You see her pulling back her top. You see her pulling down her skirt. You see her angling her body away, averting her eyes, folding into herself bit by bit until she can fit into a corner. “That top’s too low,” they’ve told her. “Are you going out in that tiny skirt?” they’ve questioned. “Keep your eyes down, keep your legs closed, your hands folded” she’s instructed.She’s poked, prodded, pushed, pulled to fit into the mould they have her assigned to, slowly folding into herself until she becomes so small she is no more.
Who is she?
Isn’t she a little bit of all of us? Aren’t we a little bit of her?Speaking with a few girlfriends this week, the conversation inevitably led to criticism us women are so quick to dish out on ourselves. While most men swagger…
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