Getting engaged while you're writing a thesis about how married people are privileged hetero shitlords is a confronting experience.
Every day, I'm acutely aware of the gem that now rests on my finger; the way that I'm wearing it because I'm the woman, and my man-partner wears nothing to show that he's engaged, as if the world needs to know that I'm off the market but that he was never for sale. The way that we got the idea to even have a ring all because of a marketing campaign in the 40's. I'm aware that it shows that I'm a hetero woman, in a country where hetero people are afforded the choice to get married, and same-sex couples with the same level of love and commitment are not. I know that, and I'm doing it anyway. I'm taking advantage of a privilege I did not earn, and inviting my gay and lesbian friends and family along to watch me do it. I am delighting in the gendered nature of it; dresses and suits, bridesmaids and groomsmen, my dad walking me down the aisle. And it keeps me up at night.
I am a proud and staunch feminist. I work for an all-female feminist organisation, and I was genuinely a little nervous about telling them I got engaged. Many of my colleagues lived through second-wave feminism; they fought for my reproductive rights; my right to work as anything other than a nurse, teacher, or secretary; and my right not to be morally defined by my marital status. If I were really a good feminist, shouldn't I be anti-marriage? Aren't I just propping up the patriarchy by buying into it? In my more conflicted moments, I consulted every embarrassed person's favourite Agony Aunt Google with this question. Turns out, weddings and feminism are awkwardly eking out ways to coexist, with notable feminists creating elaborate arguments and even how-to guides to make your wedding as un-patriarchy-ish as possible, whilst still actually getting and being married. While I'm all for picking and choosing your own ideological bricks to build yourself your own special little belief castle... I'm just not convinced on this one. I mean, I just don't really think, for example, that not wearing white is all that rebellious, really, especially given that white wedding dresses are a pretty recent phenomenon, and they were never about virginity but about Queen Victoria's trendsetting. Listing all of the slightly on-the-nose traditions and how to make it feel better when you follow them doesn't mean that you're not following them, and is actually a little bit neoliberal-y. But I digress. The most important consideration for me as a feminist when it comes to marriage is not whether I'm going to have a garter toss or not (for the record, I'm not) but whether I'm helping or hindering the fight against gender roles that are so damaging to people, specifically gay and lesbian people, and more specifically, the gay and lesbian people that I love.
When thinking about marriage as a privilege and a right, I wonder: am I just being a shitty friend to my gay and lesbian friends by not standing in solidarity with them? It's a fashionable form of protest now for straight couples to refuse to marry, or at least to wait until marriage equality is achieved in your state or country. Lena Dunham did it (and is still holding off, even since that battle was won), David Pocock and his partner are doing it and so are many others, all in the name of solidarity. I do applaud influential public figures for being outspoken about the injustice of marriage inequality, and how it helps to bring the conversation to light and add to the political pressure that can bring about legislative change...but I don't think they deserve a pat on the back simply for not getting married. I decided recently that instead of bashfully asking Google how my gay and lesbian friends might feel about my decision, I would just ask them. Their answer? Shock horror: they just didn't care that much. They thanked me for my thoughts, and told us that they were truly happy for us. They're looking forward to coming to our all-expenses-paid party. And I believe them. See, choosing not to get married doesn't actually change anything for same-sex couples. No-one really cares if you choose to get married or not. For the non-famous among us, our choice to stay unmarried is of no consequence to the powers that be. In fact, and especially if you're American, single people are a huge cash cow for the State, so really, you're doing them a favour.
The thing about privilege is that, as an individual, you can't choose whether you have it or not, and you can't take it away from others. Mitch and I will have a wedding, and we will embrace it with all of our best-beloved surrounding us, supporting us, and celebrating with us. We will enjoy partaking in this, one of the last-surviving, joyous, community-based rituals that our ever-individualising world has...and my dad will walk me down the aisle because he has dreamed of it since the day I was born, and his joy will give me joy. And if you can and want to get married, maybe you should too. Don't feel guilty about it; get angry about it. We won't achieve equality by pretending the inequalities aren't there. We will achieve it by fighting for it. By voting with your pen and your feet. By saying 'Yes' in the upcoming (stupid, expensive, and undemocratic) plebiscite. But if you're choosing not to get married, with the intention of rejecting your privilege in protest, you're not actually rejecting it at all. Getting married isn't the privilege. The privilege is having the right to choose in the first place.
Every day, I'm acutely aware of the gem that now rests on my finger; the way that I'm wearing it because I'm the woman, and my man-partner wears nothing to show that he's engaged, as if the world needs to know that I'm off the market but that he was never for sale. The way that we got the idea to even have a ring all because of a marketing campaign in the 40's. I'm aware that it shows that I'm a hetero woman, in a country where hetero people are afforded the choice to get married, and same-sex couples with the same level of love and commitment are not. I know that, and I'm doing it anyway. I'm taking advantage of a privilege I did not earn, and inviting my gay and lesbian friends and family along to watch me do it. I am delighting in the gendered nature of it; dresses and suits, bridesmaids and groomsmen, my dad walking me down the aisle. And it keeps me up at night.
I am a proud and staunch feminist. I work for an all-female feminist organisation, and I was genuinely a little nervous about telling them I got engaged. Many of my colleagues lived through second-wave feminism; they fought for my reproductive rights; my right to work as anything other than a nurse, teacher, or secretary; and my right not to be morally defined by my marital status. If I were really a good feminist, shouldn't I be anti-marriage? Aren't I just propping up the patriarchy by buying into it? In my more conflicted moments, I consulted every embarrassed person's favourite Agony Aunt Google with this question. Turns out, weddings and feminism are awkwardly eking out ways to coexist, with notable feminists creating elaborate arguments and even how-to guides to make your wedding as un-patriarchy-ish as possible, whilst still actually getting and being married. While I'm all for picking and choosing your own ideological bricks to build yourself your own special little belief castle... I'm just not convinced on this one. I mean, I just don't really think, for example, that not wearing white is all that rebellious, really, especially given that white wedding dresses are a pretty recent phenomenon, and they were never about virginity but about Queen Victoria's trendsetting. Listing all of the slightly on-the-nose traditions and how to make it feel better when you follow them doesn't mean that you're not following them, and is actually a little bit neoliberal-y. But I digress. The most important consideration for me as a feminist when it comes to marriage is not whether I'm going to have a garter toss or not (for the record, I'm not) but whether I'm helping or hindering the fight against gender roles that are so damaging to people, specifically gay and lesbian people, and more specifically, the gay and lesbian people that I love.
When thinking about marriage as a privilege and a right, I wonder: am I just being a shitty friend to my gay and lesbian friends by not standing in solidarity with them? It's a fashionable form of protest now for straight couples to refuse to marry, or at least to wait until marriage equality is achieved in your state or country. Lena Dunham did it (and is still holding off, even since that battle was won), David Pocock and his partner are doing it and so are many others, all in the name of solidarity. I do applaud influential public figures for being outspoken about the injustice of marriage inequality, and how it helps to bring the conversation to light and add to the political pressure that can bring about legislative change...but I don't think they deserve a pat on the back simply for not getting married. I decided recently that instead of bashfully asking Google how my gay and lesbian friends might feel about my decision, I would just ask them. Their answer? Shock horror: they just didn't care that much. They thanked me for my thoughts, and told us that they were truly happy for us. They're looking forward to coming to our all-expenses-paid party. And I believe them. See, choosing not to get married doesn't actually change anything for same-sex couples. No-one really cares if you choose to get married or not. For the non-famous among us, our choice to stay unmarried is of no consequence to the powers that be. In fact, and especially if you're American, single people are a huge cash cow for the State, so really, you're doing them a favour.
The thing about privilege is that, as an individual, you can't choose whether you have it or not, and you can't take it away from others. Mitch and I will have a wedding, and we will embrace it with all of our best-beloved surrounding us, supporting us, and celebrating with us. We will enjoy partaking in this, one of the last-surviving, joyous, community-based rituals that our ever-individualising world has...and my dad will walk me down the aisle because he has dreamed of it since the day I was born, and his joy will give me joy. And if you can and want to get married, maybe you should too. Don't feel guilty about it; get angry about it. We won't achieve equality by pretending the inequalities aren't there. We will achieve it by fighting for it. By voting with your pen and your feet. By saying 'Yes' in the upcoming (stupid, expensive, and undemocratic) plebiscite. But if you're choosing not to get married, with the intention of rejecting your privilege in protest, you're not actually rejecting it at all. Getting married isn't the privilege. The privilege is having the right to choose in the first place.
