SLUT|| the identity series

Recently, I’ve been thinking more about who I am,  why I am that person and what it means in terms of the way that I live. “Recently” is issue sensitive- some I’ve been pondering for a year, and others for closer to eight. Either way, this is what it culminates in: a series of posts concerning something vital to my being: identity.


Okay, so that title wasn’t what you were expecting.

To be honest, it wasn’t what I was expecting either. I had no clue I was going to write this post, until I scrolled down my own instagram profile. (Also, Shalom posting twice a week???? She definitely doesn’t have two serious exams in the next four days, like maths and physics!!! She’s so not procrastinating out of panic!!!!)

I was publically slut shamed for the first time twenty-two weeks ago.

Slut-shaming is a form of social stigma applied to people who are perceived to violate traditional expectations for sexual behaviors, commonly applied to women and girls. Some examples of circumstances where women are “slut-shamed” include violating accepted dress codes by dressing in perceived sexually provocative ways, requesting access to birth control,[1][2][3]having premarital, casual, or promiscuous sex, or being raped or otherwise sexually assaulted (which is known as victim blaming).

(thanks, Wikipedia.)

slut

this is taken directly from my instagram, and the caption was, ” ‘who are you getting cute for?’ MY DAMN SELF. Happy Friday, pals!”

Don’t get me wrong, it had happened before. Just never to this extent and to the point where I was affected enough to change something I did every week (i.e go to youth group) for five years.

I wore this outfit because I felt good in it. I liked the way my legs looked. I love that red sweater because it belongs to a gorgeous friend of mine (Sorry Shivs, you’ll never get that back, ily) and I think of her every time I wear it. I felt great, and I was going out to an event with a group of teenagers (13-19) and all was well.

Until I got told I was “asking for it”. That I was “distracting the younger boys” and “being irresponsible” with my body. Until I was informed that “you’re not supposed to dress like a slut at church”.

Yes, I went to church.

It’s safe to say that after that fateful Friday night, I didn’t return to Youth for weeks. “Matric is just so busy,” I’d tell everyone. It’s whatever. Onto the point of this post:

I was slut shamed because I was comfortable with myself for the first time in a long time and other people were not. I was slut shamed because I am a female and due to my gender I have been sexualised since my birth. I was slut shamed because my extreme “irresponsibility”, which was manifested in the exposure of probably 40 centimetres of leg and my stomach, is not appropriate around “the younger boys”. I was slut shamed for how I dressed and it is bullshit.

Here’s the thing about reclamation, people: once it happens, the people who once used the word in question negatively no longer have any functional power over it.

Screenshot (202) Screenshot (203)

The word slut is being reclaimed. It’s happening,and there is undeniable proof: slutwalks happen all over the world, and Tumblr is having none of anyone’s crap. There’s a thorough description of what slut shaming is and why it’s not okay here.

In brief? I’m the slut of the hour. And I’m 101% good with that.

love and light
shalom x

I AM HERE FOR MYSELF ||the identity series

Recently, I’ve been thinking more about who I am,  why I am that person and what it means in terms of the way that I live. “Recently” is issue sensitive- some I’ve been pondering for a year, and others for closer to eight. Either way, this is what it culminates in: a series of posts concerning something vital to my being: identity.


FreshPaint-22-2015.08.17-09.49.50i am here for myself

A while back, my friend Casey set her WhatsApp status to the following: “Radical self-love. I am here for myself.” The words stuck with me and have been swimming around in my head next to my history coursework and a massive section of differential calculus that I don’t understand. What does it mean to be there for yourself? To be here for yourself? I wondered, and I said that sentence many times in my head before I said it out loud. Until today.

Time: the present. It’s the day after my first exam. I’m at the store, browsing the biscuit isle in preparation for the food coma that comes with the sadness after a maths exam. I stop at the Oreos, consider them, and decide anfainst them. Then, I get cat called. In. A. Supermarket.  Are you kidding me? These men- at least 25- whistle at me and start speaking to me — A HUMAN BEING IN A SCHOOL UNIFORM CLEARLY INDICATING THAT I AM MORE THAN LIKELY A MINOR– and don’t get the message that I’m uninterested.

One of them asks to buy the Oreos for me. I smile and say, “No, thanks.” He says, “Come on, I’ll give you a treat and you can be my treat.” I stop smiling. I say, “No, thank you.” He reaches for my phone (by the way, be very glad that I am behind a computer screen because I am furious) and says, “Give me your number, baby girl.” I say, “No. I’m spoken for and you make me uncomfortable.” He gets upset, obviously, because he throws the Oreos.

Needless to say, I left the biscuit isle.

Anyway, after this incident, I went back to the biscuit isle – BECAUSE I FRICKEN LOVE BISCUITS OKAY?- and two men who work at the store talked to me. In essence, they said: “That guy wanted to buy you a big box of Oreos and you said no, and now here you are buying a tiny pack of biscuits.

I don’t know why, but at this moment, Casey’s words clicked.

I looked at them and said, “I’m good. I don’t need him or his biscuits. Radical self-love, man. I am here for myself.”

It should be noted that I flipped my hair and sass walked away. It was like a movie. It was fricken GRAND.

Long winded Oreo saga aside, my point is this: independence is a huge part of my identity. Whether it’s objecting to cat calling or refusing things from others, it’s all me.

I am here for myself. And I always will be.

love and light
shalom x