When it first came out, I couldn’t get enough of the beat and the hey hey hey’s. I never saw the video and I didn’t read the lyrics. It really wasn’t until the Miley/VMA debates started and it was on every radio station that brought out the ugly. Not of any performer or awards show but an ugly sadness- for the reality and reflection this was on Us.
I cannot say anything about her or even Robin Thicke on any moral basis because it would make me a hypocrite- to try and sit here and act like I am some saint who has never thought her body was too, just an object. I am just lucky my moments are not going down in history. But I am not that much different than Miley. She is not a global issue or a trainwreck (or wrecking ball), she is a Girl. A girl who is fumbling to grow up and trying to figure herself out in a world that worships her, and turns it back on her in the same breath. And so, as I read “letters to Miley” and “letters to my future daughter” all I can say is that I am not going to hold my daughter someday and thank God she isn’t like Miley (or whatever starlet is going down at the time). I am simply going to do the best I can to raise her, and try to understand and still be there when train wreck moments happen. As they often do.
I am going to try to understand those moments. I am going to listen when she’s torn between brain and body. I am going to try to understand when she tries to change herself for a man or when she finds herself in situations that make her feel much smaller than she is. Not because I want these things for her but because I know there is no stopping a girl from learning what she needs to learn about her worth in a world that doesn’t give her much to follow but worthlessness.I will understand. Because I have been there before.
I’m not saying she’s right. I’m not cheering for her in this moment. But she’s not a criminal. Not a tragedy that hurt millions. She’s just a girl. Just like me. Who probably forgot, like the rest of us, what a fragile, radiant thing she really is. Made to be valued & designed with much worth. Brewed & brewed & brewed to be so much more than a body stapled & tied with an image of beauty that only runs ankle-deep.
Now as for those Blurred Lines, it was the music pumping through the speakers and Mr. Thicke crooning like he knows the wants of every woman this morning that made me see clearly why there are really no blurred lines.
Because there are men out there who know that women want a love that respects.
There are men out there who wear old wranglers and work hard to care for their family. There are men out there who drive busted up trucks and take pride in the dinner they put on the table.
And there are men out there who take the time to grow flowers or stop by the side of the road to pick a bunch and feel no shame bringing them home to the woman they vowed to.
Don’t ever think there isn’t something wild and sexy and untamed about this.
There is a relentless pursuit to cage women into polished skin and glossy nails and into a perfectly shaped ornament and tell her that she really wants this. (They know she wants it)
You can always tell the real men from the immature boys. Real manhood never objectifies women but edifies women. Real men ask women what they want.
Real men hear that their Woman just wants her words and ideas and dreams to carry more weight than a number on a scale. They know that She wants Her soul to be appreciated not her skin to be assessed.
And as I realize this, I am standing in my bathroom. Poking and sucking in and contouring and reading tips for a flatter this and how to get him to notice that and staring at my pore cleansing masked face, tears rolling down my cheeks and really at that moment I am not much different than a girl dancing on MTV’s stage for the glorification of her body- all for the applause. Why is it that any reflective surface makes a woman see pounds and deflating ugly?
And then I pause and I say a prayer of Thanksgiving. And I see clearly who you really are and I am so grateful.
Because real men (like you) adore women with Einstein-hair early on a Saturday morning, think nothing of making a wire contraption and de clogging a shower drain, or kiss shoulders where Summer skin is peeling off. Real men like you romance by knowing how a girl takes her coffee and taking her hand on a walk to the drugstore. A real man makes a woman feel her most beautiful when the rest of the world tried to tell her otherwise.
True love (romantic or otherwise) isn’t found. It’s carved.
Carved out of sacrifice, out of selflessness.
And Real Women share this with each other. Real Women tell each other (because it is the truth and We need to hear it and no matter if there is no Real Man its ok because there are sisters to share this with her, to speak into her cracked and bleeding places) “You are so beautiful- so Soul beautiful” and we will watch our sisters eyes light up.
And Real Women won’t ever let each other forget that the curve of a woman’s smile is her most perfect curve and that each one is a treasured, wonderfully made possession and that when her eyes shine bright as she realizes this- her whole body is full of radient light.
And there aint no blurred lines about that, Sister.