The rage is real, but feminism ain't an excuse for snaking…
If your boobs grow too big, you won’t be able to surf. You’re going to get fat and then you’ll be slow. Nearly every time I interview a woman athlete, they tell me about how someone tried to cut them down, tried to tell them they didn’t belong in their sport, and tried to tell them they’d never succeed.
None of this is about their bodies, really. It’s just another way to tell them, no girls allowed.
My friends sometimes ask me to write about sexism. In truth, I write about it all the time. I just don’t always call it out by name. In nearly every story I write about a woman, she’s succeeded by burrowing under or climbing over or smashing through or taking the long way around the walls that a still predominantly misogynist culture uses to keep her contained.
She’s not thin enough. She isn’t good enough. She should just work harder. She should always work harder. The bricks stack up one upon the other.
And it’s as though I write about the air I breathe. It’s ubiquitous, relentless, claustrophobic. It’s like being crammed in a box and having someone stand on the lid. Eventually, it’s hard not to believe them. Maybe I should try harder, I think. Maybe I’m crazy. But I know I’m not. They’re the ones who are crazy.
the writer argued that as the only woman, she could and should drop-in without apology. She suggested that her no-apologies approach to the male lineup served as redress for decades of surf culture shot through with misogyny.
Five days or so ago now, The Inertia published an essay from a woman about her reaction to being the only woman in the lineup. In the essay, which has now been removed, she described a session in the Maldives in a lineup peopled entirely by men. There are few more entitled lineups than a tropical reef populated by well-off vacationers.
In the essay, the writer argued that as the only woman, she could and should drop-in without apology. She suggested that her no-apologies approach to the male lineup served as redress for decades of surf culture shot through with misogyny. According to the writer, surfing’s etiquette, drummed into the heads of generations of groms by their elders, is a stand-in for male dominance. Women had no say in these rules, she asserts, so why should she follow them.
When Chas profiled Lisa Andersen for TSJ, he described her as surfing on a perfumed cloud of rage. In doing so, he saw straight through to the heart of it all. The rage is real. We cover it up in all kinds of ways.
The essay seethes with rage. And if there’s one thing you shouldn’t dismiss about this essay, it’s that rage. Behind their smiles and their hair flips, most of your women friends feel it. Maybe not all the time. But I can tell you that at one time or another, we’ve all felt it.
When Chas profiled Lisa Andersen for TSJ, he described her as surfing on a perfumed cloud of rage. In doing so, he saw straight through to the heart of it all. The rage is real. We cover it up in all kinds of ways.
If the worst thing you do with your anger is snake a bunch of guys in the lineup, that’s no great crime. Some of them almost certainly deserve it, if we’re being honest. And to be clear, there’s no reason a woman can’t regulate a lineup like a man does, if she chooses.
Someone’s getting too many waves? Play the enforcer, if that’s your thing.
But I’d ask what exactly you’ve accomplished at the end of the day. Sure, snaking has gotten you more waves and you’ve made a few men angry. And there’s likely a nice, feeling of revenge in that male anger. See, this is how it feels to be us, you say, as you exit the water in triumph.
But have you really changed anything at all? I’d argue that you haven’t.
As we all know, surfing is an essentially selfish endeavor. As surfers, we want what we want. Etiquette exists as a suggestion, an appeal to our better selves, which often deserts us as soon as we see a perfect set wave on the horizon. We froth and spit and hassle. We want our fair share.
What’s worse, we all know better. I think we’ve all experienced the joy of a smooth-flowing lineup – the one where everyone takes turns and everyone gets waves. But if you live anywhere near other people who like surfing, that experience is notable for its rarity.
Securing equality for women is a collective project. It requires changing deep-seated norms and attitudes. It requires changing a narrative that consistently depicts woman has lesser and not enough. It requires engaging the rage women feel and the reasons for it.
I’m not sure there’s an easy way to square the circle between the selfish desire we all have for waves and the collective effort that equity for women requires. Snaking all the men feels like selfishness cloaked in the guise of feminism. You get what you want, sure, but what then?
Smash down the door.
Then reach out and bring another woman across that threshold with you. Because somewhere, there’s still a girl being told that she isn’t good enough, that she isn’t thin enough, and that she isn’t smart enough. She’s being told that she doesn’t belong and can’t succeed.
Isn’t that what we should be trying to change?
