College Candy

Casually surfing the web this past week, I came across a recent New York Times article with the headline “Albanian Custom Fades: Woman as Family Man”. No offense to the Times, but it should have been called “The Impressive Story of the Sworn Virgins of Albania”. Albania is a mountainous agrarian country where blood feuds still wipe out large portions of the male population. In this very traditional society, women aren’t allowed to own guns and consequently have no means of protecting themselves once their husband, brother, or father is killed—nor do they have a way of avenging the death.

So they adapted. It was decided that a woman could become a man with full social privilege and respect—for the small price of lifelong virginity. For villagers such a concept seemed clear enough, after all a man’s life was worth the same as a virgin (12 oxen) while a woman’s life was only worth 6 oxen.

The article interviewed several so-called “sworn virgins”. One chose this path at the age of 20 following the murder of her father and death/imprisonment of her anti-regime brothers. For her it was a move of practicality — she states that if given the option now, she would probably choose to be a woman. That now with the influx of modernity being a woman might actually be “fun”.

I finished the article—my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and arguments—from intrigue at the intricacies of Albanian society to feminist outrage over the social constructs of virginity. Yet one emotion rose above the rest—a sense of deep empathy.

I grew up in a fundamentalist evangelical church full of men who longed for the good old days of total female subordination. By using the power of literal biblical interpretation they successfully created a cult-like male-dominated society. If as a woman, I refused to be “submissive” to the authority figures, I was sinning, against God.

I used to imagine being a man—and it wasn’t any sexual attraction, I simply longed for the freedom that men in my church had. They weren’t criticized for immodesty—they could let their underwear hangout or play basketball sans shirt while I had to wear a long tank under all of my t-shirts for extra modesty and swim shorts with my one-piece bathing suit.

I remember crying when my breasts developed and dreading my 13th birthday—knowing that it marked my transition to womanhood.

Being a woman wasn’t fun at all. If I had had a chance back then to be socially recognized as a man I would have jumped at the chance.

Thankfully, the cult collapsed right before my 18th birthday releasing me into the confusing yet, as I soon came to realize, wonderful world of femininity.

Reading the NY Times article, I was struck with that term — “fun”. We all know that being a woman at times is a total pain (literally)—menstruation, gyno-exams, birth control, etc. But it’s also uniquely fun—men can’t appreciate the beauty of the perfect purse, or the joy of a nail salon support network.

So, ladies, as we storm the world’s glass-ceilings let’s remember that not only are we fighting for equal pay and maternity benefits but we’re also making sure that everyone sees that being a woman is far from burdensome. Femininity is a gift, it’s wonderful, and it’s fun.

[photo courtesy of the New York Times]