I've tried twice before to express what I felt
when I watched the Netflix movie, "Cuties."
Both times, before, I thought that most people got the gist of
what I was saying, but there were still several people who
needed to chime in about child pornography and perverts
masturbating to the movie. I felt that people were looking
for things to be offended about and arguing about things that
were, in my opinion, completely irrelevant. By the legal
definition of child pornography, "Cuties" is not
pornography. I never encouraged anyone to watch it if they
were uncomfortable with it. I just asked that people watch
the movie before judging it.
I consider myself a writer. It gnaws at me when I feel
like I'm not being heard the way that I had intended to
be. I wouldn't say I've been obsessing about it, but I've
been thinking about it for some time.
So I'm going to try this one more time. Consider this your trigger
warning. I plan to be frank and thorough in my
discussion of my own experiences of growing up in The United
States of America, which includes what some may consider sexual abuse.
One of my earliest memories was of playing alone in my front
yard. It was 1975, and I was 4 years old. A man who
lived a few houses down, asked me and some other kids if we'd
like to see his newborn kittens. We went into his house,
he showed us the kittens, and then he had us sit in his kitchen
while he served us candy.
It wasn't long before I could hear my mother frantically calling
for me. When I went to her, she took me home, sat me down,
and told me that I couldn't go into strangers' houses without
her permission. She was very serious when she told me that
"some men like to look at little girls' panties." And that
was my first experience with "the talk" that most girls have
heard at some point in their lives.
Another memory around that same time was of my mother leaving me
alone with her grandpa – my great grandpa, while she ran to the
store to get diapers for my brother. Grandpa told me that
his fingers were stiff. He needed me to help him button
his pants, which I did, because I craved opportunities to be
told I was a good girl. Then he told me that I didn't need
to tell my mama bout this. I did, of course, not wanting
to miss the opportunity for praise. It was years before I
understand why she got angry and didn't tell me that I was a
good girl.
My favorite toys, then, were Barbies and their back-breaking
bosoms. Of course, I couldn't have a Barbie without a Ken,
because a girl is not complete without a man to tell her how
beautiful she is.
My other favorite toy was a Barbie head and shoulders to which I
could apply makeup, color and style her hair, and apply various
accessories.
Sexuality was marketed to me as a child all the
time, and it still is.
While thinking about all of this last night, I came across this Cracked article, about items marketed
to children that are uncomfortably sexual, including a stripper
pole, g-string panties, pushup bras, and tramp stamps. The
article is from 2011, so the children in this movie would have
been babies when these products were on the market.
I wondered what might l be out there, today,
and it took me about a five minute search on Amazon to find little girls' padded
bras, thong
underwear, and see-through
panties, that were accompanied by this charming photo to
the right.
The experience of transitioning from little girl to young woman
was particularly stark for me. When I was six years old,
my stepfather was transferred to Germany. We lived there
for three years, and then in Texas for three before moving back
home, to Northern California. When I left California, I
was a little girl with a little girl’s body. When I
returned, I was still a little girl, but had developed breasts,
hips, and a waist, and was often thought to be much older than I
was.
There was no gradual transition for me. When I'd left
home, it was common for me to sit on people's laps and give hugs
and kisses when asked. So when we moved back, and a family
friend asked me to sit on his lap, I did. I had grown up calling
him “Papa Bear,” and did not realize that that had become
inappropriate at some point between 6 and 12. When he
asked me to kiss him, I did. That’s when he put his tongue
in my mouth.
When I told my mom about it, she told me that I was “too big to
be sitting on men's laps, anyway.” In other words, if I
had behaved differently, it wouldn't have happened.
He was not the only one, but he was the most
disappointing. I
could and have listed dozens of moments like this in my own
experience. I had a teacher in 8th grade who told a very
popular boy that he should "go for" me. I was mocked
mercilessly for the remainder of that school year.
I had a teacher in 9th grade who told me that if he were 10
years younger, he'd give my boyfriend some competition.
My high school counselor would cruise my street in the mornings
to offer me rides to school. I never accepted. When
I was in his office planning my schedule for the coming
school year, he told me he wanted me to take aerobics for PE,
because I'd put on some weight.
I never knew that any of those things were in appropriate.
My mom tried to prepare me, but her experience was different
from mine. She just told me that "boys only want one
thing."
It was the 80's. Madonna's "Like a Virgin" was the
standard by which my friends and I modeled our wardrobe.
At least until high school, when Glam Rock became the thing, and
then it was leather miniskirts and fishnet stockings. My
stepfather told me I looked like a hooker. I had never
seen a hooker, and he and I didn't get along anyway, so that
just made me more determined to dress that
way. It's what my friends were doing.
It's what the girls in the videos were doing.
By the time I reached high school, I loathed my body. I thought I was fat
because women could only be fat or skinny. No in between. I hated my breasts,
because I felt like that was what had attracted so much unwanted
attention.
In the
midst of all of this, my great-grandmother was obsessed with my
virginity. She took me to McDonald's one day and told the
poor kid behind the counter, "This is my great
granddaughter. I'm so proud of her because she's going to
be a virgin when she gets married!" TRUE STORY!
That had been my intent, but I did not realize that I could
expect a boy who tells me he loves me to keep his hands to
himself without an absolute wrestling match. Every
boyfriend I had, including the one I married, pushed the
boundaries as far as he could. I married the one who
pushed them too far. I married him out of shame. I
thought marrying him would make it o.k. During our
divorce, I told him that saving myself had been important to
me. He said he knew. I asked him, "then why?"
He said, "The challenge."
I honestly don't know any woman who hasn't been trespassed at
some point in her life. I'm not saying there are none, but
I have no doubt that they are the minority.
As a teacher, I struggled with wanting to protect my students by
talking to them about the provocative things they wore and how
just as approaching a strange dog, you have no idea what kind of
training a boy/man has had, so it's best to protect
yourself. But girls
have a right to express themselves in ways that make them feel
good. It’s not
their fault if men can’t control themselves.
So when I heard that Netflix was showing child pornography, I
wanted to know what everyone was talking about. I
absolutely felt uncomfortable watching those little girls do
those moves, and I have wondered if they were counseled in any
way during or after. But ultimately, I felt kinship with
their confusion. I know their confusion. I know what
it's like to be expected to live up to impossible standards, and
I know what it’s like to live so long thinking sex is a negative
that it never felt positive, even when I was married.
But as I have said before, this is a conversation that we must
have and keep having. When is it ok for a girl to be
sexualized? Don't tell me never because we do it all the
damned time. We begin before birth with gender reveal
parties so that we can immediately put little girls in dresses
that don't cover their asses so that their lacy panties are on
display. We do it to boys, too, but no one ever really
criticizes boys for being sexual.