Woe Unto the Feminist’s Daughter

Woe!

Woe unto the daughters born to feminists.

For the daughter, a mere spry teen, wants only to shave her legs.

And upon asking her mother about this, her mother replies, “But you’re a mammal. Other mammals don’t shave their legs.”

There it is. That should do it, the mother thinks. That should keep the daughter from spending her life stressing about her body.

But the daughter was raised by this feminist mother to go after the things she wants in life.

The daughter returns with a new, air-tight argument, “Kylie and I were talking about it. Her mom said it’s okay.”

The mother persists, “Bats are mammals. So are whales. Neither shaves.” The mother starts to busy herself with shuffling things around on the kitchen counter. This is probably the right moment to relocate the toaster.

“Whales don’t have legs, Mom,” the teen states with an unspoken “duh” and “dipshit” trailing her words. The mother recognizes the makings of an epic eye roll forming in the girl.

“Our dog is a mammal. She’s smart enough to know she needs her fur to keep her body warm,” the mother states smugly, nervously. Why is she clinging to this mammal defense? Her understanding of the animal kingdom is so limited and if the girl presses even a little, she will be outdone.

The teen sighs defeatedly and shrugs, like she doesn’t even care about leg shaving…or maybe anything else anymore.

 It’s a strong move, and it works. The mother turns and regards her daughter.

“I can see this is important to you. I just want to understand your reasons for it,” the mother states, as though reading verbatim from a parenting article in O Magazine. She can see Oprah, swathed in cashmere, nodding encouragingly, urging her on.

“Historically, women have shaved their legs because men decided that was how they wanted women to look.”

No. No! It is a disastrous move. The girl recognizes her mother’s “We’re talking about the patriarchy now” voice and steps back, as if to shield herself from an impending rant, her face scrunching up as if she smells something foul. 

But the mother can’t stop, “And then women are forced to comply with an unfair beauty standard requiring them to spend money, take time out of their lives, and alter their bodies. And for what? Hairlessness?!”

And now the epic eye roll has commenced in earnest. And oh! Oh! It is is brilliant! A slow cascading of the eyeball, disdain spraying the mother in the face. 

The mother’s instinct is to defend herself against the epic eye roll, but deep down she knows she deserves it. Because her daughter is an even better feminist than she is. She lives for herself. She dresses for herself. She makes choices that aren’t popular but are what she wants to do with her life. She is confident. She is brave. She supports women—for god’s sake--for her bat mitzvah she asked for donations to Kiva so she could make microloans to women-owned businesses around the world! 

And what did the mother ask for at her bat mitzvah? GOLD JEWELRY! Limited Express gift certificates! Giant scrunchy socks!

Sometimes the daughter’s goodness is so good the mother is shocked to believe she is even related to her. The mother sometimes has not-so-good, un-feminist thoughts like, “I hope that bitchy girl from high school gets early-onset menopause!” See? That is not nice. The daughter would never think that. 

In this moment, the mother realizes her better-feminist-daughter only needs to hear one thing.

“Your body is your own. You should do it with as YOU want.” 

The girl softens. The girl smiles.

“Just don’t get a face tattoo, okay?” 

And with that, they go to Target to buy “the good” razors with the lotion strip. The feminist daughter deserves them. 

The mother, also a mammal, might borrow one.