Boundaries, Shame & the Peanut Butter Defensive

I recently tried to set a new boundary with someone I used to be close to.

This was hard for me.

And he responded with some version of "Okay. By the way, I think you blew this way out of proportion."

That's the thing with boundaries. I don't expect guys to actually respect them.

. . . . . . .

When I was a young teenager (14) my family visited Nepal. I remember quite a bit about our trip--white water rafting, my sister's bout of dengue fever, the incredible oatmeal at the missionary boarding house--

And the rather sudden objectification and perceived accessibility of my body.

There was something about being 14, being a stranger in a strange land, and having men "accidentally" "bump into" me as I was walking down the street.

It was a confusing business.

I wrote to my dad about this, and in his reply he humorously suggested I coat myself in peanut butter or some other sticky substance so that the offender would get a nice little surprise as he copped a feel.

"Ha! Bet you weren't expecting to get peanut butter on you, you pervert!"

Unfortunately, I could not appreciate my dad's advice at the time.

Instead, I started crossing my arms over my chest and not making eye contact.

. . . . . . .

I was 15 and my favorite, most-worn piece of clothing was an extremely baggy, thin black sweatshirt. It managed to engulf whatever boobs I had at the time.

I'm certain one friend threatened to take it out and burn it.

I loved that thing.

. . . . . . .

I've had guys tell me, "I'm you're boyfriend. I'm supposed to push your boundaries."

I've had guys ask me out after I told them repeatedly I just wanted to be friends.

I've had grown men ignore my (polite) requests to stop harassing me via email. [Pro tip: don't use the word "please" when asking someone to stop harassing you.]

And the thing with boundaries is, they can start closing in on you, until you keep contracting inward, smaller and smaller, barely taking up any space, in a desperate attempt to hold onto whatever is still inviolate about the self.

And I wondered what about my boundaries or my self seemed so fluid, permeable, and defenseless. What about me said, "No really. I don't mean it. Go ahead and cross that line."

And my boundaries felt about as valuable and effective as smearing peanut butter on myself to prevent sexual assault. [So many questions: Crunchy or creamy? Name brand or store brand? Organic or not organic?]

When someone (or lots of someones) tramples your boundaries more times than you can count, you start internalizing the shame of "I'm not worth it."

. . . . . . .

But that's not what boundaries are for--I want boundaries that leap, and bound, and expand, and run, and fight back, and talk back, and that assert that--

YES. I am important. I am worth it. My story is worth telling. And this is MY side of the story that you don't get to control.

These are my boundaries.

This is my peanut butter defensive. Or rather peanut butter offensive--I picture myself running through the streets of Nepal, covered in peanut butter head-to-toe.

And if you don't like it, well--

I've got a jar of Skippy with your name on it.

Pretty is not dead--it's just taking an intergalactic nap

Someone, somewhere (Pat Archbold) wrote an essay on "The Death of Pretty." In it, he opposes the two values of "pretty" and "hot," lamenting the death of the former and the cultural ascension of the latter. Girls today, he alleges, want to be hot, not pretty.

The Problem with Pretty

Archbold defines "pretty" or "the pretty" as "a mutually enriching balanced combination of beauty and projected innocence."

Given this definition, I think I understand the putative girl's problem with pretty, especially if you replace "pretty" with "cute." "Cute" is so innocuous. Hot turns heads; Cute gets a pat on the head. Teenage girls naturally don't want to be cute, implying as it does a patronizing "Aw, you're so cute!" when what they want to hear is "you are an attractive, grown-up woman."

And this incidentally, is my primary problem with the author's definition of "pretty." It's infuriatingly infantilizing. The writer conflates "girls" with "women," although from what I can tell, his message is only aimed at women young enough to be considered conventionally "hot" (he cites Taylor Swift, Megan Fox, Lindsay Lohan and Miley Cyrus, none of whom is over the age of 25).  Does a woman ever outgrow pretty? Must a woman of 50+ be primarily concerned with projecting innocence? I hope not. Innocence is not something I aspire to project now, let alone after I qualify for the senior discount at Denny's.

In fact, only young women (and possibly teenagers?) seem to be implored to embrace the pretty. If only they would stop being so enticing! The more I think about it, the more conflating perceived innocence with youth and physical beauty just seems weird and creepily objectifying. So you're saying that my perceived level of sexual experience dictates whether or not I'm "pretty"? Ew.

Pretty and hot are simply opposite sides of the same coin--a woman's attractiveness being contingent upon perceived sexual experience or knowledge.

(see also http://bit.ly/snb0mJ)

If I'm wearing a push-up bra, will you let me get mauled by bears? 

Predictably, I find the tone of this essay particularly patronizing. Pretty is pleasing. Pretty is unthreatening. Pretty is passive. Pretty begs to be protected and rescued, or as Archbold puts it,

"By nature, generally when men see this combination [of beauty and innocence] in women it brings out their better qualities, their best in fact.  [...] the pretty inspires men to protect and defend it."

In other words, pretty never kicks ass. Rather, it inspires men to kick ass. 

And what are these women/girls innocent of, exactly? Grand theft auto? Confusing "your" with "you're"? No, Archbold is referring to sexual innocence or the appearance thereof. [Interestingly, pretty is about projected--not real--innocence. Probably because this is the only kind of "innocence" we can pretend to objectively judge--based on how a woman dresses, of course.]

Now, I could be wrong here, but I doubt that the writer is advocating the kind of chivalry that protects and defends a woman in need of protecting or defending only if the clothes she happens to be wearing at the time are sufficiently modest. (Oh, and to qualify as "pretty," she must be beautiful too.)

If I'm in the process of getting mugged, I hope the passerby's first thought is not "Gee, I hope this girl appears both sexually innocent and beautiful, so I can feel compelled to save her--oh wait, she's wearing stripper heels." 

Or worse: "Well, she is dressed like a commodity (read: whore) and we all know that consumables are meant to be 'used up and thrown away.' I just don't feel like stepping in." 

Nonsense. True chivalry defends the defenseless regardless of either their perceived sexual history or their level of attractiveness. 

Which is all to say, the writer confuses the state of a man's heart with the state of a woman's dress. Pretty, "that special combination of beauty and innocence," can inspire more than just the noblest qualities in a man's heart. It can inspire lust, fear, hatred. It really depends on what is in his heart in the first place. 

Speaking from personal experience, wearing revealing or tight clothes is not a prerequisite for being harassed, groped or otherwise treated like a commodity in public. Ask any woman--you don't need to put on your "hot" clothes in order to be objectified. Sometimes all it takes is walking out the front door in jeans and a T-shirt. 

Furthermore, innocence can be an attractive quality to a predator--the less she knows, the less experience she has, the easier it will be to take advantage of her. 

All the pretty in the world will not turn a predator into a protector. 

Pretty, Pretty Pedestal

Pretty girls, it would seem, have the magical ability to bring out the very best in men as long as they remain safely perched upon the pedestal of passive prettiness. I submit that they would be happier descending from said pedestal and excelling at academics, sports, a career, relationships, life. Men are ultimately responsible for their own hearts, their own actions. That's not a burden girls should feel compelled to bear.

No woman--hot, pretty, cute or any other looks-related value--should be treated like a commodity (read: prostitute). Not because of how she looks or dresses, but because it's wrong to treat a person as if she were a thing.

I still remember a speaker in chapel (Phil's dad) quoting from the movie version of Les Miserables. His voice broke as he recalled Jean Valjean's words to Fantine, the prostitute: "In God's eyes, you have never been anything but an innocent and beautiful woman."