinking that women are just as much human beings as men are, and that we deserve the same rights, representation, and compensation that men do. I need feminism because women still only make 77% (according to Forbes as of 4/7/2014) of the earnings men do working full-time year round. Until women receive the same amount of recognition and representation that men do, I have no problem ‘putting men in their place’ as men have been doing to women for too long now.

Call me an angry feminist with no time on my hands, call me a little girl who doesn’t know what she’s talking about, say what you want about how I’m “not getting any”. I just hope that through this post, you have learned a little about how feminism works and how it doesn’t, and why some women act the way they do towards you.

Teaching in France, oh la la!

A new year, a new semester. My last semester. Wait, what?

The last two months literally flew by. I feel like just yesterday I was sitting in my American literature class slowly trudging through Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Thank the gods the semester from hell is over. This time around, I’m in control. I’m making these classes my bitches, not the other way around. Granted, I’m enrolled in 7 more credit hours than I was in the fall, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

More importantly, my graduation date is looming over my head, laughing at me as it peeks around the corner. Most people I’ve talked to who are graduating this semester are terrified, unsure of what their plans are or where to start. I’ll admit I’m a little wary of what is to come, but just yesterday I submitted my application to the Teaching Assistant Program in France, which if I’m accepted into, will require me to move to France in late September. Euh…quoi?

Zat eez correct! There is a distinct possibility that all my dreams will come true this year and I’ll be moving to Europe. Granted, I won’t be living in Paris, but I’ll take whatever I can get. The TAPIF program pays post-graduates between the ages of twenty and thirty to teach English in schools of all levels all over France. The pay is a little dismal, especially after taxes, but it’s just enough to get by. Of course I’ll have to take on a summer job or two to pay my way there, (and first month’s rent…I’ll also have to find an apartment, yikes!) but at this point, I’ll do absolutely anything to make sure that I’ll be in France before the year is out.

This is the hard part, I suppose. The waiting. I won’t find out if I’ve been accepted into the program until early April…a whole three months away! To say my fingers are permanently crossed is an understatement.  I truly hope that everything works out for me, because an opportunity like this is definitely a once in a lifetime deal.

Till next time, mes amis, bisous!

Paris Holds the Key

Mindlessly scrolling through tweets the other day, I came across one that spoke to me. We live in a world where it's rare to find someone who's not connected in some way or a coffee shop that doesn't offer free Wi-Fi, so we often scroll through our news feeds not really taking anything in. However, this one piece of 140-character goodness got me thinking. The tweet, written by my lovely friend Wesley (on Twitter: @Wes_Alexander_), read: "Be it a romance, a great friendship, or a love of culture, I want my first experience in Paris to be a story of true love."

As the words went dark on the screen when my phone went back to sleep, I sat there (with little Binx next to me, of course) thinking about my own first experience in Paris. It came to my attention that my month in that city was all three of those things, combining together to formulate the ultimate story of true love. 

A love of culture. I fell in love with the culture all over again, as if I was my fourteen year old self in a high school French 1 classroom learning numbers and "Hi, my name is...". I was constantly surrounded by a people who appreciate art and history and who are immersed in and who make up the glamour that is Paris. The bakery owners and the cute waiters, the museum staff and even the little self-righteous dogs in the park -- they all played a part in making what I thought Paris would be like pre-departure exactly what it was for me when I arrived. Paris: the lights and the sounds and the feeling that there was more to the world than what I'd experienced living in Florida for twenty years, was absolutely everything I dreamed it would be. I feel a connection with that city in a way I didn't think was possible, and I've realized recently that that's where I'm meant to be. My love of Paris is what keeps me going on days where all I want to do is give up and lay on my bedroom floor and sob because I can't get through a book I'm supposed to read for a class or because my parents are upset with something I've said. The thought, no, the knowledge that I'm going back so soon is what keeps me alive. That's true love.

A great friendship. I went to Paris without actually knowing anyone who was in my study abroad program. Sure, I'd talked to a few of them over Facebook chat a few times to discuss airport logistics and whatnot, but I wasn't going there with friends in tow. All of that changed about two weeks in, and I left Paris with more friends than I was expecting. But these friends aren't just travel buddies, these are friends who saw the best and worst of me all in the span of a month; these were friends who experienced with me the fireworks at the Eiffel Tower (Feu d'Artifice) on Bastille Day, all laughs and smiles, and who also saw me drunk and crying 10 minutes before leaving for the airport to go back to the United States. Living in a foreign country together for a month bonded us all for life, and I still talk to and regularly see almost all of them. That's true love.

A romance. After being in the city of love for four days, I met someone with whom I spent several hours exploring the city, lounging on the Champ de Mars underneath a looming Eiffel Tower, and dancing the night away to French pop music. Though it was nothing serious, nor was it true love, I learned through that experience that people will often come into your life so that you can see things from their perspective, and then they'll walk right back out, and you'll be fine with it. Maybe it was a true coincidence or maybe it was the corny cliché that is having a romance in Paris that brought us together for that short time. Whatever it was, I'm grateful for that experience and if I've learned anything from it is that you shouldn't ever have any regrets about things you've done in the past, because put simply, it's in the past. Living in the moment is essential to living fully and passionately. 

True love: that's what Paris was for me, and will hopefully continue to be as soon as I get back there in the next year. My time there taught me so much more than living in Florida for twenty years ever did, and that's how I know it's where I'm supposed to be; that's how I know I'm fully capable of getting myself back on that plane.

Stardust

When I first launched this blog back in February, the idea behind it was that I would regularly post about my travels, specifically the experiences I was to have during my time in Europe and hopefully beyond that as I got older. That idea is still there, though since I'm currently living in Tallahassee going to school, I'm going to focus more on the things that are happening in my life right now and my thoughts as I near my graduation date, travel-related or otherwise. The past two months have been sort of a blur, the highlights fuzzy images of books I've attempted to read and finish, Halloween parties, football games, a special little grey kitten named Binx, and university parking garages. All of these things come with the mundane, though somehow still exciting life I lead as a Florida State Seminole. However blurry my vision might be when I look back on this semester though, this weekend was an eye-opener. It was like going to the optometrist and putting a pair of glasses I've needed since the sixth grade on for the first time. Cheesy? Yes. True? Also yes. I feel like this might belong on Tumblr instead of an actual blog.

This weekend I got to have a few fantastic conversations with a couple of new friends, as well as old friends of course. Topics mostly revolved around travel, experiences while abroad, et cetera. Through all the pressure I've felt this semester regarding what it is I'm planning on doing after graduation (that seems to be the question of the century), it was almost like a giant weight was lifted off my shoulders. In the last three or four days, I've realized that no one knows what they're doing after graduation. Especially as a student who is graduating in three years instead of the normal four, that was beyond relieving to hear. I'm only 20! What's that Britney song called again? "I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman"? Pop princesses aside, if I met any young woman my age in my situation who knew exactly what she was doing after school, I'd be amazed. I'd also question her sanity.

So, what it all really boils down to is: what do I want? Truthfully, I want to leave again. I want to travel longer and I want to travel further. So, that's what I'm going to do. After school, I'll find a couple of humdrum jobs so that I can save money, I'll keep blogging, and as soon as I have a few thousand saved, I'm off to Paris again. This is my decision, and this time I'm sticking to it. I owe it to myself to be happy, to live the life that I want instead of being stuck doing something that 's practical or failsafe but that my heart isn't in. 

It's time to live for yourself.

Headfirst For Halos

As I was sitting on my back porch with my 4-month-old kitten, Binx, yesterday, I had a sudden realization. All of the sudden, all of these intense feelings of relief washed over me, and I felt okay. It was like someone just flipped a switch. Yeah, it's been a rough semester. Hell, it's been a rough two and a half years, but I just realized how close I am to being finished with all of it. I've spent the last couple of months finding myself struggling with getting homework and assigned readings done and making failing quiz grades while my personal life crumbles and falls through the spaces between my fingers. All of this for what? A little piece of paper at the end of May that somehow justifies all the suffering it took to get it? It sounds silly, but somehow it's still important. 

But as I watched little Binx look out the screen door at the birds sitting in the trees, his head tilted to the side, I suddenly realized that the worst is over. I've only got about seven months left of this. Some of you might be thinking, "she should feel incredibly lucky to even be going to school" and "why would you want to graduate college in three years?" or maybe even "if you don't like what you're studying, just change your major". I'm not going to delve into specifics about the situation I'm in, but all I'll say is that I tried to take the easy way out back in my freshman year when choosing a major. I chose one that I thought would be easy, that I was good at, and that would help my parents to sleep soundly at night. It seems the only person I didn't make the decision for was myself, and now I'm paying for that. I'm good at what I study. I can knock out a research paper on a book I haven't read in about eight hours, but what is that going to ever do for me in the long run? Absolutely nothing. 

So instead of feeling defeated by my chosen field of academia, I sat down and wrote about the things that, however trivial, I am good at, and that make me feel good, because I firmly believe that I am not the grade I make on a midterm exam or a term paper, end of story. 

I've found that this same sense of defeat and hopelessness has been found among many people my age, and my good friend Madame Sosostris puts beautifully into words some of what I've been trying to articulate here as well: that you are not the grades you make, and that you should find the things that make you happy and run with them. 

After coming back inside from my porch-sit, I wrote down a few things so that I could keep my optimism alive, and that could hopefully inspire some in others, should they read them.

You're 20 years old, the start of a new decade.

You're no good at drawing,

you haven't got the physique of a model.

Hell, you're marginally attractive.

But you're damn good at working alone,

you're good at wearing black,

at dying your hair even when your parents say it looks awful.

You're good at swiping that red lipstick on

without a mirror.

You can call to follow up on that application,

and you're a beer pong champion.

You're a good listener.

You might be alone at 27,

or even 35,

but you'll be alright. 

You're gonna take on the world in a hail of bullets,

figuratively of course.

Just think happy thoughts.

Never let them take you alive.

This post is not going to document a segment of my travels, it's not going to give you expert advice on which Parisian café to choose when looking for the best pain au chocolat in France (I've never had a less than satisfactory pastry of any kind while there), and in fact, it's not even travel related. 

These are my thoughts after several weeks of, pardon my French, being "in the shit", as a hero of mine Gerard Way would say. The past two months being back at school have been full of emotional turmoil, caused by classes as well as a few personal things. For about a month, the only music I've listened to is My Chemical Romance, who I've loved since I was a greasy, awkward twelve year old with glasses and a tragic set of braces. They've always had a way of sticking with me, especially during times when I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Lately, they've served a new purpose for me, and that's inspiration. 

I'm not one to write poetry, so that's not what this is. These are merely my thoughts. Getting this down on paper helped me realize a few things, and I hope that if you too are "in the shit", that they can help you as well.

You're going to be okay. 

You're going to finish school, even if you only scrape by.

Even if you don't know what to do with your life,

You're going to find yourself.

You don't need anyone but yourself.

You're going to create things. 

Important things.

Things for yourself, things for others.

You're going to be the best version of yourself.

You might not always know the right words to say,

or you might not know which door to go through next,

but you've come this far.

Shed your yellow and take my hand, 

always remember to keep running,

and never let them take you alive.

What a bunch of life-saving goofballs.

Parisian Fashion: What to Pack

Salut, mes amis!

Before I start delving into all the little stories and experiences I have from my time in the fabulous city that is Paris, I thought I would start my series of Parisian posts with a topic that I had to address when I was packing my suitcase: what do I wear while in one of the most fashionable cities in the world?

This is a question women (and men) have been fussing over for years now, and I think it’s safe to say that there are a few key things to know before you go and blow all your money on a whole new wardrobe to take abroad. The first thing, which I can say from experience, is that no matter how hard you try, you WILL look like a tourist. To follow up with that, if you are American, most of the French can see that even before you can utter a word of your Franglish.

This next bit is directed at the ladies: let’s be honest, unless we are born and bred in Paris, there’s no way we’ll ever have the same graceful sophistication and aura that is exclusive to French women. So before you twist your ankle in those stilettos while walking the cobblestone streets, why not pack a few pairs of strappy sandals and some elegant looking flats? If heels are necessary, I recommend pairs that have a thick or even a wedge heel. Trust me, your feet and your dignity will still be intact by the end of your trip!

Before I left, I did lots of research regarding what is acceptable to wear while in the streets and while sightseeing. Many of the articles I read suggested floral print sundresses, linen trousers, cardigans, black pants, lots of neutral colors, etc. These are all things that I packed, and they all worked for me and helped a little when it came to “blending in”. The single motif I saw while browsing online though was the constant condemnation of denim cut-offs. Having grown up in Florida, I practically live in shorts, it’s too hot for anything else! While I don’t recommend “booty” shorts per se, I don’t see anything wrong with short denim cut-offs, and I wore them all over the place while in Paris! However, if you’re planning on going into any of the cathedrals, (Sacre Coeur especially, they have guards to make sure anyone with inappropriate clothing isn’t allowed inside) I suggest mid-thigh length as the shortest you can go in terms of shorts and skirts, and maybe covering up your shoulders.

A perfect example of denim cut-offs AND flat shoes, and she looks perfectly put-together!

Note: when in doubt, black is ALWAYS in style!

I promise, dressing well in Paris isn’t as difficult as it may seem, because everyone does it! As long as you’re not wearing a fanny pack or a pair of running shoes with your socks pulled up to your calves and a nice Hawaiian print shirt, you should be okay!

Questions or comments on this post? Feel free to shoot me e-mail at katieanne93@gmail.com!

Note: None of these photos belong to me.