The Different Shades of Rebellion

Who is more rebellious? The girl wearing makeup, a skirt, and high heels? Or the girl with baggy pants, a shaved head, and a dozen piercings?

Stereotype would say the latter is far more rebellious, and not too long ago, I would have agreed.

Not anymore.

I’ve been reading Shiri Eisner’s Bi: Notes for a Bisexual Revolution, and it’s completely shaken my assumptions of what makes up a rebel. (Yes, it’s the same book that I was reading when I wrote this post, and yes, it’s my first reading still. I’m slow with nonfiction books. Don’t judge me!)

I never considered my sexual orientation as an asset to rebellion. As a bisexual female married to a guy, I often feel like I’m the most benign version of “queer” out there. There’s no way to avoid passing as straight unless I stand up and wave a flag in people’s faces (which I’ve enjoyed doing at Pride parades). However, Eisner has helped me see that it’s that very facet of my identity that makes it so much more subversive because it challenges what people think about relationships, sexuality, and identity in general.

Whether I fit into or challenge the stereotypes about bisexuality, either way I challenge stereotypes about what it means to be straight or queer. My very existence undermines the invisible certainty of monosexuality.

In other words, me being a bisexual woman can be seen as an act of rebellion. Yay me!

It was a subtle shift in perspective that had enormous consequences on the way I viewed the rest of the world and my place in the world. Suddenly even mundane activities seemed potentially radical. With the example given at the beginning of the post, both girls could potentially be making a radical feminist statement . . . or a statement about gender . . . or a statement about freedom . . . or a statement about sexual orientation.

I guess it really comes down to two basic ways of rebelling. The first is by abstaining from certain looks, behaviors, or associations. The second is by embracing them.

I’d been taught to view the abstemious method as rebellion, but only because I saw embracing such behavior or associations the same as embracing the norms that society attached to them. How could that be rebellious?

I was faced with that question when I found out about Abercrombie and Fitch’s ridiculous status obsession, from not wanting the homeless to wear their brand to refusing to supply clothes to women larger than they deemed attractive.

I never actually purchased anything from Abercrombie, but I did have a shirt with their brand on it that my partner had found in a thrift store. Normally I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about brands, but I did get a small thrill whenever I wore Abercrombie. It was the only brand that was outright forbidden in the IFB because, as the Bob Jones University student handbook from 2011 states, “Abercrombie & Fitch and its subsidiary Hollister have shown an unusual degree of antagonism to biblical morality (page 32).”

I was more than a little miffed when the CEO turned into the king of snobs. Most of the people I knew wanted to boycott the company (abstinence rebellion). For a while, I felt pressured to stop wearing my thrift-store purchased shirt in solidarity.

Then this guy starts a movement of giving Abercrombie shirts to the homeless to “taint” the brand’s “pristine” reputation. An exploitative move on the part of privilege by using the homeless in status wars? Perhaps. Charitable activist choosing to make a political statement while helping those in need? Perhaps.

Regardless of whether his move was particularly wise or not, the larger idea—claiming something “forbidden”—is a valid though often overlooked form of rebellion. He wasn’t the only one doing the whole “you can’t stop me” act with Abercrombie, but he was the only one I saw that actually got attention. Such a form of rebellion raises a valid question. Would a rebellion be more successful by people boycotting Abercrombie (fiscal punishment) or by “unacceptable” people wearing their brand (reclamation of the forbidden)?

Several years ago, I saw rebellion as an action against an authority or a system of rule. It was a choice akin to standing up when you’ve already been sitting down. It was the radical, in-your-face moments of movies and books. And I’ve had my fair share of those and am proud of them.

But that’s not where rebellion has to end.

Now I’m starting to see that rebellion can be more “passive” than that. It can be as simple as refusing to submit to a false dilemma—refusing to box in your identity.

In this way, my agnostic spiritual life becomes a form of rebellion against fundamentalist Christians and fundamentalist atheists alike who want the world to be a choice between each other. My nudity-affirming feminism becomes a form of rebellion against both modesty culture and objectification culture that wants women’s bodies to be all about male arousal.

There is a time and place for marches, protests, petitions, and attention-grabbing speech. By all means we should be making use of those to effect change in society. But in the times when those are not appropriate or simply not feasible, it’s the quiet rebellion, the passive rebellion, that erodes the lines of societal norms. It’s the every-day, mundane kind of rebellion that shifts paradigms.

So, join me this week by going out there and living a rebellious life—a life that says that you can challenge or embrace stereotypes and still be kicking ass and taking names.

 

The Dystopian Girl’s Guide to Forbidden Romance

As I’ve mentioned before, I love dystopian fiction, especially the young adult novels that have swept the scene in the last few years. But I have one pet peeve that really, really irks me—the ignorance and stupidity in portraying romance within a purity culture.

I love falling in love with a character.

I love those butterflies I get when a romantic scene arises.

I want to hate but begrudgingly love the heart-wrenching suspense of whether the protagonist will end up with her love interest.

But all of that is ruined so easily when the purity construct is thoughtlessly abandoned as soon as the first kiss happens.

As the protagonist of a dystopian plot, the main character is presumably smarter than the other people around her—or at least she’s more aware. She has to be in order to carry the plot of rebellion forward. So why is it that when a boy comes on the scene, she suddenly loses any and all sense of discretion, caution, or intelligence?

If part of the dystopian atmosphere involves a purity culture that punishes physical contact between the sexes, then it’s basic common sense that out in public is NOT the place for two people to explore their feelings for each other. When you live in an environment where violating purity standards could lead to the ruination of your reputation (at the very least) or expulsion, physical punishment, or execution, you don’t really forget about that threat. Whenever I read about a character who just throws herself at a pair of deep blue eyes right out where others can see her, my suspension of disbelief is shattered immediately, especially if she’s already actively fighting against the authorities as it is. No matter how strong the urge to kiss someone is, it’s rarely strong enough to override the need for self-preservation.

The Scarlet Letter–a mild example of what purity culture does to women who violate standards.

Having lived in a dystopian environment, I feel I actually have reasonable experience to speak on this subject. Whether you are writing a dystopian novel yourself or living a dystopian life, there are some basic things you need to know about romantic contact.

I’m not foreign to the hormonal drives of youth, and I’m well aware of the titillating allure of forbidden touch. It’s intoxicating and wonderful. In fact, I indulged in it quite a bit when I was at Bob Jones University. With chaperones patrolling every public area to ensure that at least six inches were between male and female students and brainwashed bojes (spies) ready to tattle on you at every turn, it wasn’t easy. But I never got caught. Why?

I used my brain.

Granted, as far as plot development goes, it may be important for a character to get caught, but it doesn’t have to happen in an irritatingly stupid way. There are some brilliant ways to arrange for clandestine meetings. By following a few tips, you can provide the utmost protection possible and, if discovery has to happen, at least comfort yourself that the discovery was inevitable rather than due to oversight. That little difference may not seem so important in the grand scheme of having actually gotten caught, it makes a big difference in the odds of survival.

First, be aware of your surroundings. Don’t think about locking even a pinky with someone without first ascertaining where danger lies. If people are present, determine what they can see. This requires stepping outside of your own perspective, which is harder than you might think. I often saw couples sitting together at the university library tables, their legs tangled underneath the tabletop. Perhaps they thought they were being discreet since they themselves couldn’t see their legs, but for anyone entering the library, it was laughably obvious. If need be, actually do a test yourself if you can do so without arousing suspicion. Take  a stroll around the area in question and note which spots are sheltered and which ones aren’t.

If people aren’t present, figure out how likely someone is to enter and, again, what they would be able to see. This is where dystopian novels make their biggest mistake. Just because no one happens to be with the couple doesn’t mean that it’s a safe place. If there are wide open spaces, windows, doorways without doors, or any other type of quirk about the location that would put you in a compromising position if a passerby happened to pass by—you can’t let your guard down.

Remember, you can never know where someone else might be innocently headed. Don’t assume the world stops because you are overcome with passion . . . unless you’re Adelice from Crewel and can pause time.

If, after analyzing the environment, you find it suitable enough to risk some sort of affectionate exchange, you still need to identify which kinds of affection are feasible. A deserted stairwell might be appropriate for a stolen kiss, but it doesn’t make a great place to have a picnic. A draped coat might allow for two people to hold hands, but it’s not going to protect them from scrutiny if they lock lips.

A good rule of thumb for intimate exchanges is that the more intimate the exchange, the greater the risk; the greater the risk, the greater the need for protection. If you’re just interested in some light flirting or mildly serious kissing (and don’t underestimate the power of such touches in a purity culture), look for places where you will hear people coming before they can see you as well as places where you can assume less incriminating stances if need be. One of my and my partner’s favorite places was a particular hallway where we could pretend to be heading to or from a class if someone came clomping down the stairs.

However, if you want to do more intimate things, you need to find places where you are less likely to be stumbled upon. These would be places where passersby are completely unlikely and the only people who would catch you are the ones deliberately looking for you. Of course, in this instance, you can’t exactly finagle your way out of anything if you do happen to get caught, but at least you need to be under suspicion in the first place. This would be the equivalent to sneaking off campus if you happen to attend a dystopian-esque university like the one I attended (we had some lovely Sunday afternoons hiding in deserted parking lots) . . . or sneaking to a rented room, as the characters in 1984 did.

The lovers indulging in behaviors illegal for Anti-Sex League members, from 1984, the film.

I will caution you though—this isn’t something you would want to do with just any attractive person who walks by (another pet peeve of the dystopian young adult novel, the character who falls into the arms of every boy in the book). These rendezvous are the ones that should be reserved for some serious lovers because . . . well, if you’re going to risk everything for the chance of lying entwined in someone’s arms, wouldn’t you want to know that the risk was worth something greater than what you can get by just masturbating?

Lastly, just remember that no matter how smart you are, when you’re rebelling against a system, sooner or later that rebellion will be unearthed. In a purity culture, romance is never just romance, it’s always rebellion. So whether you rebel over a lover or over a principle, you better be willing to pay the price. In a true dystopian environment, your bridges burn as you cross them.

From the Handmaid’s Tale film . . . the arrest.