https://twitter.com/ariasagirl/status/1123681771789389824?lang=en
“any female born after 1993 can’t cook… all they know is mcdonald’s, charge they phone, twerk, be bisexual, eat hot chip & lie”
The tweet was being passed around the dinner table as each boy’s reaction contributed to the growing sea of laughter. He passed the phone to me with the expectation that my reaction would do the same. Instead I looked to the only other girl in sight — we exchanged a look, “the” look.
“Chilllll, it’s just a joke. It’s just a joke!!” He couldn’t even stop laughing as he spoke. “I’m sORrY.” There wasn’t even an attempt to mask the sarcasm. I started running through the options in my head.
- “Laugh with them, maybe they’ll finally let you in.”
- “Stay quiet, they’ll only assume what you’re thinking and write it off as anal.”
- “Call them out, it’ll only ostracize you further. Or maybe they would actually listen…”
I let out a scoff.
I picked at my overcooked green beans and undercooked rice while contemplating how this place had changed me. This tweet had sent me into uncontrollable fits of laughter back home. I used to love it. What was different? Coming off of a week of being chuckled at when choosing to paint my nails in favor of our usual hangouts and my every whisper being labelled as “childish middle school girl shit,” I just couldn’t cough up a laugh.
For the world around you to make you question who you are is one of the more isolating feelings I’ve experienced. Does it make me a hypocrite to allow the circumstances to color my reaction to the tweet? Does it have to be inherently wrong — universally wrong — for it to be wrong at all?
“I need more girls in my life.” The thought has been plaguing me since the nail polish incident. People who can understand me, who’ve been taught how to empathize because of their place in this world. But when one of my best friends says he “needs more guys in his life,” I can immediately see that he’s looking for an echo chamber. He’s tired of being surrounded by people who point out his mistakes and he’s tired of having to think so hard about what he says.
Again, my own hypocrisy is all I see when I look in the mirror.
I constantly let the preservation of my reputation take precedent over speaking up for what’s right. This place has made me selfish. I constantly fear the inescapable box I’ll be trapped in if I’m not careful about choosing my battles. This place has made me weak. I constantly stay quiet because repetitive, futile conversations are unappealing in the same way that running around a monotonous track has always seemed. This place has made me tired.
I used to love that tweet.
Process notes:
My goal in this piece was to use what I’ve always thought of as a harmless (even funny) tweet to depict how microaggressions play a role in gender inequality. The character’s inner-conflict over the validity of her feelings and how they changed from one setting to another is meant to represent the impact of individually harmless acts of marginalization when they combine to create a greater culture of prejudice. I found it difficult to articulate my character’s analysis of the situation through action and dialogue rather than description. I wonder if finding more of a balance between the two could have made the piece more interesting in the form of “showing” rather than “telling.” I tried to alternate between depicting the narrator’s confidence and doubt in her own beliefs to represent how these issues aren’t always black and white and how they are given power by a long history of oppression that is difficult to dismantle.