I’m what some may call “bad” at being a girl. I participate in a sport where I enjoy beating the living snot out of others, I’m not graceful or demure, my hands and feet are looking rough, I’m loud, abrasive, covered in tattoos, and I would live in sweatpants and sports bras if I could. But there are times when I do enjoy dressing to the nines and decking myself out in makeup for special events because the two are not mutually exclusive and I could not care less about fitting into society’s mold of being a woman known for conventional beauty. Respect my mind, my talent, my perseverance, and my abilities. It’s absolutely puzzling to me when someone looks at photos from my fights or competitions and remarks first and foremost on my appearance. Either I look too pretty to fight or I’m a wretched troll traipsing around in a gi. Apparently there is no in between. How about we talk about the fight or technique, and not what my body or hair looks like. Or better yet, mention how big my muscles look, that makes me indiscriminately happy because I worked damn hard for my little baby guns. Although these pistols are tiny, in my mind they are weapons of mass destruction and I am always ready for war.
Not only do I not fit the stereotypical attributes of “being a lady” in my day to day life, but I also seemed to have missed the mark in Jiu Jitsu as well. I’m often told how much more flexible women are than men and I am forever waiting for the day my gumby attributes come to fruitiion, but alas, I remain stiffer than a neatly poured top shelf whiskey. One of my favorite things is when a 200 pound plus guy folds my 116 lb frame into sporadic contortions like an accordion, and with my legs dangling backwards over my head while I’m collapsed in two like a lawn chair, decides to make a comment about how flexible I am. No sir, you just happen to be twice my size and bent me in half with ease. It’s not flexibility, it’s size vs (lack of) size and trust me, my spine is screaming in pain because no human being should ever be made to feel like a sandwich. But hey, at least my guard was harder to pass. I may have limited function and mobility of my spinal cord and neck in the future, but what’s a bit of paralyzation compared to a lifetime of being a champ?
I love having the occasional night in heels and a dress. I love it even more when someone tells me how masculine I look in a gown. I worked so damn hard for any muscles that I have, so I take it as a huge compliment when someone points them out. However, call me small or un-intimidating and my ego deflates like a balloon rapidly losing air. I just want to be scary, dammit! When I cut down to 105, I’m actually self conscious about how small I look. Someone made a comment about me having no booty at that size, and I swear I couldn’t wait to refuel after weigh-ins so I could progress from Paris Hilton to Kim Kardashian and thicken back up like some southern oatmeal. I miss my abs, but I missed my muscles and my curves even more and maintaining such a low weight and body fat percentage is simply not healthy for me. Plus, the hanger was real and I’m sorry to those who dealt with skinny Sam.
To the girls that expertly apply makeup everyday and to the ones that have never touched mascara day in their lives, I salute you both. We do what makes us happy and gives us confidence. Even those that have stained my white gis with foundation or got liquid eyeliner on my gloves because they wore makeup to fight in, do you boo. Nothing some oxyclean won’t fix. Although I would prefer not to have to google how to remove the stains, I can deal with it. We as women can fix our sister’s crown without pointing out to the world that it was crooked. So I ask that when you watch ladies fight, comment on their skills and not their appearance. Weak people discuss superficial objectives. Who cares what they look like, I care what they fight like and truth of the matter is, the ones who have the most negative things to say are also the ones who probably couldn’t bust a grape in a fruit fight or are the most insecure of us all.
Who decided what is normal anyways? My goals in life are to be a good fighter and a good role model. Nowhere on my list do I have that I want to be the most attractive. Do male fighters get the same disparaging remarks? I may not fit society’s idea of what a woman should look like or act like, but I’m pretty happy with how I turned out. I do wish I was like one of the more flexible women I’m so often told is a trait we females posses so that my limbs don’t sound like bubble wrap every time I move, but that’s a whole different story. I can be a fierce Joan of Arc who slays my own dragon at the end of the story rather than a damsel in distress. Or I can be an eloquent Grace Kelly sashaying down the street. Who cares what mold I’m supposed to adhere to as long as what I do is making me happy and not infringing on the rights of others. So I may be “bad” at being a girl, but I am excellent at being a woman and those who comment on my appearance rather than focus on the fight will rue the day those words escape their lips. Being a real woman isn’t one thing, it’s a collection of many things and they include whatever the hell you want them to include. Shape, size, color, talent, ability, circumstance, age etc., they are all just a part of our story and not what defines us indefinitely. Who run the world? Girls.
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