Most of my life I remember being told that while it was okay that I was a tomboy, I needed to be more feminine. I spent my early teens not fighting about bikinis and spaghetti straps but wanting two piece swimsuits of the trunks and top kind and football jerseys. I still haven’t found the imaginary line between “too boyish” and “feminine enough”, and continue to ask this question in many different areas for women: where is the line?
When I ask these questions, I base my inquiry on what is biblical. Looking to the standard of scripture, like I was taught. And that hasn’t changed. What has changed is that I now question that what we as Christians believe is scripture actually is based on biblical principles rather than church culture.
I had two pairs of sandals. Both were equally casual, but one was from the boys section. I think I was 14. There actually were girls' sandals sold that looked almost exactly like these woven, fake leather slides. My girls’ pair were flip-flop style with frayed canvas edges. To this day I don’t know why my parents deemed the girls style acceptable for church and the boys’ one, not.
Where is the line?
Growing up, I didn’t know any older girls or women who had a style I liked. I vaguely remember being preschool age and admiring a police woman named Debbie. Annie Oakley was my hero. I dreamed of being National Velvet, played by the epitome of femininity, Elizabeth Taylor. Velvet was a character who dressed up like a boy to win the Grand National horserace before women were allowed to compete. The wild and unruly girls like Anne of Green Gables, Jo March, and Caddie Woodlawn were my literary friends, and my favorite movies told stories of boys and girls stowing away on ships and hopping trains and having all sorts of adventures. Later, westerns and WWII movies were at the top of my list, but it was the boys and young men I dreamed of being. Not being with, although there certainly were cute ranch hands and soldiers - and I noticed them.
Why was it rare that I found women to emulate and admire? And never in real life?
Except Angela. She was exciting and passionate, a volunteer camp counselor for that weekend in 7th grade. Her zest for life was expressed by laughter and stories and a cartwheel just because she was happy that day. Her passion for us girls and the Lord was contagious. And she had red hair like so many of my fictional heroines.
The Angela's are rare. But in those three days during my confusing and emotional 12th year, she made an impact on me. It makes me wonder what having more consistent women who were a little more like me around would have been like.
All the women I knew weren't cool, didn't do anything exciting in my young eyes, had little in common (significant breasts, for one), and didn't show more than obligatory interest in me. The female peers around me were trying so hard to be and look a certain way. I'm sure I was too, but not the same way. I was trying to be what I wanted to be, regardless of what others thought, even when I wasn't sure yet, and frustrated that clothes were such a hindrance to being good. And it wasn't even a modesty issue. I wanted to do what was right and please God but I just couldn't wrap my mind around why my parents wanted me to be more feminine.
One day, in my mid-thirties, it dawned on me that this sliding scale of less feminine to more feminine that conservative Christianity had plagued me with was an argument for homosexuality. I had settled into an eclectic mix of feminine and masculine styles and tastes with the encouragement of my husband, and embraced what I liked with less conformity and more genuinity. My sexuality had never been something I questioned and I was unaware of anything but traditional gender stereotypes through most of my teens. But now, with this realization of the sliding scale, I had to ask…
Where is the line?
If there is such a thing as not feminine enough for a woman, if an individual is in this zone where they become more masculine, who makes this a rule and where are the markers so we all know we've crossed over into the danger zone? Because we ought to have fair warning if we're going to be judged so harshly for this sin.
And then, it hit me like a pompom in the face at a football game: If it's possible to be more feminine, possible to slide along this line, possible to be born one way and make choices to become (or dress, or speak, or behave) more feminine, then maybe… Maybe it goes both ways. Maybe we're each born at different points on the line. Maybe we grow and change and choose and are influenced throughout our lives and shift and slide along the line. Maybe fluidity is the best description.
Maybe (clutch your pearls or puka shells)...there is no line.
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