It's about owning our bodies: A tentative outlook

Okay, so the other day a Facebook friend invited me to the April 26, 2010 Boobquake event. Sure, the whole thing's silly, and it's not like the Islamist critic was the first to demonize women by suggesting some association between us and calamity. We've been demonized for centuries, after all; but I was, like, of course I'm doing it! And I did by cutting a tank top so I looked scandalous.

But I'm thinking: One day isn't enough! Sure, I'm fat and ugly. But these are the issues:

1. Traditionally - and there are exceptions; we know history included female leaders - men have exercised more power than women. To maintain power, so-called weaklings must believe they're inferior. We were weak, which resulted in our need for protection. We bled, which attracted predators. We were stupid, which meant incapable of an education. Of course these are generalizations - and the list can go on. But who defined us? Us or men? So if men want to hold on to any kind of power, yes, they need to blame us for their inability to control themselves - because guess who sexualized us? Did you notice it became so dominant we participated in our sexualization? As a result, we were made to fear our bodies, to believe that we held so much power over men that they couldn't control themselves. If men are so intellectual/higher than us, impulse control should be easy; but we fed the bs and spat it out.

2. Art recognizes all bodies as beautiful: the ugly and the pretty. Why do women who cover themselves up complain about women who don't? Because they're insecure with their bodies. Why do women who don't cover themselves up insist that fat women should? Because they're prejudiced. That's all it comes down to; but, more, the only reason too many of us buy it is because of the above: sexualization. You know what? Screw you. I'm a body - yes, a fat body - but I own my body.

Yes, let's talk about that: owning our bodies. By going out dressing scandalously, you know what I'm saying? This is my body; deal with me. I'm saying: own your prejudice - because I won't respond to you. I dare you to come up to me; you'll see I'm bored. (Oh, I've said that California broke me because of my body; but when you pull yourself together after an experience like that, what ties you is more malleable. I can stretch with hurtful words about my body, but they get pushed out because I know why: sexualization.)

But you want a conversation? Sit down with me and talk.

You can't look at my big breasts without getting a hard on? Let's talk about why.

You're a woman who thinks I'm going too far? Let's talk about the history of our bodies.

You need to act out with juvenilia? That's on you. (Believe me, where I live, this place is full of juveniles. I'm just, like, yeah, it's the very reason I'm more committed to what I'm doing.)

Let's talk about fear. Like, why do men fear our curves? Really, besides being lumps, what's so special about them? Oh, right, there's the whole milk thing - should they not be honored, then? Should a man not be able to look at us and see the potential for future generations in our breasts?

But we've given men authority to be selfish; it's about satisfying their needs. We've told them we recognize their sexual appetites, while ignoring ours - has that really changed? We've accepted their view that we have something to hide; we've given in to the idea that we should be scared of ourselves. Etc.

Uh, no! I refuse to make myself sick trying to fit a definition of beauty that meets someone else's standards. I refuse to cover up my fat because you think it's ugly. Etc.

You want to deal? Face me as a feminist. But I already know most of you are cowards. So, go ahead, insult me; when you're ready to engage with me, then - maybe - I'll pay attention.