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?
