Wednesday, 20 April 2011

Sex, Violence, and Fear: A Late Night Ramble

Don't go and get too excited yet readers; if you expect this post to be entirely about things of the kinkier kind, go ahead and go back to watching Hulu (damn you stateside friends).

I will admit that over the past two weeks I have been catching up on episodes of 30 Rock, and by catch up I mean I have been watching all five seasons in their entirety. I depressingly enough realized (by season 3) that I am Liz Lemon and sort of developed a joking banter about the subject with my friend Allison. Many of the episodes focus on the fact that Liz lives alone and "fails" at relationships, and often times the show jokes about the dangers a woman faces living by herself (i.e. choking to death or slipping in the shower). This alone would not cause me to post an entire blog dedicated to a specific "feminine" subject. So let's continue.

Scre4m (Scream 4 for those who prefer non-stupid text) was recently released and after watching the trailer alone in my apartment I came to a very shocking realization: scary movies are no longer enjoyable now that I live alone. The trailer itself scared me so much that I had to watch quite a few more episodes of 30 Rock before I could fall asleep (no need to tell me how pathetic this is; I already know), and then got me to thinking.

Living on my own I find myself to either be constantly terrified or constantly triple checking my surroundings so that I will not be terrified. I admittedly will cross the street when I see a group of men ahead of me on the sidewalk at night, and always walk with my keys firmly between my fingers after a night out downtown. As a woman I am constantly reminded of how dangerous my existence is, especially if I am alone. TV shows like 30 Rock not only joke about the potential dangers I face (as if men living alone don't risk choking to death or slipping in the bath) but also mock female characters who live a (mainly) solitary life.

Movies always warn us of our potential (or inevitable?) demise; its always joked that the first to die in slasher movies are black people and slutty women. More specifically, two recently released movies specifically deal with the topic of the vulnerability of women: The Resident and The Roommate. (It should be noted that both of these titles also succeed in removing the personal [noun] and replacing it with a thing, but I won't ge too caught up in this) Both movies not only portray violence against the main female characters as an inevitability, but also hypersexualize it. The movie category "thriller" exemplifies this. As opposed to the category of "horror" which brings to mind only the subject of fear, the category "thriller" gives the viewer not only the chance to be scared but the chance to be thrilled. The prevalence of excitement alongside fear is arguably what makes these movies seem so attractive to large populations of people.

This is all not to say that I think scary movies are sexist or should involve situations of sexuality and violence against men. The fact that movies and television tell these tales of hypersexualized violence against women makes it seem like something that is impossible for a woman to escape. Living alone in London, I find myself sometimes thinking more along the lines of when I will be attacked and less along the lines of if. And after being followed home two weeks after I moved here I quickly realized that unfortunately I could easily be that weak female target (let's face it, I'm five foot three and couldn't seriously hurt anyone over the age of thirteen). Add to that London's differing view on self defense (there is literally no weapon that I can carry with me, not even pepper spray) and really I am a walking target sign. I don't want this to scare my parents or make you all think I am crazy; I reasonably know that as long as I am prepared, smart, and safe, I will be just fine. But that, to me, is just it. There ARE women who ARE prepared, smart, and safe. There are women who know how to handle themselves and don't fit into this category of a vulnerable weak woman, susceptible to attack, who aren't afraid of choking to death in their apartment and aren't depressed that they haven't found "the one;" but these women are rarely shown. It's the fact that we have to be this woman that is always prepared, because the only other type of woman that exists is the one left vulnerable to physical and sexual assault, that has been bothering me recently.

This has gone on long enough. It's midnight here and I have to get up at 6:45 for another joyous day at the nursery. I'm sure I have now scared all of you into thinking that I am constantly on the verge of assault, but I promise I take the utmost caution when I go out at night and am very safe. I know this will all come off as just another feminist rant, but honestly, its more than that. These things were things I never even gave a second thought to before now and, to me, anything I don't think about deserves to be discussed. Not thinking is never good in my book.

[For those of you disappointed that I didn't update you on my British life: be patient. I will post again shortly. After some much needed sleep]

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An American ex-pat finding her way in Londontown.

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