Today I got some amazing press from prominent local journalist Zane Fischer in The Santa Fe Reporter. (For those of you who are reading this from New York, the Reporter is Santa Fe's version of the Village Voice. In other words, it's a big deal.) As with most journalism, I have some minor complaints, but overall I would say that his critique is spot-on, and his major questions about it mirror my own feelings of frustration and struggle with the project. Also, Mr. Fischer is known for being brutally honest in his columns, so the simple fact that he didn't tear me to pieces is something to be proud of.
So why have I spent the evening depressed and mostly in tears?...
Because I thought I was going to see a boy tonight and he never called me.
Seriously. How DUMB is that?!
I'm doing well in my classes, I have an amazing job lined up for the summer, my family and friends are priceless, I'M IN THE NEWSPAPER... and still I'm an emotional train wreck because I didn't get one stupid phone call. I barely know this guy, and our interactions have been nothing but casual. Plus you'd think after 22 years of social interaction, I'd be able to handle the situation a little more gracefully. It's not like I haven't been through this (and much worse) before, and yet somehow it's still enough to mess up my whole day. WHY?
My reaction is so automatic and even visceral that I have to wonder if maybe I'm really just wired this way. In the class I'm taking on evolution and biodiversity, we often talk about evolutionary fitness simply as an individual's ability to pass on its genetic material. And in a scientific context, I totally buy that... as it applies to other animals. But now the tables are turned and I'm the individual in question: is all this superfluous emotion simply an instinctual reaction to this absent boy as an indicator of my current lack of evolutionary fitness?
In the introduction to The Second Sex, Simone de Beauvoir very critically points out the common patriarchal understanding that "woman has ovaries, a uterus: these peculiarities imprison her in her subjectivity... It is often said that she thinks with her glands." Reading that, I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it... and yet, here I am, seemingly a slave to my own reproduction-related emotions.
I'm sure a million and one dead feminists are rolling over in their graves as I ask this question, but am I genetically doomed to bemoan every non-existent phone call from now until my ovaries shrivel up and hot flashes take over everything? Is it possible that I'm just chemically programmed to suffer from extreme self-loathing until I find a mate?
Wednesday, April 30
De-Pressed
Tuesday, April 29
It's Time to Wake Up.
Today, in a very public space, a young man (who seems quite likeable from a distance) capitalized on a cheap opportunity to make a joke about someone being raped. It was very clearly meant to be an innocent joke, and it would have been easy to brush off the joke as "just another tasteless joke" or "just another day in college" or "just another ignorant guy"... but personally, I'm pretty f*!@cking sick of "just anothers."
So, immediately after he made the joke, I replied, "that wasn't funny."
He said, "that's fine, I'm still going to make the jokes."
I said, "that's fine too, but I'm still going to tell you if they aren't funny."
He shrugged me off, so I said, "if you'd been raped, you wouldn't think it was funny either."
His response, predictably, was something along the lines of "yeah, yeah, I know, grumble grumble," as if he was sick of hearing what I was saying, even though it was clearly not a subject he understood. So he was aware of how offensive his joke might potentially be, but he made it anyway. I find this behavior incredibly sad, and sadly quite common.
I understand that we shouldn't take everything seriously all the time. Humor is a necessity, and laughter is a gift. But what I simply cannot grasp is how people can make jokes even when the potential is so high for someone to be deeply offended, hurt, or shamed.
What frustrates me most about this situation is how blind the humor is. That is to say, it's impossible to know just how many people you could be offending by making a joke like this. When a person makes a racist joke in front of a group of people, chances are they have a least some slight knowledge of the races of the people around them. When a person makes a sexist joke, there are some generally reliable indicators of who might be offended. There are, of course, exceptions, but overall, most people know they're making a racist joke in front of a black person or a sexist joke in front of a woman, et cetera.
When this man made the rape joke, he probably didn't realize that, according to RAINN, ONE out of every SIX American women will be a victim of completed or attempted rape in their lifetime, and college-age women are particularly likely to be victims. But even if he had known this statistic, did he count how many women were in the room when he made the joke? Because if he had counted, he'd have realized that as soon as the word "rape" came out of his mouth, he was probably triggering memories of the worst moment of at least one girl's life.
***
With one single word, we are able to make someone else feel alienated, vulnerable, ashamed, worthless, filthy, or worse. And it's not just the word "rape." There are many other burdens that some of us learn to bear in silence and shame, as others unknowingly turn our lives in to comedic material. Every time someone makes a joke about AIDS or herpes, there's a good chance they're verbally brutalizing someone else. Every time someone makes a joke about substance abuse or addiction, they may be pushing someone else further along a downward spiral of self-destruction. And the worst part is that we're taught not to speak up about these things, so the cruelty is ongoing and without recourse.
This is all easily avoidable though. Think before you speak. It's not that difficult, and if we all did it, the difference it would make in our daily lives would be beyond measure.
Monday, April 28
The Beginning of the End
With exactly one week to go, I admit that I'm getting a little freaked out. I still don't fully know how this is going to end. I think I want to have some sort of closing ceremony, but some days I feel like that means a big party, and some days it means an intimate picnic with a few of my favorite women-types, and some days I really feel that the dress is asking to be burned. Some days I just think I need to go out and buy a new outfit that's indescribably comfortable, and wearing that around in public will be ceremony enough.
Regardless of any final celebration, I'm scared of what will come afterwards. I'm bracing myself for another post-partum depression experience; this project isn't my entire life, but it's certainly a major component. Once in a while I'm overcome with the irrational fear that I'll disappear without the dress. This whole undertaking has generated so much thoughtfulness and enthusiasm, and it has brought many new, wonderful, beautiful people in to my life; I can't help thinking about all the missed opportunities once I take the dress off.
***
I've been meaning to mention this for over a week now, but I met this bad-ass woman named Willow at the Roller Derby (where one of the skaters nearly wiped out because her skate got caught on my tempestuous hemline) and Willow has left two amazing comments in the blog, and I think both of them are worth quoting.
Posted here on 4/21:
"...Every marriage has it's elements of let down, hatred, disgust and depression. What you're feeling is quite normal. It's interesting that the exciting ceremony and party doesn't really affect the relationship at all. You still have to work on whatever you need to work on. You and the person you marry are still who you always were.
Remember, you married yourself, not the dress! Don't forget what it really is about. That might help you in your interactions with the public. Although your public action to wear the dress for 30 days almost makes it seem like you married the public for a short time. Don't worry, you can divorce the public in 2 more weeks!!!!!!!!!
What this is bringing up for me, is the conflict between a basically very private interaction and your choice to make it a public one. Every one thinks it is their business. It is also painfully clear by people's reactions to you that how we interact with eachother every day is filled with automatic interactions and reactions that have nothing to do with what is actually staring us in the face. It seems like many people don't want to be confronted with a different meaning than the one they perceive. Too bad for them, but that is what performance art is all about, particularly the kind that surprises people in their own habitat, versus the kind taking place in a theater where, no matter how controversial, the people observing it still chose to be there...."
And here on 4/22:
"I am 56, almost got married (to a guy) somewhere back in the dark ages around 1970 or so. I had the dress (lacy, tightfitting, high neck, big victorian summer hat, and was to carry my bouquet in a closed parasol), and invitations were sent. His Dad had offered to pay 1/2 at our parents first meeting. His Mom thought my Mom's (and my) taste was too expensive. They fought every night on the phone like cats in heat. My Mom finally asked if we could please go get married at city hall and call off the wedding and I said sure. The child groom (we were both getting married to get away from our Moms and were going to live in NYU married grad student housing) locked himself in his computer lab and didn't come out until he thought I was over him. We never saw eachother again. Too bad, it was my only chance to have lived cheaply in the Village. (I grew up and was living in Queens). I just sold the engagement ring, which I had to drag him to buy, with a few other things to help pay my mortgage.
Segue to early '80s, Boston. I came out in a time and place where the word Lesbian was almost always followed by the word Feminist.
Anyway, I got married for the first time 4 years ago to my female partner of 10 years. I decided to have a fairie queene of the woods theme and I wore purple and the bridesmaids all wore white. We all wore wreaths of leaves and tiny flowers. My beloved wore a tux. A damn handsome chap she was, too!
The point? I'm pissed off at myself for not going for the white dress!!!!!!!!!!!!! I too, having trod on all tradition my entire life, am, still, obsessed with THE DRESS! I still look at bridal mags, wedding gowns on the net and in stores, and try to think up a reason to get one. Irina, I'm sooooooooooooo glad you are getting this one out of your system! Would the white dress have changed anything about the wedding and our relationship, both trials and joys? I don't think so.
It's one of those traditional things you do because "it's done that way" and no matter how hard we try to go against that grain, it sticks. Like plaque on teeth and in arteries. And we can't let go. What a waste of time, hunh?
And we have very little control over much in our lives besides the personal, and we fuck that up by dwelling and obsessing on the getting of or the not getting of society's conventions...."
Willow, you are AMAZING. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and stories. Congratulations to you and your partner! Also, if you're really attached to the white dress, it's never too late! I highly recommend the experience... but not for thirty days.
Sunday, April 27
Observe The Bride In Her Natural Habitat
Yesterday was my three-week anniversary, and as a gift to myself, I neglected the blog for a day. Sorry! To make up for it, I have an EPIC photographic experience to share. It was taken by Leslie Sakal on April 18th.
Common (read: silly) wisdom suggests that a good wife knows her way around the kitchen. Oops. I guess my wifely values lie elsewhere. I do, however, make a mean PB+J. (Sidenote to my mother: I spill jelly on the dress. Big surprise.)
(Here's the part where I spill jelly on my dress. My mother is still not surprised.)
Friday, April 25
So Classy!
Leslie Sakal took this incredibly flattering photo of me eating dinner out on The Quad. It was taken on April 8th, when I was a newlywed and the dress was still clean. I don't usually eat with my mouth open, I swear.
***
If you want to read an outline of the ceremony, officiated by the intelligent, honest, challenging, beautiful Dr. Christina Cogdell, click the link below:
Procession
Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Irina to herself in holy matrimony.
Marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which she has chosen.
Into this holy estate this woman now comes to be joined to herself. The union of a person to herself - in heart, mind, and body - is intended for her own joy, and for the help and comfort she can provide herself in prosperity and adversity.
If any person can show just cause why she may not enter into this union – let them speak now or forever hold their peace.
-Poem read by Kelsy (I'll post this soon)-
Before you are committed in marriage in my presence and in the presence of these witnesses, I am bound to remind you of the solemn and firm nature of the relationship into which you are about to enter. Marriage, as most of us understand it, is a voluntary commitment that is entered into with the desire, hope and firm intention that it will last for life. This commitment to yourself is therefore the most profound step you will ever take. It requires integrity, introspection, honesty, willingness to change, and perseverance, and it will result in deep knowledge, security, confidence, joy, and peace. I therefore commend you for your vow to be true to yourself. May no one ever interfere or pull you away from your true self.
-I believe this is the point in the ceremony when Christina made a profound and deeply personal but also universal speech about her experiences of marriage. She talked about how she only found the love she was looking for once she had really found herself. I was moved by her words, but even more so by her bravery in sharing her story. I'll be sure to transcribe it when I get the chance to watch the videos.-
Please repeat after me:
I, Irina Zoe Zerkin, take myself,
to have and to hold from this day forward.
for better or worse,
for richer or for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish all the days of my life.
This is my solemn vow.
Now that Irina has promised to be absolutely true to herself by solemn vow, I pronounce that she IS herself, from this moment forward. Will you who have witnessed her promises do all in your power to uphold her in her marriage vows?
(We Will).
You may now kiss the bride.
I now present to you Ms. Irina Zoe Zerkin.
Recession
Thursday, April 24
My Big Fat Cro-Magnon Wedding
Yesterday, in a class called Evolution and Biodiversity - taught by the amazing Dr. Lenny Gannes, who is such a dedicated science professor that he even manages to make weather patterns interesting - we watched the first half of The Mind's Big Bang from PBS's seven-part Evolution series. This particular episode is about the evolutionary processes by which scientists believe we have developed the impressive minds that distinguish us from all other animal species.
There is one segment that focuses on archeological discoveries of beads from 35 thousand years ago. The narrator (Liam Neeson!) says that these ornamental artifacts are "evidence of our creative and cultural beginnings, recalling a time when bands of humans began interacting socially with one another."
Okay, so how does this have anything to do with my wedding extravaganza? Well, when planning a wedding, people often give careful consideration to traditions. Some traditions maybe only be two or three generations old; if they're religious traditions they might be a couple thousand years old. But the use of beading as a social indicator is a 35,000-year-old tradition. So with that in mind, here's a close-up of my dress and the bottom edge of my veil:
Beads as far as the eye can see. (Click on the image to see a larger version. To see the uncropped photo, taken by Kim Russo, click here.)
Later in the video, Dr. Randall White, from New York University, talks about beads and "expression in materials" as an indication of a major turning point in the evolution of brain function. He says that the earliest beads are signs of people creating more complex social identities than the ones that previously existed in other species. He talks about how these beads say, for instance, "'I am a Cro-Magnon woman, I have given birth, I have a particular history, I have a particular status within my group.' And anyone who's a member of the group will be able to see that at a glance, by the fact that she's wearing certain kinds of animal teeth, certain kinds of beads, her clothing is decorated in certain ways. It's a mode of visual expression but it's expressing social relationships."
Usually when I think about our oldest ancestors, I think about things like making fire and using spears and eating buffalo and living in caves. I think about the filthy hunched guys in cartoons who wear loincloths and hit women with clubs before dragging them home by their hair. (See, women these days really aren't doing too bad overall.) What I have certainly NEVER EVER EVER thought about as a common thread that ties 35,000 years' worth of hominids together is their use of FASHION to express social relationships. So I guess I'm outing myself as a major geek here, but does anyone else get a huge kick out of this?
Wednesday, April 23
In Your Dreams
This morning I went to the Visual Resource Center here on campus, and Deanne Brown, the VRC's curator, was there. Deanne is a kind, sharp, charming, beautiful woman, and though I don't know her well, I thoroughly enjoy talking to her when we both happen to have more than a moment to spare. That being said, I haven't been in the VRC in a good long while, and I'm not sure when I last ran into Deanne. But today I stopped by to use the computer, and there was Deanne, and we exchanged pleasantries, and then she informed me that she dreamt about my dress.
She told me that in her dream last night, she was wearing my dress to her own wedding. And who was she getting married to? Her sister! They were both really excited about it, although they wondered if people would think it was weird and incestuous. Deanne said she wasn't sure what it all meant.
Now I'm no expert at dream interpretations, but I immediately had a theory about this one, which I got Deanne's approval on. I think this dream was simply a heartfelt acknowledgment of her profound love for her sister. Nothing incestuous or "inappropriate" - she just really loves her sister. And I say lucky Deanne, and her sister as well, that their love for one another is potent enough to manifest itself in dreams.
Incidentally, I think that Deanne's dream and my project both raise some of the same questions:
- Why is the love of a marriage considered so much more valuable and celebration-worthy than the love we feel for relatives? Or close friends? Or, Nature forbid, ourselves?
- Why are we taught as little girls that the Happily Ever After is a direct result of marrying our knight in shining armor? Why don't Happily Ever Afters apply to all infinite bonds of love?
- Why do so many of us think that personal fulfillment hinges on finding The Man of My Dreams?
I ask these questions in all sincerity, and I hope that you'll share any possible answers you might have.
***
As it happened, no more than 2 minutes after Deanne and I finished talking about her dream, the ever-impressive Cole Wilson walked into the VRC and informed me that I'd shown up in his dream last night. Apparently he had been trying to convince me that it would be a good idea to let him sew hot pink ruffles onto the back of my dress. It may or may not have been related to the fact that in reality he'd seen me wearing a hot pink sports bra under my dress after I left the gym yesterday. Needless to say, wherever it came from, I'm flattered.
