Am I a bad feminist?

Men have their roman empire. I’ll tell you what’s going on in my head 22/7.

I spent the first decade of my life poring over interviews with singers like Shakira, Britney, and J-Lo, meticulously ripping and organizing their photos and articles into binders. Soon, I graduated to more mature publications like Cosmopolitan and Elle, becoming a living and breathing heart-eyes emoji as I flipped through pages about “it” girls. Then came the blogs, where I religiously followed every post about the Olsen twins and Nicole Richie, running to Emmaus and other thrift stores to recreate their bobo chic looks. When insta came — oh god! A real life insight into celebrities and even random girls I’ve never heard of? Christmas every day!

I’ve been a girly girl from day one of my 30 years long life. I’m a fashion fanatic, I (hopefully not too lamely) follow some trends, and I love reading about celebrities, their secrets, and beauty tips. My heart races when I see Julia Fox in ultra-low-rise jeans, and I adore seeing women do things that spark debates. I’ve had my lips done twice, I’m considering Botox, and I shake my booty to Bad Bunny’s lyrics. Oh, and I’m a feminist. Though, often an ashamed one.

Because how can I call myself a feminist while dancing to sexist lyrics, supporting women who objectify themselves, and following beauty standards designed for the male gaze? How can these conflicting aspects coexists within me? Am I a fraud, a hypocrite, or is my vision of feminism fundamentally flawed? Could what I see as progress actually be a step back into patriarchal patterns?

The controversy first struck me when reading My Body, written by model and activist Emily Ratajkowski, who’s fame is firstly due to her appearance in a Robin Thicke music video, Blurred Lines back in 2013. “I know you want it”, the songs repeats as Emily dances nearly naked with a baby lamb in her arms. To this day I do not understand why this clip made so much noise and why she’s been criticised so much when we were at year 35 of sexy music videos with a dozen half naked girls acting sexy to seduce the oh almost godly singer.

Many argued that Emily shouldn’t speak about feminism. They said showing your body isn’t progress; it’s undoing years of women’s fight for equality. But is it really?

In her book, Emrata (her surname is challenging enough to only write twice in my article, thanks) discusses her body and the truly traumatic events she’s faced, in those cases, “due” to it — while remaining grateful of all the opportunities she got “thanks” to it. But here’s the dilemma. She’s grateful yet skeptical and frustrated, openly reflecting on how her journey has been a double-edged sword — earning a living and gaining experiences through men profiting from her body. This has also led to women comparing themselves to her, seeing her as the ideal. Quite the heavy burden to bear for simply being born beautiful and leveraging it, isn’t it?

While I was reading the book, I had a conversation with my mother. She rolled her eyes as if I were an immature teenager (still does to this day and I’m 30) and said it’s shameful for a woman to set such an example for young girls.

I understand her point: no mother wants her child to feel influenced to present their body for male approval. So, I brought up Marilyn Monroe, whom my mom sees as a feminist icon and a precursor to the #MeToo movement. Marilyn, ahead of her time, demanded respect, equal pay, and even started her own production company.

“Marilyn was a victim of her time and paid with her life,” my mom wrote on WhatsApp. “There weren’t many magazines like Playboy, apart from porn back then. It almost gave a sense of respectability.” In my quest to understand why the past differs from today, I bombarded her with questions. “So, do you think a modern woman like Pamela Anderson, who posed nude and built a career from her body, should be shamed? Despite using her fame to advocate for animal rights and engage in political debates on ecological issues.” “If it helps change mindsets, then it’s acceptable.” “What if it’s simply her personality and she prefers not to wear a bra or restrain herself while dancing in a club? Isn’t it anti-feminist to say ‘don’t’ instead of addressing the problem lies in men’s reactions?”

Is she still ok to be called a feminist even though some argue she promoted body objectification by posing naked and stroke men like kitty cats by accepting and perpetuating the stereotype of the dumb, sexy blonde?

More generally, is it ok to want to reshape your natural face and body with chemical and/or surgery? Or to consciously or unconsciously aim to fit societal standards with your looks and actions?

Here’s my answer. First off, being sexy does not equate to being objectified. And here’s some good news: objectification doesn’t have to be a reaction that exists.

Furthermore, one of the most feminist values to me is never judging a woman for her choices, as long as she isn’t harming others. This idea needs, I think, to be widely embraced by both men and women.

Lastly, I celebrate a woman’s choice to bank beautifully, provided it is done with consent, respect, and without abuse or exploitation. Sexuality and glamour play an integral role in many women’s health and wellness, and I think that’s fantastic. Feminists should support and encourage women in their freedom to choose their own paths. Celebrating women’s choices, with consent as a priority, is essential. Women are our sisters, and we must stand together. This means lifting each other up, respecting each other’s choices, and recognizing that every woman’s journey is unique. By building a community of understanding and support, we can create an environment where all women feel empowered to pursue their own versions of success and happiness. Women are not in competition with each other; we are allies in the fight for equality and respect. Our strength lies in embracing and celebrating our differences, knowing that each of our paths helps progress and freedom for all. And this is, I think, being the best feminist one can be.