Let's Start a Wedgie Revolution

My name is Bekah, and I get wedgies.

I imagine that you also get wedgies, as does every person on this beautiful earth. There’s no shame in admitting it; take a moment, say it out loud. This is a safe space.

When you get a wedgie in the privacy of your own home, no problem. You pick that buddy out of your crack without hesitation. But what happens if your undies slowly creep up into your cheeks while you’re at the grocery store, walking to class, or waiting in line at Target? If you’re lucky, you’ll duck down an aisle where no one’s behind you and take a quick little pick and carry on, or maybe you can discretely delude the situation as you take a seat in the coffee shop, hoping no one notices or they just think you’re smoothing out your shorts before you take a sit. No matter the situation, one thing is clear: public wedgie picking is met with fear, shame, and hesitation, leaving you with fabric in unwanted places for far too long. 

Well folks, I’m here to start a wedgie revolution. Who’s to say public wedgie picking has to be off limits? Who’s to say that we should be forced to walk around with fabric in our nooks and crannies just because someone might see us?

NEWSFLASH PEOPLE: THIS IS AMERICA. WE HAVE FREE SPEECH. WE CAN EAT FAST FOOD FOR BREAKFAST. LET US PICK OUR WEDGIES WITHOUT FEAR OF JUDGEMENT OR SCORN. LET US START A WEDGIE REVOLUTIOOOONNNNN!

I don’t mean to insinuate anyone walks around with wedgies all the time, but it does happen to the best of us once in a while. In recent weeks I’ve resorted to picking wedgies in public, and let me tell you, it’s freeing. My rear is happy, and I’m happy, and that’s all that matters.

Join me. Pick your wedgies in public. You deserve it.

#WedgieRevolution

An Open Letter to the Man That Whistled at Me Today

Dear sir,

Hi. I’m the young woman that you whistled at today on 52^nd street when you were zipping by on your bicycle and I was going to get paint out of my car during art class. I’m writing to let you know that I didn’t appreciate your whistle, nor did I appreciate you turning around and looking at me after you’d already passed me and started pedaling away, as if you were waiting to see my reaction.

What reaction did you think I would have, exactly? Did you think I would blow you a kiss? Run after you and ask for your number? Flash you? If so, you need a reality check. I’m not so sure if you would have appreciated me riding by on my bicycle, whistling at you while you were minding your own business. I know, you probably think it was flattering. Why wouldn’t a young female want to receive some attention from a twenty-something male riding a bicycle while wearing crispy white tube socks? Well, you’re wrong. This young female does not want or need your attention. And for the record, your tube socks are nerdy.

Perhaps you think since I was wearing leggings and bending over slightly while I reached into my car, it was as opportune of a time as any since my tookus was primely exposed. Maybe you thought you were doing me a favor by letting me know you thought my butt looked good in my leggings. Well dude, here’s the thing: I know my butt looked good in my leggings. And I don’t need anyone, let alone a stranger on a bicycle, to tell me that. Furthermore, I should be able to parade around without pants on and reach into my car without the threat of the male gaze and objectification of a whistling bicycle man. But back to my great butt…

Don't mess with me, Tube Sock Man

I know that I have nice wide hips, and I know my thighs look good, and I know I have a really nice, bangin’, juicy booty. I know how my hips, thighs, and butt look when I wear leggings. I like how they look. I love my body and acknowledge that these parts of me could be attractive to strangers, but I don’t necessarily care to know that. I think these parts of me are attractive, and I sure as hell don’t need your fleeting whistle and over confident look over your shoulder to remind me. 

Now I’m not opposed to genuine compliments. I love complimenting people, especially strangers. But there is a difference in telling someone kindly and respectfully that they are beautiful or handsome verses whistling at them as if they are an animal or object whose attention needs to be gotten.

Your whistle was the first time I’ve been aware of being whistled at, and honestly it didn’t make me as mad as I always thought it would, but as I’m sure you’ve gathered, it was a dick move and I didn’t appreciate it. The way you addressed me today was rude and stupid, and neither one of us gained anything from the experience. I suggest that next time you find any part of a female attractive and you want to vocalize this, get to know that person a little bit first and give them a genuine compliment. And if you want to receive the same respect and generosity, ditch the tube socks.

Sincerely,

Bekah 'Bangin Juicy Booty' Pollard

Stop Bashing Your Body!

It’s Tuesday afternoon, and as I walk through the hallways of my sorority house, I encounter a friend trying on a dress. She looks in a mirror in the hallway, and in my humble opinion, she looks great. The dress is champagney-pinkish with an intricate fabric with a nice design woven in. Basically, she looks lovely. Clearly dissatisfied with the fit of this dress, the friend calls out, “I hate myself!”

About five minutes later, walking through the hall in the other direction, I overhear two other friends talking about borrowing each other’s clothes. Friend One asks Friend Two if she can try on a dress of hers to wear to formal this weekend. Friend Two says yes, but I don’t know if it will fit you, implying that Friend Two’s clothes would be far too large on Friend One. Full disclosure: friends one and two both have great bods and could definitely share clothes any time they want to.

Are we sensing a common theme here, people? Within a period of less than ten minutes I heard two friends of mine talking negatively about their bodies. Now I don’t think that my friend trying on the dress actually hates herself, and I know that once Friend One tried on Friend Two’s dress they would both see they are indeed capable of sharing clothes. I think this “bad-talk” isn’t necessarily always serious, as displayed in these two examples, but whether or not it is, it’s damaging for young women to so readily and casually bash their own appearances. (I think it’s also important to point out that men also experience bad-talking themselves and self-image issues, but since I’m a female and have experienced mostly my female friends exhibiting this kind of behavior, that’s what I’m going to focus on.)

As long as I can remember, I’ve encountered my friends and acquaintances bad-talking themselves…like I’m pretty sure back in like fourth or fifth grade this was a thing. Let’s think about that for a minute: that means young girls pointing out things they dislike about themselves from the age of about nine or ten years old. What the flip, Chip?! I remember hearing friends casually say things about their bodies that they disliked, and I remember feeling weird when I had nothing to say about myself. It's like that scene in Mean Girls when they're all in Regina's room looking in the mirror saying things they dislike about their bodies and they all turn to Cady and wait for her to bash herself too. It’s such a normalized thing for young girls and women to dislike certain aspects of themselves that when we don’t, we either feel like there’s something wrong with us, or someone else does. That’s messed up.

I’ve always been passionate about practicing self-love, and I think it’s essential for fully loving your life and others. If you don’t know how to love yourself well and accept the not-as-great aspects of your being, then how in the world can you know how to love others well? How will you know how to give a friend a meaningful compliment when you can’t compliment yourself? How can you truly feel someone love you in a way no one has ever loved you before if you’ve never allowed yourself to be loved by the person who knows you best?

Surely there are things about my outward appearance that I’m not always super jazzed about, but I try not to dwell on it. There are so many more important things in life to worry about! And there are way better reasons to be dissatisfied with yourself than if your stomach sticks out more than you think it should. I’ll condone disliking oneself if you’re a major asshole to everyone you meet, or you shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. I will not, however, support you disliking yourself because your thighs rub together when you walk. Dude, EVERYONE’S thighs rub together when they walk. 

Excited to digest spicy foods!!!!

Our bodies are far too magical and intricate to truly dislike them. We breathe without thinking about it, we speak without thinking about it, we move our arms or scratch our face or laugh without thinking about it. That’s incredible. We are able to feel sensations and taste food and experience happiness, sadness, fear, excitement, and all these other great emotions throughout our entire beings. We can properly digest food for crying out loud! Seriously, next time you eat spicy food, thank yourself for breaking it down properly so you’re able to enjoy it.

My point is, human bodies are beautiful, and incredible, and far from perfect. Everyone has off days where they feel crappy about themselves, but don’t dwell on things you dislike about your outward appearance. Your body is doing secret magical things in order to work well, so allow yourself to love and appreciate that. Focus on being a kind person who loves what they do and who they know. In that process, allow yourself to love who you are and accept that you are not perfect, and that no one is.

Rather than focusing on how your dress doesn’t fit like you want it to, take a moment and rejoice that you can eat spicy Indian food whenever you want and your body won’t explode.

My Crying Consciousness

I cried yesterday. I teared up a few days ago. I’ll probably cry again sometime in the near future. Am I abnormally sad or upset about something? Am I weak because I keep consistently crying? No and no. I’m simply human.

Until fairly recently, I never was a crier. Whenever I got upset about something, I would internalize it and feel sad enough to cry, but never actually allow myself to do so. No matter how badly I wanted to feel the release of sobs and water dripping from my eyeballs, I couldn’t quite allow myself to feel it. One of my best friends is really good at allowing herself to cry. My friend is an incredibly passionate person and thrives on deep connections with others and with things she does for herself. Since she feels everything so deeply and intentionally, she does a great job of allowing herself to feel tears as well. I admire anyone who allows themselves to feel their emotions so intentionally and purely. When I used to struggle with crying, my friend would always congratulate me whenever I’d allow myself to cry about something. That’s a sign of true friendship, folks. For whatever reason, basically since the end of the summer, I’ve been able to allow myself to cry whenever the feeling comes over me. Crying when I’m upset, or when I’m happy, or sometimes when I’m not sure why I’m crying has become a thing more familiar to me recently than it ever has been.

Since before winter break I had been watching Gossip Girl on Netflix (I blogged about that here, check it out). The other night I watched the final episode of the whole series, and I teared up when Chuck proposed to Blair. What the heck? Why in the world was I emotionally moved by fictional characters in a sub-par television show, doing exactly what every audience member knew they would end up doing anyway? These people aren’t real. The show wasn’t particularly moving or emotionally gripping. Any do-do bird watching from the first season would assume Chuck and Blair would end up together. So why did I tear up? The simple answer is I have no idea, but it was weird and cool to feel something in an instant that made water fill my eyes, even if the reason behind it wasn’t super profound. 

Allowing myself to cry lets my emotions explode into a physical, tangible expression, allowing me to partially rid myself of whatever feelings are hiding inside me. Just because I cry doesn’t mean I’m sad or depressed; it means that emotions take over sometimes and cannot be explained. I still feel surprised by my visceral reaction to an emotional situation every time I cry, but I truly just need to accept the fact that me crying about things has become more and more a part of my current self, and that’s a-okay. Just because I haven’t always been one to cry doesn’t mean that me crying is unnatural or unwelcome. I used to never like pickles, but recently they’ve been tasting pretty nice to me; same kinda thing. Just because an aspect of your human person is slightly different than it always used to be and causes you to understand yourself in a different way does not mean this aspect is wrong or needs to be rejected. People change their likes and dislikes all the time, so why can’t emotional aspects and self-perceptions change just as naturally?

This isn’t to say that I just walk around crying all the time, because I definitely don’t, but I certainly do feel my emotions in a more profound way than I ever used to. This deeper understanding of how I’m feeling in a particular way might in fact lead me to tears. Whether they be happy tears or sad tears, I’m glad I’m feeling something deep enough to make them happen.