It’s been years since I referred to myself as a tomboy. Funny, because I used to define myself as one all the time when I was younger. It was my justification for hating makeup, high-heels and skirts. For playing four-square with the boys at break (before their balls dropped and they found joy in bullying). For climbing trees and rocks and wearing clothes from Mad Dogs.
A helluva lot has changed since those glorious early teenage years (thank God), but I realised last night, in so many ways I am still a tomboy, and it’s why I still get so self-conscious at gigs.
I was at our Wrestlerish gig at the Scout Hall dancing my face away, despite my newly hatched flu and my heartsorenessness, and I just wanted to let go and dance wildly, but every time I did I kept thinking about all the girls standing around politely, and all the boys indulging in power stances and wild hairography. Not to mention the crazy dancing going on onstage, all by boys of course.
Yes, of course, there are exceptions to the gender rule, but they remain minimal. The girls who go crazy in the front are few, very few. So it’s easy to get self-conscious and wonder whether you’re being a l
ittle ‘too much’. I don’t know if this even makes much sense – I confess I’m damn tired and sickly and not interested in working much today. But I must just mos go on.
My point is (sort of) that at gigs I can let go and be free, whether that freedom pushes me to slam my feet all over the place and fling my hair, or to stand back reflectively with my arms crossed, it shouldn’t matter that I’m a girl, we should all have the freedom to move however we want to.
Social conditioning – 0
Marty – 1
In other news, douche bags are douche bags are douche bags. I’m falling deeply in love with my play, and slowly (read: loudly) accepting the futility of relationships.