Vagina, Shmagina...
I finally went to see the Vagina Monologues at the weekend and have been thinking about writing about it here ever since. As soon as I even considered going I was aware that I was possibly going to be affected. BUT, was I going to just go crazy burning my bras and refusing to shave anything but my head; OR was I going to just be constantly pissed off at these whiny, self-victimising women who bang on about how rubber gloves oppress them? Thus, I went with the specific intentions to avoid affectation. I'm not a cliche and I never will be. Well, that was the idea. I sat down, next to my Swedish Galpal (more like my other half, you can pretty much assume her general presence in all my stories. We‘re like that) and prepared to be mildly amused but distinctly distant.
And the house lights went down and after a li’l intro, the spotlight shone down on this girl dressed all in black with a pink headscarf and pink socks - no shoes, no need. The audience was entirely silenced, noone knew what to expect, even those that had seen it before. The unique thing about the Vagina Monologues is that the script is purely a selection of interviews with women about their vaginas but with narration to introduce the stories and share Vagina Facts. To a certain extent, the production of it could be absolutely anything. In this case, the stage was black, with a blackboard at the back with pink letters to remind you of what you were watching. The ensemble cast were sat around the stage, and there was a kind of catwalk bit in the middle from which point the monologues where offered. The narrator/story facilitator moved to the right of the stage whenever a new monologue was being introduced. The girl who did it was great, really charismatic, pretty, charming and funny, but never failed to bring the audience up when a serious or slightly disturbing story had just been recounted and some of them really were moving.
But anyway, the first one. She spoke about a husband wanting to shave her. Down there. Not an uncommon male wish, for his lady's area to be hair free. But then she went on to say that when she refused to do it again after the first time, he started screwing around. The whole subject matter and everything...it was exactly like I thought it'd be. A bunch of hairy feminists banging on about shaving being oppressive. At least, that's what I thought at the beginning of the monologue. By the end, I realised that I was going to have to open myself up just a little bit if I was gonna get anything out of this little excursion. The argument was there, it was entertainingly delivered, and it was a fair point? Why should women feel pressured to shave their hair if they don't want to?
Other monologues included a rant about vaginal happiness - how would anyone like having a 'piece of fucking cotton' shoved in them sporadically every month; if your vagina could dress itself, what would it wear? There was a charming, sleepover-y bit where girls talked about their first visit from Aunt Flow completely with those uncomfortable thoughts and stupid questions that we’d all asked ourselves. It was a bizarre but quietly charming way of bringing all the women in the audience together through a shared experience. It was the rant My Short Skirt that got my hair a-swinging, and my fingers a-clicking. Well, not quite but it was really refreshing and nice to hear out loud that it’s not insane to have reasons to want to wear short skirts that don’t involve trying to get boys to look at you. You know those days when you’ve shaved your legs so good, there’s not even a little stubble? Or when it’s just too hot? Or when you’ve just bought THAT skirt and you want to wear it now so that if anyone else buys it everyone will know you had it first? Wearing short skirts doesn’t make a girl easy, desperate to find a boyfriend, and it is never acceptable to think she wants to be touched just because you can see her legs. You wouldn’t put your hand in a crocodile’s mouth when it yawns just because you can see it’s rarely visible tongue… Ok, bad analogy but you get what I mean.
I think it was at this point that I marched off to the chocolate machine, fists clenched, to purchase a nice hunk of Galaxy despite having given up chocolate for Lent. My argument being that if Jesus had experienced the same cramps as those I was getting whilst he was in the wilderness, I don’t think anyone would have objected to him kicking back with some of that food the Devil was offering, and chilling for a coupla days until the worst was over. I’m stickin by it!
The second half of the play was heavier than the first. There was a charming story from a woman who loves women who love her moaning. And in turn she loves making them moan. And yes, we did get to hear a selection of the different types of moan. Not sure about anyone else, but it certainly was a lesson for me… Along with the lighter stories, there were real stories from women in Afghanistan, those who had suffered genital mutilation, and most hauntingly a monologue from a Japanese ‘Comfort Woman.’ The girl who acted this part did it so carefully and beautifully I can still hear her voice in my ear. I watched this pretty, twenty-something student, but I was listening a 79 year old Japanese woman who had been dragged from her house at 13 to work as a ‘comforter’ for Japanese soldiers during the second world war. I was in a student make-shift theatre, but I was hearing heart wrenching stories from a woman who never found peace after her four year ordeal with men who couldn’t have cared whether she was dead or alive so long as they could do whatever it was they wanted. A woman, terrified of dying before she can finally get an apology from her government who forced so many women into that position and who are now denying the existence of the whole situation. This woman was in front of me on the stage, and when a tear ran down her face one ran down mine too.
I like shaving my legs because I like the way it makes them feel. I enjoy the way my boobs look in a bra, and I cherish the hope that one day I’ll marry a wonderful man and have wonderful children and I won’t resent them for forcing me into a position dictated to me by a patriarchal society. For me, feminism is all about being free to make the same choices as are offered to men. Simple things, like having the choice to play football if you want to. To get paid the same amount for doing the same job as men. To be able to say no to sex, and to walk around without bruises on your face are choices denied to women everywhere even now. Regardless of how evolved we think we are. I don’t want to rant, I didn’t create this blogspot to rant, but I feel like I’ve discovered a new part of my brain that’s making me think about this stuff, and I can’t switch it off. And I don’t even think I want to.
So, yea. The play was alright. I’ve seen better.
Actually, no. I don’t think I have.
And the house lights went down and after a li’l intro, the spotlight shone down on this girl dressed all in black with a pink headscarf and pink socks - no shoes, no need. The audience was entirely silenced, noone knew what to expect, even those that had seen it before. The unique thing about the Vagina Monologues is that the script is purely a selection of interviews with women about their vaginas but with narration to introduce the stories and share Vagina Facts. To a certain extent, the production of it could be absolutely anything. In this case, the stage was black, with a blackboard at the back with pink letters to remind you of what you were watching. The ensemble cast were sat around the stage, and there was a kind of catwalk bit in the middle from which point the monologues where offered. The narrator/story facilitator moved to the right of the stage whenever a new monologue was being introduced. The girl who did it was great, really charismatic, pretty, charming and funny, but never failed to bring the audience up when a serious or slightly disturbing story had just been recounted and some of them really were moving.
But anyway, the first one. She spoke about a husband wanting to shave her. Down there. Not an uncommon male wish, for his lady's area to be hair free. But then she went on to say that when she refused to do it again after the first time, he started screwing around. The whole subject matter and everything...it was exactly like I thought it'd be. A bunch of hairy feminists banging on about shaving being oppressive. At least, that's what I thought at the beginning of the monologue. By the end, I realised that I was going to have to open myself up just a little bit if I was gonna get anything out of this little excursion. The argument was there, it was entertainingly delivered, and it was a fair point? Why should women feel pressured to shave their hair if they don't want to?
Other monologues included a rant about vaginal happiness - how would anyone like having a 'piece of fucking cotton' shoved in them sporadically every month; if your vagina could dress itself, what would it wear? There was a charming, sleepover-y bit where girls talked about their first visit from Aunt Flow completely with those uncomfortable thoughts and stupid questions that we’d all asked ourselves. It was a bizarre but quietly charming way of bringing all the women in the audience together through a shared experience. It was the rant My Short Skirt that got my hair a-swinging, and my fingers a-clicking. Well, not quite but it was really refreshing and nice to hear out loud that it’s not insane to have reasons to want to wear short skirts that don’t involve trying to get boys to look at you. You know those days when you’ve shaved your legs so good, there’s not even a little stubble? Or when it’s just too hot? Or when you’ve just bought THAT skirt and you want to wear it now so that if anyone else buys it everyone will know you had it first? Wearing short skirts doesn’t make a girl easy, desperate to find a boyfriend, and it is never acceptable to think she wants to be touched just because you can see her legs. You wouldn’t put your hand in a crocodile’s mouth when it yawns just because you can see it’s rarely visible tongue… Ok, bad analogy but you get what I mean.
I think it was at this point that I marched off to the chocolate machine, fists clenched, to purchase a nice hunk of Galaxy despite having given up chocolate for Lent. My argument being that if Jesus had experienced the same cramps as those I was getting whilst he was in the wilderness, I don’t think anyone would have objected to him kicking back with some of that food the Devil was offering, and chilling for a coupla days until the worst was over. I’m stickin by it!
The second half of the play was heavier than the first. There was a charming story from a woman who loves women who love her moaning. And in turn she loves making them moan. And yes, we did get to hear a selection of the different types of moan. Not sure about anyone else, but it certainly was a lesson for me… Along with the lighter stories, there were real stories from women in Afghanistan, those who had suffered genital mutilation, and most hauntingly a monologue from a Japanese ‘Comfort Woman.’ The girl who acted this part did it so carefully and beautifully I can still hear her voice in my ear. I watched this pretty, twenty-something student, but I was listening a 79 year old Japanese woman who had been dragged from her house at 13 to work as a ‘comforter’ for Japanese soldiers during the second world war. I was in a student make-shift theatre, but I was hearing heart wrenching stories from a woman who never found peace after her four year ordeal with men who couldn’t have cared whether she was dead or alive so long as they could do whatever it was they wanted. A woman, terrified of dying before she can finally get an apology from her government who forced so many women into that position and who are now denying the existence of the whole situation. This woman was in front of me on the stage, and when a tear ran down her face one ran down mine too.
I like shaving my legs because I like the way it makes them feel. I enjoy the way my boobs look in a bra, and I cherish the hope that one day I’ll marry a wonderful man and have wonderful children and I won’t resent them for forcing me into a position dictated to me by a patriarchal society. For me, feminism is all about being free to make the same choices as are offered to men. Simple things, like having the choice to play football if you want to. To get paid the same amount for doing the same job as men. To be able to say no to sex, and to walk around without bruises on your face are choices denied to women everywhere even now. Regardless of how evolved we think we are. I don’t want to rant, I didn’t create this blogspot to rant, but I feel like I’ve discovered a new part of my brain that’s making me think about this stuff, and I can’t switch it off. And I don’t even think I want to.
So, yea. The play was alright. I’ve seen better.
Actually, no. I don’t think I have.
posted by KJT at 3:33 pm
1 Comments:
Yes!!!!
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