What would your tatoo say?
This is one of my personal pet peeves at the moment. Yes, I do need to get over it. Yes, I know I do it too. But being on the receiving end of it really just sucks. Yes I am talking about judging a book by its cover.
We have all been judged on the way we look since birth. Babies are assumed to be ‘good’ if they are chubby and ‘unhealthy’ if they are not. If you put a little baby girl in boys overalls and take her to the park onlookers are happy to let the toddler fall, dust itself off and keep playing. Even if this child cries from the fall, you will most likely hear “Oh you’re alright. Up you get.” Change the same child into a dress and if she falls she will be immediately scooped up for cuddles and comfort.
There is no need to discuss the way we were all judged on appearance in High School either. We were all there. Like it or lump it our worth was dictated by our image. Furthermore we were all judged daily on everything from our hair to our shoes, and some bits in between.
I found a reprieve from the judgement, for the most part, in the workforce. Wearing a suit in the city to work and cute outfits out in clubs and bars my friends and I found a niche of sorts. The judgement changed from soul crushing to categorising. We were seen as young professionals, 20-somethings. Full stop.
Then I fell pregnant. It was like going back to school. Instantly I was viewed differently; less capable, less stable, public property. Suddenly people felt they had a say in where I sat, what I did, what I ate and how I dressed. Things they would never have said to me a few short months earlier.
I thought things would go back to the happy medium I discovered in the workforce when the baby had arrived and things began to settled down. It got worse. I now fit into 3 categories. However do I keep up?
- When I am in casual dress I attract the label ‘Mum’. It is grossly assumed the only interesting thing in my life is my son. It is assumed that I have all the time in the world and no schedule to keep and that my time is not worth much.
- When I am in a suit, with or without my son, I fit the category of ‘Professional’ or ‘Working Mum’. Instantly my time is considered precious and I am almost revered for my ability to ‘do it all’.
- When I am out with friends without the baby I revert to my previous niche of ‘young professional’ or ’20-something’. Strangers in a bar for example see me as their kin and my cleavage is ogle worthy. Interestingly when a guy asks me what I am doing later and I reply ‘going home to feed the baby’ the cleavage is instantly non-ogleable.
I know it is way too much to ask. I know it is a fantasy that will never happen. None the less I dream of a day where regardless of which mode we are in, which uniform we are wearing, what setting we are in, people judge us only by our actions and words. But hell will probably freeze over first. Instead I think we could try harder to resemble books. Yup you heard me. Look like the books we treat each other like. I propose we all tatoo our personal mottos on our foreheads (like a blurb) so we can be quickly judged for who we really are.
What would your tatoo say?
1 comment
Nice piece Rae. I dare say my forehead, big as it is, would not fit all of my blurb though… start with, father, lover and work the way down the list to entrepreneur, adventurer all round nice guy…
Well written and thought out.