A bitch and a slut walk into a bar.....

I recently asked my friend Colleen about her affinity for the word "bitch".  We had an interesting discussion about how she was inspired to reclaim and redefine the word as positive by Richard Pryor's decision to use the word "nigger" in his act in the 70's.  He states in his autobiography, Pryor Convictions, 

"This one night I decided to make it my own. Nigger. I decided to take the sting out of it. Nigger. As if saying it over and over again would numb me and everybody else to its wretchedness.  Saying it changed me, yes it did. It gave me strength, let me rise above ..." 

Colleen said she had a similar epiphany about the word bitch and I invited her to write about it.  She also writes a blog chock full of lady power goodness you should check out (http://www.but-thatsjustme.blogspot.com)  Here are her thoughts:

“You are a bitch!” 

Is this an insult, compliment, or term of endearment?  Whether you are offended or empowered by this statement depends on your definition of “bitch.”  The English Dictionary defines bitch as: disparaging, demeaning slang; a malicious, selfish, unpleasant woman. By accepting this definition, you allow others to determine the impact of the word, bitch.  In this case, you resign your power to the person making the statement, “You are a bitch.”  In my vocabulary dictionary, “bitch” is a smart, confident person with a strong sense of self-worth.  Bitches live life with ambition, courage, and finesse.  I own my definition of bitch so, “You are a bitch”—regardless of context or intention—cannot degrade me or make me powerless in any way.   Taking ownership of words like, “slut” and “bitch” gives you Super Power to deflect insults like Wonder Woman’s bracelets deflect bullets. Now, take that you bitches!

And now my thoughts on the word slut.

A few years back, I went with friends to a house in my neighborhood for drinking, board games, and socializing.  Our host was a friend of my friends, I had only met him briefly through work. We were all having a fine time until the fun came to an abrupt and unexpected end when I was standing in the kitchen in front of the refrigerator as one of the pilot residents of the house came home from work and the man of the house said to me, “Move it, slut, I need to get this guy a beer.” 

And with that, it was GAME OVER.  I not only moved out of the way of the fridge, I proceeded to walk out the front door and stomp my way home, not saying goodbye to my friends, not willing to discuss how absurdly pissed off I was. And for those of you who don’t really know me, I can assure you I am fairly unflappable, have a good sense of humor, am often self deprecating, and use language saltier than a tapenade and pickle sandwich dipped in soy sauce.  So this really shouldn’t have flipped me out, in theory, but it did.

The guy in question didn’t know me at all....he was just trying to be funny and flippantly dismissive in front of another guy to get a laugh.  I knew he didn’t really mean anything by it, but I had to really consider why it royally rubbed me the wrong way.  If he had said “bitch”, I probably would have thought he was equally moronic, but most likely would have dismissed it and moved on.  Why do certain words hold such power over us?

The answer lies in a rewind to me in high school.   Picture a girl with a gigantic Fantastic Sam’s permanent and the entire Benjamin Moore paint wheel applied to her face….hang on, I’ll just show her to you.

Zoinks.

Imagine this 80's fashion victim hanging out in the smoking section in a white leather motorcycle jacket with the other misfits, the kids who you knew when you first laid eyes upon them that they were letting their parents down, regardless of their scholastic achievements.   My wardrobe and makeup choices were an expression of my teen angst….a pretty typical example of a kid trying to stand out by rebelling against boring suburban ideals.  But it was my look presumably that caused a number of popular jock type dudes to refer to me as “slut”.   As a girl involved in a committed relationship with an older guy who didn’t go to the school, I felt outraged that these dickheads felt that they could assume something about my sexual proclivities based on my appearance…..why would I get the bad rap when the popular, "nice" girls of my high school, all polo shirted and frosty lipsticked, were sleeping with different guys every time they had one too many wine coolers?  I know everyone gets verbally assaulted in their adolescence; I just took particular offense to that word as it seemed inaccurate and unfair.  But I’ll stop before my recollections evolve into the plot of a lost John Hughes movie.

Fortunately, age and confidence can bring about discernible change for the better.  When I created this blog, there was an option to attach a picture of myself.  I chose one of me enjoying a Dum Dum lollipop that was taken about a year and a half ago.  My super amazing hairdresser (John Flemal at Urban Lift in Roscoe Village) always gives me a Dum Dum when he’s done doing my hair….no reason, just because it’s fun.  I had a picture taken of myself enjoying the sucker with my new hairstyle and put it on Facebook as John and I are FB pals and I thought he’d be amused.  I received a note from a guy who was interested in me at the time suggesting I take the picture down as it was suggestive and would give guys (not PEOPLE, mind you, but GUYS) a certain impression about me.  Not properly thinking it over, I removed the picture based on his request.…...no surprise, he turned out to be a complete asshole.  When I went shopping for a picture for the blog, I knew I wanted one that would visually represent me on a site dedicated to my sass.....that particular photo just says it all.  Every time I see it, I am reminded that letting others define our identities or erode our self esteem with hurtful comments is for cowards and, well, suckers.

Stay tuned to this space, next up, holiday snark.  Wishing you and yours peace, love, and nonsense this time of year.