3/30/2020 0 Comments Normative Narrative - GenderNormative Narratives - Gender
We have all been affected by gender biases at one point in our lives. The stories I chose to analyze differ from my fourth blog post, The Red Dress. They speak about the topic of gender roles in sports, whereas mine discusses stereotypes of what a girl is supposed to dress and act like on their prom day. Although the stories differ from each other they are similar in the concept that both women and men are judged if they choose to do something outside of the gender norms. I chose this topic because I find it to be a situation that everyone deals with and typically, we as a society do not see the little things associated with male or female. I chose to analyze Kristin and Olivia's blogs because they are very similar through the idea that a woman is seen as more dainty and delicate versus a man who is meant to be strong and independent. Gender roles in society demonstrate how we’re expected to speak, dress, groom, and conduct ourselves based upon our assigned sex. For example, females are generally expected to dress in a typical feminine way and be polite, accommodating and nurturing. Men are generally expected to be strong, aggressive and bold. In both Kristin and Olivia’s blogs, the gender roles conveyed show the irregular participation of females in more male-dominated sports. Kristin’s blog speaks about her younger days and how she participated in playing catch with the boys. Her decision to “dump [her] snack bowl and put [her] shoes on” disrupts the gender binary by being “snarky," as Kristin was called by her teacher. I related this comment to one that was made in my blog, “Sierra that’s not right”. In society “people are explicitly and self-consciously encouraged to identify with a gender category” (Hewitt & Shulman, 2011, 169), showing these two comments convey the idea of disruption in gender norms and the judgment from others based on one’s decisions and actions. It is not only women that face backlash when they do not adhere to their feminine gender stereotypes, when men show that they are vulnerable they are also often penalized for their emotional actions. Kristin’s blog shows the confusion of one when they are judged for not conveying their proper gender roles. Furthermore, Kristin’s blog shows an indirect comparison to my “Red Dress” blog in the way that Kristin was asked by her teacher if she was sure she “[didn’t] want to stay inside with the other girls” where I was indirectly asked by society, if I was doing the right thing by switching sides with my prom date. These two questions show the hesitancy of others when gender norms are altered. “Physical education of girls [is] detrimentally impacted ‘by socio ecological factors at the individual, family, school and environmental levels’” (Reynolds, 2018). Olivia’s blog shows that she was socially impacted by her decisions to play male dominated sports over being a “ballerina in a pink tutu”. This part of her story made me think about the times where my grandma would look at me and tell me I had to be more of a girl because I was born that way, and being somewhat masculine was wrong. Young wrote, “[o]vercoming the hurdles between girls and physical activity is daunting, because it effectively means fighting against a sexist society and its norms” (Reynolds, 2018). I came across this sentence when I was reading this article and I found it to be very relatable to both Olivia’s blog and mine in the way that when girls, boys, women and/or men, chose to do something that is either remotely more feminine or more masculine it seems that you’re challenging social normality. In my story “The Red Dress”, I talked about how I switched sides with my prom date so that he was also able to be shown off because it was also his special day as well. Due to my actions, I feel that I challenged the gender norms greatly and I had confused society. In Olivia's blog and mine, we both were judged based on our decisions to live our life, yet we both knew that what we were doing was not changing our gender. References Hewitt, J. P., & Shulman, D. (2011). Self and society: a symbolic interactionist social psychology. Boston: Allyn & Bacon. Reynolds, D. (2018, July 11). Women Athletes and Gender Stereotypes. Retrieved from https://www.healthline.com/health-news/gender-stereotypes-ruin-sports-for-young-women#1 https://www.missgordonsblog.com/post/self-story-4-ecs-110
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Gender roles have divided women and men by specific traits, posing women to be delicate, fragile and polite, where men are seen as strong, fierce and independent, “gender roles are the product of the interactions between individuals cues about what sort of behaviour is believed to be appropriate for what sex” (Blackstone, 2003). Blackstone argues the point that the way that individuals act is mostly dependent on how society tells them they should act. I feel that in undoing gender, society must understand that individuals have the right to behave how they please and not be influenced by the norms of gender biases. With this being said, it is also hard to act the way that we want because we have been influenced by our parents/guardians.
Furthermore, from a reading last week called 'Undoing' Gender and Disrupting Hegemonic Masculinity: Embracing a Transgender Social Imaginary it features the important impact that both parents and those in the professional field can have on certain norms about a person being gendered due to unforeseen circumstances. I encourage you to read the part located under the heading What Is to Count as a Legitimate or Viable Gendered Personhood and tell me your thoughts on what you think about the procedure. When I read this a thought came to my mind, thus being, why was it such a huge process that David had to go through? I feel that if I was in his situation I would feel fed up and exhausted. What do you guys think? 2/29/2020 1 Comment February 25, 2020The Red Dress.
The trees sway back and forth as a light cool breeze blows off the glistening lake. The birds sing gracefully and you can hear the voices of the people echoing off of the water as they click their glasses together, cheering for a new beginning. Prom. The day that every girl dreams of, besides their wedding day. I am as excited as ever. I step out of the polished black limousine with my elegant red dress that sits just perfectly above my feet, so that I can see my sequined sandals as I amble. I lock arms with my prom date who is dressed in an all black suit with a pocket square that matches flawlessly with my vibrant red dress. We look astonishing. This is the perfect day. The doors open slowly as a breeze pushes us through the aperture and we are welcomed with awe. We line up alphabetically by the first letter of our last name, behind the resort. The sun is shining and my hands are sweating in my prom date’s hands. I’m nervous. My hands are trembling. My prom date glances at me and says. “You got this! This is the day you have been waiting for. You were born for this”. This is the moment where I feel that I am performing the roles of a woman to the best of my ability, or the right way I am supposed to. Ruby ring encrusted with diamonds placed on my ring finger on my right hand, a diamond teardrop necklace that sits above the v-neck of my dress, earrings that hang ever so perfect to match my necklace, walking hand in hand with my prom date. I am doing this all right. “Walk slower so that he can show you off! You’re the gorgeous women!”, my teacher exclaims, confidently. I continue walking as a thought ponders through my head, “Why am I the only one being shown off? It’s his prom too.” I walk on the right of my prom date, the side where all the parents and all my loved ones can see me as my prom date faces away from the crowd to be beside the lake and the railing. We reach the end of the walkway, we turn around and I am on the left hand side as I still face everyone and I am being shown off, everyone saying how good I look. I feel a pit in my stomach. “You look amazing Kayur!” I turn my head towards him and smile, showing him how appreciative I am. I want to show him off. I tell him to switch sides with me so that he is facing the crowd. Voices echo the same thing to me, “Sierra that’s not right.” I turn towards my mom and I say, “It’s his special day too, just because I am the girl does not mean all the attention must be drawn on me.” “That’s my girl,” my mom states with a sense of pride in her voice. 2/19/2020 0 Comments February 16, 2020The Uniform
I walk into the grocery store with my kilt, a white button-up shirt, a navy tie, and my high knee socks. Eyes surround me like a murder of crows looking for their next prey. This is when I wish I didn’t go to a private school. I know that the people in the grocery store are thinking that I live in a big house with an inground pool surrounded by a flower garden, that overlooks the Okanagan lake. These two teenagers whisper just loud enough for me to hear, “She is probably one of those stuck up rich private school kids”. I get a pit in my stomach, I feel sick. Although I should be wearing my uniform with pride, it is almost if I feel ashamed of where I go to school. I wish that I could tell everyone how I am able to go to a private school and that I don’t live in a mansion of any sort but instead, far from. My parents are divorced, my Mom struggles to buy groceries for some weeks and my Dad has been out of town for two months because he needs to work to make money to pay his child support. I attend a private school because my grandma volunteers there, and my Mom picked up a job as an assistant to the principal working for a little amount of money to get a bursary for me and my siblings. As I walk into my house I hear my Mom sobbing, I ask what is wrong, she weeps as she says, “You are not going to go on your graduation trip. It is too expensive and your Dad and I cannot afford it.” I throw my bag on the floor, yelling at the top of my lungs as I storm up to my room, rip off my uniform and throw my clothes on my bed crying and screaming into my pillow. I sit straight up with my back against the head of my bed and ask myself, “How am I going to tell all my friends the reason I can not come on my grad trip?” “Why would my parents do this to me?” Tears stream down my face like a river flowing between mountains. I stop for a moment. I catch my breath. I walk down the stairs, over to the couch and sit next to my Mom with a smile on my face. “I couldn’t be any happier for the life that you and Dad have given me”, I say to my Mom. It is at this moment where I realize that wealth is not about how much money my family has or the size of the house we live in. I am wealthy because I have a roof over my head, food on the table every day and amazing people surrounding me. I look at my mom and with confidence, I say, “Mom, I am going to volunteer at the homeless shelter and make food for those people.” “That is the girl I raised.”, my mom says with an enormous smile that twinkles like a starry night. 1/28/2020 1 Comment January 28, 2020"Different" Mommy, why is his skin black?
He is African-American, and they have darker skin than us. So they are different? Yes, sweetie. It is pouring rain while the fog overtakes the sky, blocking the big yellow circle. Jumping through the knee high puddles of water, running through the soaked patches of grass I finally find my mom’s hand as we cross the road. My yellow rain boots, pink rain jacket, and my teddy bear in my arms bring a smile to my face as the skies glow a grey tint. I will never forget the moment where I raised my head staring into my moms eyes and asked her why some people have a different colour skin than me. She paused, and pondered my question. I think she was wondering why I would ask her that. I was scared, nervous and confused as any child at the age of five would be when they see someone who is different. How does a parent explain to their child at the age of four why someone’s skin is not the same as theirs? I sensed the struggle in my mom’s voice as she tried to explain why his skin was black, she could tell that I was interested and would not stop asking until I understood. I remember going to school and telling my friends about how I saw someone who had black skin and I told them it was scary, because I had never seen someone who was not like me, (there was no range of diversity in my school because it was so small). All my friends told me that their parents told them never to talk to strangers and be careful of the ones that have different colour skin. I was confused. I remember going up to my teacher and asking her, “Why should I stay away from people who are different than me?” she responded with a smile on her face, “You shouldn’t.” This was the first time where I noticed that not everyone is like me and that is how life is supposed to be. People should not be judged for their skin colour. Looking back at this moment I know that the man I stopped and stared at knew why I froze. I am glad that I asked my mom that question because I was able to learn at a young age that it is good to be different. 1/14/2020 1 Comment January 14th, 2020A Winter Wonderland
As the snow falls and the cold wind blows I am accompanied by two smiles that warm not only my soul but also the breath that spills from my lips. It seems as though the only sound is the scraping drag of the hockey stick against the rough ice. As I kneel in front of the net, I feel the frigid ice soak through to the skin on my knees. I stare eye to eye with my brother who stands across the makeshift rink in our backyard, dressed in a simple black hoodie. The rink, built annually by my dad, is surrounded by towering evergreen trees with branches covered in mounds of fresh powder. Slicing through the layer of fog that blankets the ice, my brother skates towards me with the puck. The sound of his scraping skates grows louder as he darts toward me, his black hoodie contrasting the soft orange and yellow sunrise that spreads over the morning horizon. My sister, wearing a pair of scuffed white figure skates cheers me on as I anxiously wait at the top of the crease. In a controlled, yet swift, movement of his stick, he wrist-shots* the puck into the top shelf of the net. I have no chance. As the puck whirls past me into the back of the net, a wide smile spreads across his rosy face. His arms go up in a cheerful celebration, and although I concede a goal, I too find a smile creeping onto my face. Cheers and claps pierce the serenity of the snowy morning. To my delight, after an hour of skating and playing hockey in our backyard, I smell the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon Beavertails and decadent hot chocolate with giant fluffy marshmallows. My grandma emerges from the back door and shouts out, “snack time kiddos!”. In a hurry we unlace our skates, toss them on the ice, and run with excitement to retrieve our delectable treats. The warmth of the mug competes with the warmth of the smiles of my brother and sister on the rink and in what seems like an instant, all my worries disappear into the crisp air. After we devour our snacks, we head out once more into the snow. As we walk down the icy steps, my brother decides to build a snowman on our snow-covered lawn. I roll the body of the snowman while my sister and brother plunge into the air-light snow, helping each other build the head of the snowman. A carrot nose, three blue buttons, sticks for hands and a simple black top hat complete Fred, the snowman. We hear my moms voice behind us, “time to come inside!”. As our mom prepares our favourite meal, butter chicken and naan bread, we sit on the couch cuddled like a momma bear with her cubs, treasuring every moment. Every picture-perfect moment. I smile as I blissfully look outside the frosty window and gaze out into snowy wonderland that is our own backyard. |