Dear readers,
Well, it’s officially my last week of classes as an undergrad. Which means this will be my last installment of Womanifesto. Group sob altogether now. Or group cheer. But do me a favor and don’t tell me if it’s the latter.
As my college career draws to a close, I’ve been thinking a lot about this column and how much it has come to define my year. Writing Womanifesto has truly been the most rewarding endeavor of my time at St. Joe’s. Truthfully, it is the legacy I am most proud of leaving behind. So for my final installment, I want to tell you why I chose the name Womanifesto. I want to talk about what that phrase encompasses for me and what this column and your support have meant to me. So for one last time, please open your hearts and open your minds.
Womanifesto is a combination of the words “woman” and “manifesto.” It wasn’t just the convenient mash-up that attracted me to the title, but also the way in which I perceive these two words.
Let’s start with “manifesto.” Aside from reminding me of one of my favorite bands (Streetlight Manifesto, anyone?) it represents exactly what I wanted this column to be. I wanted this column to be a place where I explored the world around me from the lens of my gender studies minor. I wanted it to be my manifesto, a statement of who I am and what I believe. But more than just a statement of my views, I wanted it to be a chance for you all to engage with me and perhaps look at the world differently. Which brings me to the term “woman.”
Like so many things in our world, the word woman seems so simple. We use it every single day without thinking twice about what being a woman means. And I know this from experience. I have not always thought about gender in such depth. Hell, becoming a feminist was actually a bit of a 180 for me.
On one of my older sister’s college breaks, she came home wearing a T-shirt that said, “This is what a feminist looks like.” I was a junior in high school then, and I distinctly remember thinking, “Holy crap, my sister is a crazy insert-the-stereotype-of-your-choice-here feminist now.”
But that night we talked about her gender studies minor, what she was learning, what she was doing on her campus and in her community. Did I understand and believe in everything she said at once? Dear God, no. But the important thing was that she sparked an interest in what was happening around me. She encouraged me to think of the world in a way that I never had before. She is a major reason why I am sitting here writing this article, and big reason I now believe the word “woman” encompasses so much more than we are taught to think.
There are women who wear dresses, and there are women who wear shirts and ties. There are women who shave every day, and women who have never shaved in their lives. There are women who have children and women who will never have children. There are women who have vaginas, women who have penises, and women who have a combination of the two. There are women who are black, are white, are Asian, and are Latina. There are women who sleep with men, with women, with whomever they like, or with no one at all.
When we look at our world and the immense and beautiful diversity therein, how can we justify defining people so narrowly? How can we as a society assert that to be a woman you must do this, wear this, be this? We can’t. We can only say if you are a woman, then you are a woman. We can only say you are you, and I am me.
I wanted this column to embrace everything that we are and everything that we can be. I wanted it to be a place of empowerment, of education, of curiosity, of self-love, acceptance, and of trust. I hope I have achieved that. And I hope, perhaps, I have sparked something in you.
I never anticipated the success this column has had. I have only been given love and respect and positive feedback from you all. For that, I want to thank you. You have made writing this column such a joy.
And with that, go forth my loves and set the world on fire. Like the bras I torched last weekend. Kidding.
Sincerely,
Carina
