Real Feminism looks like the kids who watched the biracial couple Cheerios Commercial. There are no preconceived notions or learned biases or complicated gender roles drowning cerebral cortexes. Whether toting a uterus or sporting a sack, a person is a person and a human is a human and a beating heart is a beating heart.
Real Feminism looks like a principal’s disciplinary ruler. Equal treatment in equal scenarios produce equal consequences. Regardless of the Who hurling disrespectful words at the What in any Where because of a dozen Whys, the repercussions are the same. Falls outs aren’t spared solely because there’s a pair of tits present.
Real Feminism looks like a naked mannequin in a deserted shop window. Without a dress or a suite no one knows if it’s destined to be a secretary or a firefighter or a CEO or a stay-at-home-mom. It’s a clean slate with endless dreams and unknown possibilities that no cultural ceiling can contain.
Real Feminism looks like a sincerely painful apology. Anatomy isn’t used as reasons to hide from the hangman or excuse behavior or recreate the rules of the road. Every responsibility is carried with pride regardless of the size of the shoulders or the frame on which they rest.
Real Feminism looks like a graceful withdrawal. Proving a capability falls secondary to proving humility. Some races are won and some are lost and some will continue until the final breath escapes tired lungs. Not everyone was made to accomplish everything so sometimes admitting defeat is as strong a political statement as continuing to put one tired limb in front of the other.
Real Feminism looks like gym class. Sometimes the weakest are picked last and the rope climb is humiliating and the games are awkwardly played. There are different levels of capabilities depending on different days and it isn’t because of internal or external anatomy. It’s because life just isn’t fair.
Real Feminism looks like a mom comforting a child who was teased. Not everyone is perfect at everything and some can’t do what others can and that is ok. She can’t do what he can but she can do what he can’t and it’s more about the puzzle piece you fit in than your sex.