I was twelve when I was first cat-called. The summer had just kicked off and I was at the beach wearing my sister’s hand-me-down, blue and white polka dot bikini. I had a towel tied around my waist and was walking to the ice cream truck to get a snow cone with my friend. A van of young men pulled up to us, blared their horn, and one of them threw their head out the window and screamed, “Hey ladies, how much!?” I heard booming guffaws as they peeled out of the parking lot and carried on.
I looked down at my body, confused. The only skin that was showing was my pale, unblossomed chest, because, like I said, I was twelve. My body was far from sexually desirable and I was so confused as to why those men had chosen me and my gangly body. We returned to our beach chairs on the sand, having completely lost our appetites for the refreshing snow cones.
Unfortunately, this was not an isolated innocent. Copious shouts of “Looking good!” have been thrown at me or, from those who are a little more shy, taunting car honks which translate to their salivating approval. And now, living in New York City, it’s almost routine to receive prolonged stares through car windows or exclamations of endorsement thrown at me from sidewalks. Once a man insisted he was only trying to sell me a bottle of water because I looked “so damn hot” and then continued to follow me for two blocks. It, infuriatingly enough, is part of the city experience as a woman and my examples are comparatively mild to what other women have gone through.
And this threat of potential commentary, unfortunately, has seeped into my own self-perceptions.
It’s an everyday battle to be proud of my body and to be comfortable in whatever I wear, regardless of the opinion of others. But luckily, I have found a great source of ammunition in this tumultuous war: a group of inspiring females who are brazen in their self-expression, constantly surrounding and inspiring me. And for me, Bessie Rubinstein is my greatest weapon.
Sometimes when you meet a certain person, it’s like everything clicks into place. You look at them as a sense of overwhelming familiarity floods through you and start to forget what it was like without their presence in your life. It feels incredibly familiar, as if you are taking the route of an old drive, recognizing the twists and turns along the way. That was my first impression when I met Bessie.
It was hot and sweaty, peak college orientation madness. We bonded over our similar Spotify playlists and swapped our favorite SNL skits, the signs of a great friendship from the start. In addition to her bold humor and bright energy, one of the things that I found so compelling about her was her outfit: a red A-line skirt and black crop top. She was baring her midriff even though her stomach adorned a particularly prominent scar that split her torso in half. She was unapologetically having it peek through, a subtle way of flipping off the typical standards for a crop top.
Her outfit was a challenge. In fact, her whole personality is a brave jest, daring anyone to interfere with her philosophy. Bessie embraces her body and all its history and her outfit on that day was a challenge. In fact, her whole personality is a jest. She lives accordingly to her own objectives and thus dresses that way as well, without concerning herself with other’s perceptions.
Months have gone by since our initial introduction and her fierce nature has continued to inspire me to live and dress solely on my own accord. So, I urge anyone who has let others affect your self-expression to reconsider. And if someone spits out their unasked for thoughts and has the impudence to believe their ideas matter, remind them that they are irrelevant and the only opinion that matters is your own.
My battle is one of the many in the crusade of self-appreciation for women everywhere. It’s a tiresome effort but something we can never give up because our bodies are beautiful and uniquely our own. If women keep joining forces and the army of inspiring women continues to grow, a triumphant, self-loving victory will be in our collective future.
childs play 