Several months ago, in this blog, I wrote about my "will to unobtrusiveness," a term I used to refer to my instinctive (and possibly excessive) politeness in social or public settings. I wrote about how I always do my best to avoid inconveniencing or annoying others, how I try to never take up more than what I perceive to be my allotted share of time or space, and how, in my opinion, only people raised by inbred feral wolves think it's okay to be more than 10 minutes late to an engagement without sending a call or text to let their friends know about their tardiness. I categorized it as a personal quirk and let it go at that.
A personal quirk it may be, but at the same time, if you put on your feminist goggles, the scenery surrounding my self-minimizing confession changes. And I think that's worth considering.
For one thing, if you've taken Sociology 101, you're liable to squint at the idea of pure "personal choice" when it comes to your gut preferences. In lots of ways, our habits and traits are subtly shaped by our society and culture. Even choices that seem totally independent probably aren't. (For example, remember how Cards Against Humanity -- currently Amazon's #1 best seller in the Toys and Games category -- was a game that you loved because it totally got the twisted sense of humor of you and your super unique group of friends?)
Likewise, it's no secret that, from an early age, gender in particular is a major factor that influences a whole lot of things about your life -- including but not limited to how you're likely to position your own body in a room, and where you think your body deserves to be. Gendered norms tend to encourage liberal space, time, and freedom for men while suggesting to women that they make themselves prim, quiet, and compact. Every individual arguably has the freedom to reject these norms (be less like Britney and more like Roseanne), and yet over time, and compounded across millions of people, gender-biased behavior becomes very visible in everyday life. Which is how we get things like the "Men Taking up Too Much Space on the Subway" Tumblr, and the Swedish "Macho in Public" website, along with countless other hubs of Internet snark dedicated to calling out the ways in which men take advantage of their societally sanctioned right to take up space.
So while body posture and movement can seem like small and personal things, it's easy to see how they're also very much cultural behaviors. Dr. Lisa Wade, writing for a popular sociology website, succinctly discusses the network of implications that pop up when you see individual bodies as public phenomena. People tend to take up more space when they're in positions of power, which not-so-incidentally corresponds with historical power disparities between men and women. Wade writes:
Consider: A feminine person keeps her body small and contained; she
makes sure that it doesn’t take up too much space or impose itself. She
walks and sits in tightly packaged ways. She doesn’t cover the breadth
of the sidewalk or expand herself beyond the chair she occupies. [...] A feminine person doesn’t use her body to forcefully interact with the world, she lets others do for her when possible.
Citing philosopher Sandra Lee Bartky, who argued that regardless of gender "those with higher status typically assume looser and more relaxed postures," Wade draws the logical conclusion: "Acting feminine, then, overlaps with performances of submissiveness" and "expansive body postures that take up room instill a psychological sense of power and entitlement." If you buy this argument, you're also going to start drawing connections to other not-so-incidental trends, like the fact that women are less likely to apply for "aggressive"-sounding jobs, in part because assertiveness and aggressiveness aren't perceived as "appropriate" behavior for women (see the recent cultural backlash over the term bossy). Or the fact that there is more social tolerance for fat men than fat women, implicitly sanctioning men's right to have more cubic feet of flesh while suggesting that women should really consider eating more yogurt and salads.
All of this is basically common knowledge, particularly if you listen to NPR or read the Huffington Post. I knew of these ideas and data long before I wrote about my "will to unobtrusiveness" in this blog. Yet it was still possible for me to write that post, feeling not only like my desire to go unnoticed is a personal choice, but also that it's overall a positive and admirable part of my personality.
And this is where my public-conscious, humanist self comes into conflict with my public-conscious, feminist self. I genuinely think being as polite and non-irritating as possible is a virtue and makes the world a better place. I also genuinely think being as polite and non-irritating as possible while being a female-gendered person unhappily perpetuates behavioral conditioning that I find troubling and would like to disrupt. Is better, as a human, to continue being polite and hope other people follow my example and collectively make the world a more pleasant place? Is it better, as a female human, to stop being so polite and demand more space and time in hopes that women (and other feminine-identifying people) follow my example, so that we can collectively establish a new normal?
I don't expect an answer. These two selves will, I'm sure, just continue interminably to battle it out somewhere in my subconscious. I'm pretty sure that part of being a feminist (and other kinds of -ist) means being content to have these kinds of battles seething in your mind at all times, and believing that such battles are worthwhile (if occasionally exhausting) ways to spend your mental energy.
I've always liked being named "Linda." To be fair, I think most people like their names just fine, or are at least pleasantly indifferent to them. Most names are pretty darn unobjectionable. Even if you're stuck with an unfortunate name for the current fashion (I'm looking at you, Dorkases, Gertys, and Lloyds of the 21st century), it's entirely possible you'll still wind up becoming fond of your name, thanks to a Stockholm syndrome-like situation wherein once you've been stuck with a name for long enough, you just grow to love it.
But for as long as I can remember, I've actively and consciously liked "Linda" -- and not just because of its etymology, which frankly doesn't factor much into it. (Fun fact: When you're put into a situation in which you have to admit that your name means "pretty" in Spanish, people tend to look at you as if you named yourself Linda just so you can fish for a compliment.) No, it's the little things. I like that Linda hasn't been a popular name since the 1940s, which means that to this day I'm the only person in my peer group with my name. I like that when I email clients at work, they tend to assume I'm middle-aged and respond with heightened courteousness. I like that when I write my signature I get to start with that cool, loopy, cursive L. I like that, even though it's a WWII-era name, Linda isn't a name that sounds too old or crotchety, like Edith or Gladys. I like that people never mispronounce my name and very rarely ask me to spell it (because who actually spells Lynda with a y anyway?). I like how it sounds: the syllables are light and roll easily off the tip of the tongue.
I know -- it's weird to be so affectionate about your own name. But in my mind, it's an apporpriate thing to admire and be thankful for, because naming children is such a complete and utter crapshoot. I honestly have no idea how parents deal with the stress of assigning their kid a name, knowing full well that the child will, in all likelihood, carry that name to their grave. Who knows what kind of subtle psychological impacts your offspring will incur, simply because of your stupid name choice?
What are your options as a parent, really? Do you go with a currently trendy name? (Benefit: no one will think your child is weird at school. Risk: a million kids will also have that name, and it's possible that it's a ludicrous name that people only think is cool right now, like Londyn) Do you go with a family/legacy name? (Benefit: you have a legitimate excuse for the name if your child ever challenges you on it. Risk: there's no telling whether that name will be considered freakish down the road. Take "Murphy." It's fine now, but in 2045, who knows?) Do you go with a "never goes out of style" name like John or Mary? (Benefit: no one will ever think the name is weird. Risk: your child may self-identify as boring) Do you go with an old-fashioned name that you want to revive, like Elanor or Hugo? (Benefit: paying homage to history. Risk: a million kids will still have that name, because this is a really trendy thing to do right now) And what if you're a person of color? Then you have to think about whether you should name your child something "white-sounding" or else cripple their job prospects and earning potential for the rest of their life.
No one else in my extended family is named Linda, so it was never obvious to me where my name came from, or how my parents managed to knock it out of the park with a seemingly random pick. On multiple occasions, I've asked both Mom and Dad to tell me the story behind my name, and I don't think I've ever gotten the same answer twice. Their various responses are (paraphrased and subject to my faulty recollection) as follows:
- "We took turns suggesting names, but every time one of us made a suggestion, the other one shot it down. This went on for a really long time, and we were both getting frustrated. Finally, one of us suggested Linda, and neither of us hated it, so we went with that."
- "My college roommate was named Linda. It's a nice name, so we thought, why not?"
- "Your dad wanted a name that couldn't be shortened into a nickname."
- "Your mom was the one who decided on the name Catherine for your sister, so I was the one who got to pick your name."
- "We almost named you Madeline."
While none of these explanations are
particularly helpful in terms of helping Future Parent Me with my own
child-naming quandary, I'm struck by the fact that neither of my parents evidently stressed about it too much. Relying on what appears to be mostly gut instinct and optimism, they did all right by me and my sister. So perhaps the answer is -- provided you're a kind, intelligent, and loving parent -- you can just wing it and trust in the result.
(Of course, my parents also had a cat they named George, so maybe their instinctive naming proficiency was gender-specific.)
