Not long ago, I found an interesting blog post about furniture designed to look like parts of women’s bodies. As the title of the article clearly states, the furniture was “inspired by the most attractive female forms”–but of course, that means conventionally attractive breasts, buttocks, legs, and high-heeled feet.

The part that makes me laugh about this kind of art is that it is always described as unique, or modern, or ground-breaking. Somehow, people seem to think that art like this is just amazingly new and special.

Now, I won’t argue that it’s not art, mostly because I’m not really an artist, and I don’t think I have the right to judge either way. But I can definitely say that there is absolutely nothing new or unique or groundbreaking about this kind of art. Why? Because all this art does is cut women up into bunches of little tiny pieces based upon the only parts of their body that are supposedly worth something. It also furthers the idea of what is conventionally attractive, while undermining every single variation from that norm: large, perfectly round breasts, an ass that isn’t too big but it’s round and firm, long legs with thin thighs and even thinner calves, and feet that don only high heels at all times. Every single other part of the woman–her hands, her eyes, her brain, even her vagina, in this artist’s rendering–is totally irrelevant and isn’t even considered “beautiful.” And these ideals–of women consisting of only a few body parts that must be absolutely perfect-looking–are mainstream, totally normal and accepted, and not unique or fresh at all whatsoever.

A piece of news going around today (via Feministing) is that “Gold’s Gym has declared July ‘Cankles Awareness Month.’” It’s a prime example of cutting women up into tiny pieces. Everything about you, even your ankles, has to look perfect. You could have everything else going for you: no wrinkles on your face, a flat stomach, big perky breasts, labia minora that don’t stick way out, a bleached anus, etc. etc. etc.; but if you have cankles, forget about it, you are just plain ugly. That one piece can ruin the whole picture. Every little chunk must be perfect.

The furniture this artist has created just perpetuates everyday norms and ideals, and it annoys me that people run around going “Ohhh, it’s so new and original!” No. It’s absolutely mainstream and normative. Come on, artists! Shake things up a bit! I get sick of seeing conventionally attractive female-chunks being thrown around and called “original.” If you want to be original, depict a woman with “un-perfect” body parts as a whole being with a brain and feelings! Even though it’s the reality of the world (not every woman is perfect, like this art seems to want; and every woman has a brain and feelings, like this artist seems to deny), it’d be pretty original and surprising for a piece of art. And isn’t that a good thing?

Yesterday, my younger sister gave birth to a totally cute little boy named Braidan. Fittingly, as we sat around in her hospital room, we watched bits and pieces of a marathon of I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant. This show is pretty interesting, if dramatic, especially considering the responses you see from people who hear just the title alone: “How can a woman not know she is pregnant?! How stupid can you be??” Even the people present yesterday asked those questions, including a nurse who came into the room.

The show, I think, does a pretty good job of explaining why the woman did not know she was pregnant. She never had regular periods anyway; she lost weight rather than gained it; she didn’t have any cravings; she was told she could not have children. I’m sure that if these people watched the show, they’d be surprised and yet interested that yes, truly, a woman can not know that she is pregnant.

In any case, I think that people’s common “WTF!” reactions to this show are rather unsurprising. Our culture is pretty out of touch with women’s bodies and biological functions. There are misconceptions everywhere about periods, pregnancy, vaginal fluids, the vagina itself, the vulva and labia, breasts, and so on. A lot of people are sadly unaware of the vast diversity and variations present across all women. It seems that we are programmed to believe that all women’s bodies are the same, that they all operate in the precise same way, each part doing a precise job exactly the same way, every single time, like an assembly line.

Maybe life would be a lot easier for some women if our bodies did work that way, but I think the diversity is pretty cool. I think it’s interesting that some women have labia minora that stick way out, and some have labia minora that hide inside. Some women have pretty evenly sized breasts; others have breasts that are different cup sizes from each other. Some women have a clockwork period, while other women haven’t had a period in months. Every woman is unique. Our society needs to be more in touch with that fact–and more in touch with the realities of women’s bodies: that they are not all the same, that the diversity between them is not a sign of error or illness, but it in fact unique and beautiful.

Carnal Nation reports that “Scottish Women’s Aid, an organization dedicated to helping the victims of domestic abuse, has flatly refused a £600 ($1000) gift from 11 women who posed semi-nude for a calendar.” A spokesperson from Scottish Women’s Aid states, “We are opposed to the sex industry, and we have an issue with women removing clothes” as their reasoning for rejecting the donation. Certainly, the organization has every right to deny gifts from anyone they choose, but their reasoning does not sit well with me, especially coming from a feminist organization, and especially after reading that many of the women who posed for the calendar had been victims of domestic violence.

Generally, I’m a member of the boat that says that women should be able to define what they find to be empowering. We see this debate often regarding Muslim women’s modest dress, or hijab. Some people argue that the hijab is always demeaning to women, that it only serves to perpetuate the notion that women are naturally immodest and that men are inherently unable to resist their beauty. On the other hand, proponents of the hijab argue that wearing modest clothing creates an atmosphere in which women can be treated as human beings, rather than as pretty objects for men to look at. From my point of view, each perspective has its merits, and each woman should be able to choose to dress modestly or not depending on her opinion, without repercussions.

I have a similar attitude when it comes to nudity. Certainly, the porn industry can be incredibly degrading to women, especially in places where health and safety regulations are not enforced. On the other hand, nudity can be very empowering. If a woman feels confident, comfortable, and safe enough to take off her clothing of her own free will, it means that she has claimed control over her own body, and she is simply allowing other people to look at her body, as she chooses.

I feel like the assumption of Scottish Women’s Aid is that nudity is always demeaning to women. But isn’t that perspective harmful in and of itself? It implies that women always lack control over their own bodies. It takes agency away from women before they even have a chance to claim it–and in the name of feminism, no less. On some level, of course, I agree with their perspective. At times, female nudity can be demeaning. When female nudity is forced, or when the nude women are presented purely as sexual objects, it does take agency away from women. Some women take their clothes off merely for men to look at them, or out of pressure or coercion from men. But women can and should also have the freedom to choose when and for whom (if anyone other than themselves) they would like to remove their clothing. I think that women who make this choice out of a sense of self-confidence and self-respect are empowered women.

Even though I’m a women’s and gender studies senior, I’d still consider myself to be fairly new to feminism. There is a lot to learn and so many perspectives to explore that the few short years I’ve spent truly studying feminism seem to have barely touched the surface. However, deep down, I have been a feminist since my childhood. I was never a huge tomboy–I loved riding bikes and getting dirty, but I also had a lot of fun with dresses and Barbies–and I was very passionate about proving that I, as a girl, could succeed. I seemed to be surrounded by little boys, as well as a few other girls, who insisted that girls were stupid, weak, and just all around inferior to boys. I always took these sorts of opinions as a chance to prove how brilliant, strong, and equal (and in some cases, just plain better at something) I truly was.

As I got older, I grew a bit more mellow, but I was always annoyed that I had to look pretty and that boys were always making stupid comments about girls. I struggled with my weight and wore unfashionable clothing. The boy whose locker was next to mine would tell me that I was ugly and that I had the fattest ass he’d ever seen. My middle school crush’s best friends loved to go on and on about how girls can’t do math and how they suck at science. I was offended by all these things, but I said little–I had become shy and reserved after moving to a new town and gaining a lot of weight. But this was also a time when I began learning about more political issues, social concerns such as gay marriage and abortion. Without much mental debate, I knew I was pro-gay marriage (it’s just two people who love each other) and pro-choice (it’s a woman’s body; she should be able to choose).

My return to feminism began in high school. I had been in two long-term relationships by the time I was a junior, and both of them were abusive–the first physically and emotionally, and the second emotionally. The second relationship lasted three and a half years, and the entire time, my boyfriend was cruel and angry. He loved calling me names and “punishing” me for things I did wrong (such as call him too much) by withholding affection or talking down to me. I began to wonder what the problem was–all I ever did was love him and care about him, and he returned my affection by pushing me away and insulting me. He was the type of guy who had something to say about every woman he came across, and he had nothing but contempt for his mother (a widow who doted everything on her one son) and sister (another young woman in a series of abusive relationships). I began to hypothesize that he hated me because I was a woman. Even if this was not entirely the case, I began to think about what it meant to be a woman, how women are devalued and despised for our femininity.

At the same time, my feminism leaned in a more positive direction: sex positive, to be precise. I loved sex. I loved talking about sex. And I loved sharing my knowledge about sex with others. I absorbed all I could about sexuality, learning about its “deviations” and about its “norms.” My friends came to me for sex advice and we shared our funny stories together. I felt good about my sexuality, whatever it was, and I had fun with it at all times. I wanted everyone around me to be able to do the same.

Before I went to community college, I had settled on becoming a web designer. But I had always really wanted to be a sex ed teacher as well. I finally settled on this goal when I took my first women’s studies class, Psychology of Women. Our textbook was the perfect overview of feminist theory, introducing me to dozens of new ideas. The best part was how they all made perfect sense to me. I discovered that one good way to get into the sexuality education field was to major in women’s studies as an undergrad. I took this opportunity eagerly.

Now I feel pretty good about my feminism. I’m getting better at articulating my ideas, and I even have some of my own that surprise people. I’m still as sex-positive as ever, and I’m in the school that says that men should be involved in feminism. As I go through my education and through life, I hope to use all that I’ve learned to really make a difference. Feminist perspectives are severely lacking in many spheres of life, but the fact that they are overlooked only exacerbates serious social problems.

My feminism has also helped me to be a more critical person–I question everything even more than usual! I am more outgoing and sure of myself. I have found it to be empowering and uplifting. And I love to share my ideas with other women and help them feel the same way.

Why do we want to protect our children from sex?

A couple weeks ago I finally finished reading Judith Levine’s Harmful to Minors: The Perils of Protecting Children from Sex. It was a fascinating read, and it paralleled many of my own personal beliefs on the subject of childhood sexual education. As an aspiring sexuality educator, this issue is significant. Am I going to have a job in the future? What sorts of things am I going to be able to teach these kids? How will I answer my students’ personal queries?

Of course, I shouldn’t be too worried about all that yet, since I’m not even in grad school yet. But on the level of my personal beliefs, I have indeed always wondered what people are so scared of when it comes to teaching young people about sex.

I never formally learned about sex. I only found out what it was by a (perhaps strategically placed) book that my friend and I found in her house when we were nine. It was a book full of cartoons of a mommy and a daddy “making love.” My parents never spoke to me—even though they are pretty liberal themselves—and I never heard a peep about the mechanics of sex in school. Most of what I learned about the important stuff—safety, communicating my needs to my partner, and so on—I learned from websites such as Scarleteen.

When it comes to young people and sexuality, though, I’ve always been in the boat that says “If it’s going to happen eventually, why try to pretend it won’t?” I always thought that trying to “protect” kids from sex—a.k.a. withholding important information—was kind of a delusional goal. Sure, some kids may wait until marriage to have sex. But is that really even a good thing? What makes marriage the safest and most relevant place for people to have sex with each other?

Marriage is actually the most dangerous place for women—both in terms of their emotional and physical health and safety, but also in terms of their sexual health and safety. The ultimate “private sphere,” marriage is also the place where impunity reigns. Husbands in most countries in the world can beat and rape their wives without any retaliation. Even in countries with established laws against such violence find the laws difficult to enforce.

However, if children were educated throughout their youth about sexual respect and communication, perhaps young girls would be able to apply these important skills in their marriages in the future. I don’t think it would solve all problems of domestic and partner violence, but it would certainly help women reclaim their sexual rights and have a sexual voice, within and without their marriages.

Preventing children from learning anything at all whatsoever about sexuality does not prepare them for adulthood or for marriage in any way. If marriage is the objective, then don’t we want children to have healthy sexuality in their marriages when they grow into adults?

Either way, I don’t particularly agree that marriage is the ultimate goal for life, nor do I agree that it is the only venue for sexual activity. But a lot of people throughout the world do believe that marriage has this kind of role in life. Working with cultural norms—such as marriage—rather than fighting against them is a good start to enacting change. And encouraging people to have healthy sexuality within their marriages—by teaching youth about sexual respect and communication before marriage occurs—would be a great place to begin.

Of course, the major worry is that if children learn about sex, then they will do it. Some people believe that this is always a bad thing. I happen to believe that if young people learn about sexual communication, respect, pleasure, and safety, then the risks involved in their sexual activity are greatly reduced. Nevertheless, it is up to parents to teach their children when it is appropriate to have sex. That does not mean hiding information from them. When parents want to explain to a child that the child should not do something, the parents need to be responsible and realistic and go on to explain why the child should not do that thing. “Because I said so” and its variations are cop-outs and childish—exactly what parents should strive not to be, especially when it comes to an important area of their kids’ lives: sexuality.

I hope to write more substantially on this issue in the future. For now, I am enjoying the opportunity to express some of my personal thoughts and concerns. In researching for my senior thesis about sexual pleasure as a human right, I have begun to see the importance of sexual education for all people of all ages and genders, and I hope that more people will begin to agree.