I’ve always wanted to try to be one of those girls who can wear lipstick everyday and not look like a spaghetti-slurping clown, but, alas, I enjoy eating and drinking too much, so this is a rare occurrence. But! Now that I am in France, and am supposed to be in a position of authority over high school students who are taller than me and look older than me, I have more reason than ever to try and slap some colour on my smackers every morning. Wearing lipstick makes me look and feel like a grown-ass woman who can get out of bed on time without hitting snooze 3 times in a row, and who makes her bed neatly and eats a proper breakfast instead of running out the door with barely passably clean hair and a few sips of earl grey and a biscuit sloshing about in her growling stomach.
Unfortunately, I am having trouble coping with the unwelcome effects of this cosmetic ritual, which I feel are magnified by the accepted cultural response of this patriarchal country. When, and only when I wear lipstick, I get head turns and stares in school and on the street, and invitations to get drinks masked as “complimentary” comments. The attention I get is infuriating because it makes me feel like men think that I am wearing lipstick for their sole benefit, and that they are entitled to vocally appreciate my appearance to the point where they assert themselves in uncomfortable ways in public. In addition, I feel like the only appropriate response I am expected to give, is one of gratification, for their generous attention.
Please, be miserly with your attentions, because I don’t want it. I wear make up and lipstick for me, because I personally like how I look (God forbid that I could be self confident without automatically being conceited), I like how it makes me look like I’ve had a decent amount of rest, and this reflection staring back at me in the mirror helps me muster up the corresponding energy and enthusiasm with which to tackle the day. I like how it makes me look like a more mature and organised person, because even if it’s not the case, I can at least fake it until I make it. When I wear lipstick, it’s not an invitation for you to shout your opinion at me on the street. I didn’t even smile or look at you, I don’t need to hear your smooching noises, I don’t want to see you lingering in my peripheral vision, I don’t want to feel like I need to exert extra effort to steadfastly stride past you, whilst pretending I don’t see you leering at me.
It’s not that I can’t accept compliments with grace, but I am simply unaccustomed to the manner in which they are delivered in France. In Canada, the attention I’ve gotten has been more on the level of shy, admiring glances, or sincere compliments, usually from friends. French men are bolder, less sensitive, and sometimes insolent in their appreciation. And if I walk away and seem ungrateful for their attention, I feel the unease that comes with thinking that people are talking shit about me behind my back.
The effect of wearing make-up daily, and lipstick a mere handful of times, even in a small French town, has given me these results:
♠ The only male English teacher casually referencing my pleasing appearance almost every other time I see him, as though it is the only thing worth discussing in regards to my position as an English assistant. Yes, I know now that you think that I’m “quite a nice looking girl, who is also quite pretty,” but maybe we can talk about something else, like the activities I want to do with your students?
♠ Teenage boys ogling me in class, whispering amongst themselves about how I look, instead of paying attention, or paying attention only because they can stare at me, and not because they seem even remotely interested in the educational intentions of the activities I’ve introduced. Would I not be worth listening to, if I put a bag over my head?
♠ A male student blatantly ignoring my instructions and asking me to go out and eat with him, being rude and rowdy when I ignore him, and inappropriately telling me that he loves me. Kid, if you did, you’d know to do your work!
♠ Older male students wanting to work with me only because they want more one on one/face to face time with me. They then proceed to ask me personal questions, or suggest that I go to the nightclubs in Cahors, instead of focussing on their assignment.
♠ Teenage male students asking me for my number (!!!!) and giving me an obviously false reason for wanting it. Seriously? You have relatives in Canada that you don’t know how to contact, and so you need my number because you think I can locate them? Do you know how big Canada is!?
♠ Random male strangers on the street staring and yelling invitations at me on the street. It’s sad that I actually prefer this over racist remarks. No, I am not Korean / Japanese / Filipino / Vietnamese, but yes, I can be pretty, yay. The lesser of two evils? Ugh.
♠ Female students staring at me almost resentfully, because their male counterparts are engrossed in someone else, and consequently, treating my presence with disdain and a lack of cooperation. Goddamn, do I have to face your scorn on top of everything else? Trust me, I really am just here because I care about improving your English, not because I want to steal your crush who is almost a decade younger than me.
It is just so frustrating that I can’t dress and act the way I want without constant judgment that results in constant superficial appreciation/rejection. I feel like I am nothing more than a pretty face to some of these students, and I dislike the fact that it is the only reason why some will demonstrate a refusal or a willingness to learn. Maybe I’m overthinking it, or misinterpreting some things, but what I’m certain of, is that both men and students where I grew up in Canada just do not behave in the same way. I like feeling flattered occasionally, but I miss feeling the respect that comes with it. Were I truly the object that some perceive me to be, I would not be so bothered, but there you have it, I’m not meant to be an object. Perhaps I’m not meant to be French either, if it means overlooking rampant misogyny. I may have terrible vision but I’m not blind to the way I’m being seen, especially not when I can hear it.
Some days, I can laugh it off and say, “That’s just how they* are in France,” and pretend that it was harmless. Other days, the irritation seething under my skin overwhelms me when these reactions make me question my self-worth and value as a woman, when I’m made to feel like a walking doll, even on a short stroll to the pharmacy.
*(I will note that this is a generalisation, and that it is not applicable to many other students and men that I’ve met, who are polite and respectful and whom I appreciate very much for being so. However, it is still true that, on the whole, I have had a lot more misogynistic experiences in France than in Canada, enough, that I felt the need to write a gentle rant.)
auds & ends 