In loose terms, ‘feminism’ is a movement that seeks to dismantle the patriarchy—that is, the current societal system in which males dominate over females. There are various strands of feminism, though the focus of this essay is a 21st century development termed ‘choice feminism’. Choice feminism contends that ‘feminism should simply give women choices and not pass judgement on what they choose’ so long as the choice is made with a ‘feminist consciousness’: a ‘knowledge of what one is doing and why one is doing it’[1]. The above image analogises the issues with this strand of feminism which, in brief, are as follows: choice feminism entails no standards nor commitment; it can be deployed to endorse choices that uphold patriarchy; its argument hinges on incorrect assumptions about the construction of gender and desires; it promotes selfishness over female solidarity; and, most damningly, it lacks any real, meaningful political goals.
Eliza Clark’s dark satire Boy Parts follows beguiling model Irina as she scouts ordinary men off the streets of Newcastle to participate in masochistic photoshoots. Through its deconstruction of gender roles and its unflinching portrayal of transgressive sexuality, Boy Parts is apt in supporting my critique of the choice feminist movement.
According to the image, in order to become—or at least ‘look like’—a feminist, all one has to do is wear a t-shirt. Choice feminism also entails a lack of standards and commitment: as long as the choice is informed by a ‘feminist consciousness’, the choice is ‘feminist’. In fairness, the need for such a mentality is imperative. In Boy Parts, for example, Irina satirises her best friend Flo’s lack of a feminist consciousness: ‘I hate that she fucking blogs about it, like my sex life is just fucking Tumblr discourse for her. You know for someone who claims to be woke, she truly does not give a flying fuck about consent the second it comes to flapping her skinny lips about my personal business.’[2] As exemplified by Irina’s outburst, women’s relationships are strained by hypocritical appliance of feminist values—and if solidarity amongst women is eroded, the feminist cause will suffer.
Choice feminism’s stress on the need for a feminist consciousness may be coherent, but it does not go far enough. When it comes to politics, what matters are deeds, not thoughts, so having a ‘feminist consciousness’ is meaningless if this ‘consciousness’ does not materialise. In fact, by choice feminism’s logic, a woman who is well-versed in feminist theory could be called a ‘feminist’ even if her actions do not reflect this. By ridiculing women who do not fit today’s conventional beauty standards—in her words, ‘girls with tiny tits and bent noses’—and then contrasting that with her ‘years of dedicated waist training and exercise’ that earnt her a ‘good waist to hip ratio’[3], Irina acknowledges how her beauty grants her more leverage within a society that overvalues female appearance. Irina is perfectly aware of the patriarchal forces that influence her choices, yet her apathy regarding this and, what’s more, her derision towards women who do not respond to patriarchal pressures in the same way as she hardly deem her a ‘feminist’—in fact she is much the opposite. Choice feminism’s requirement of a ‘feminist consciousness’ is ultimately redundant as it does not demand anything of its users.
Regardless of the utility of the notion of a ‘feminist consciousness’, perhaps choice feminism has some merit in its championing of female autonomy, especially considering the long history of transgressive women being branded irrational and ‘hysterical’. However, like how the t-shirt in the image asserts in large, bold capitals that ‘THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE’, choice feminism lacks nuance: it demands for us to respect every choice that a woman makes whilst failing to thoroughly analyse the pervasive patriarchal narratives that motivate these choices. Although R. Claire Snyder-Hall acknowledges that ‘coercive forces’, namely patriarchal ideals, ‘exist’, she still argues that just because ‘many of our decisions are not the product of perfectly “free choice”, whatever that is, [it] does not mean that women’s decisions about how to live their lives should not be respected’[4]: bafflingly, she concedes that women are inclined to make decisions that perpetuate their oppression, yet validates such decisions as good, even ‘feminist’, in the same breath. Pushing this narrative is harmful as it leads women to blame themselves for choices that patriarchal power-structures have coerced them into making, whilst those who benefit from the perpetuation of these power-structures are exonerated. For example, after suffering sexual assault, Irina struggles to distinguish whether the root of her sexual tendencies derives from within or from external forces: ‘Do you like it rough? I think so. I think I must. Men are rough, aren’t they? Have I always had a taste for rough stuff, or did I acquire that? [...] Was it my idea to have him hurt me, or did he just let me think it was?’[5] Her narrative style, usually acerbic and assured, spirals into terse sentences and frantic self-questioning. This disintegration of structure reflects Irina’s own fragmented psyche as she grapples with her own inherent vulnerability as a woman.
When taken to extremes, choice feminism’s permissiveness can manifest in the legitimisation of violence against women, thus standards are necessary in order to protect women from exploitation. Snyder-Hall, however, argues that choice feminism’s commitment to ‘pluralism, self-determination, and non-judgmentalness’[6] is important for the validity of the feminist cause—but is passing judgement not the very nature of politics? If we do not pass judgement, as Linda R. Hirshman cogently puts it, ‘the invitation to leave one another alone is really an invitation to leave the current unjust arrangement in place’[7]. The imposition of tougher standards is necessary in order to challenge the patriarchy in a meaningful way. Choice feminism poses no real threat to the status quo, even going as far as to validate it.
Just like how the bold, capitalised lettering on the t-shirt belies the emptiness of its background, Snyder-Hall’s argument is fundamentally devoid of substance, a series of bold statements that are supported by falsities and contradictions. For example, her acknowledgement that women’s choices are influenced by ‘coercive forces’ contradicts her later claim that women’s choices can also be influenced by ‘deep-seated desires (for exhibitionism or submission)’ and/ or their need to express their ‘gender identity (as feminine)’[8], desires which she misleadingly portrays as innate rather than socially constructed. As radical feminist Gail Dines puts it, we inhabit a culture in which, for example, Playboy magazines, with their ‘soft-core, soft-focus pictures of naked women, [teach] boys and men that women exist to be looked at, objectified, used, and put away until the next time’[9], and concurrently teaches young girls that their appearance is a signifier of their value. As such, it is no wonder that many women desire ‘submission and exhibitionism’, as these are the traits that reap social awards. Furthermore, ‘gender identity’ is not innate either. As feminist Judith Butler argues, ‘acts and gestures, articulated and enacted desires create the illusion of an interior and organising gender core’[10]—in other words, gender is entirely external, a series of acts that one repeats out of habit and social necessity. The supposed ‘deep-seated’ desires that women can have are, in fact, not ‘deep-seated’ at all, but part of the performance that constructs gender. Irina, for example, literally describes the ‘rehearsals’ behind her performance of gender: ‘When I’m brushing my teeth, cleaning my face, moisturising, etc., I spend a little time in front of the mirror rehearsing. I try to smile, naturally, nicely.’[11] Clark’s employment of listing and the rhythmic, almost hypnotic effect created by the alliteration and the pararhyme of ‘naturally, nicely’ all work to convey the ‘mundane and ritualised form of [gender’s] legitimation’[12]—although Butler argues gender is a ‘performance’, for the “actors”, it is not stimulating but laborious. Thus, gender cannot be called innate, and it also is not really a choice for women either. If the arguments for choice feminism hinge on such inaccurate views of the construction of gender, then it is not to be trusted.
Let’s imagine, however, that Snyder-Hall is correct in her claim of the existence of ‘deep-seated desires’ and innate ‘gender identity’. Just like how anyone can wear the t-shirt in the image and “look like a feminist”, it could be argued that in this case, choice feminism is the most apt as it accommodates the diversities of female sexuality. Indeed, ‘pro-sex’ feminist Laurie Bell argues that feminism is about ‘personal empowerment’, and the choice to be, for example, a stripper is ‘personally empowering’. However, if the choice an individual woman desires is one that perpetuates patriarchal ideals or negatively affects other women—even if, let’s suppose, that the choice derives from genuine free-will and not from patriarchal pressures—I do not believe it follows that that choice should be made. As well as symbolising choice feminism’s lack of standards (since anyone, regardless of belief, can wear it), the image of the singular t-shirt also represents how choice feminism focuses overly on the needs of the individual rather than those of women as a collective sex class. As radical feminist Andrea Dworkin cogently states, ‘The fate of every individual woman – no matter what her politics, character, values, qualities – is tied to the fate of all women whether she likes it or not’[13]: in making choices that perpetuate patriarchal values, we further legitimise those values for other women. For example, the fact Irina’s sexual assault is at the hands of a plastic surgeon alludes to the exploitation of the cosmetic surgery industry as a whole, and thus how contribution towards it is not harmless. Forgetting the surgeon’s name, Irina refers to him as ‘John’[14]. Although this choice which may have simply been due to the fact ‘John’ is a generic male name (and would thus symbolise how all males play a part in perpetuating rape culture), ‘John’ is also slang for a client of a sex worker, the implication here being that the objectification and violation of women is inherent to the cosmetic surgery industry. Promoting this ruthless pursuit of individual desires is beneficial for the propagation of the patriarchy as it ‘relieve[s] [women] of [the] responsibility for considering the broader implications of their decisions’[15]—choice feminism promotes selfishness when a sense of empathy and solidarity amongst women would pose a real threat to the status quo.
Despite the numerous glaring flaws with choice feminism, its emphasis on optics remains difficult to refute: whilst it is, of course, important to retain the radicalism of the feminist message, it is unproductive for feminists to be hostile towards their core supporters. In her essay ‘Choice Feminism and the Fear of Politics’, Michaele L. Ferguson acknowledges this, yet she claims that choice feminists overlook the difference between exercising judgement and being judgemental: the former is the awareness ‘that we make political claims within a world of others who are differently situated and who need to be persuaded of the validity of our claims’, and the latter is ‘inappropriately imposing personal standards on other people from without’[16]. Feminists ‘who fail to make "claims that take others into account" are not thereby being judgmental’: they are practising a ‘political skill’[17] that requires honing. Similar to how the t-shirt in the image reduces feminism to a fashion trend, choice feminism is overly concerned with image to the detriment of its productivity.
Although the sentiment behind Ferguson’s argument is understandable, if many feminists consider the personal as political, then the line between ‘inappropriately imposing personal standards on other people’ versus making a ‘political claim’ is a slim one. Whether a statement is classed as ‘judgemental’ or one that merely ‘exercises judgement’ depends on the perception of the individual that the statement is directed at. If the individual feels that someone’s imposition of standards is ‘inappropriate’, then ‘inappropriate’ it will be. Ferguson does not acknowledge that feminists cannot control how their prospective supporters will react to their claims. Both choice feminism’s attempts to encompass all choices and Ferguson’s to avoid feminists being seen as “difficult” are, ironically, reflective of the patriarchal standard of submissiveness and ‘niceness’ imposed on women. Clark herself has discussed how this has affected her work: ‘There’s this expectation that women should be nurturing and comforting, even in books, and that’s absurd.’[18] As such, it seems both choice feminism and Ferguson’s alternative suffer with prioritising image over ideology, although choice feminism takes it one step further. Snyder-Hall admits that ‘far from viewing feminist conversations as over, it imagines them as never-ending’[19]: essentially, she admits that choice feminism has no political goals whatsoever and is thus mainly about appearances.
Overall, as evinced by Irina’s satirical commentary in Boy Parts, choice feminism is fundamentally incoherent and unproductive: it does more to mindlessly legitimise the status quo than to challenge it.
Bibliography.
Baumgardner, Jennifer, and Amy Richards, Manifesta: Young Women, Feminism, and the Future (New York:
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2000)
Bell, Laurie, Good Girls/Bad Girls: Feminists and Sex Trade Workers Face to Face (Toronto: The Seal Press,
1987)
Butler, Judith, from ‘From Interiority to Gender Performances’, in The Norton Anthology of Theory and
Criticism, ed. by Vincent B. Leitch, 3rd edn (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2018),
2383-2388
Clark, Eliza, Boy Parts (London: Influx Press, 2020).
Clark, Eliza, quoted in Chloë Ashby, ‘Eliza Clark: “I'm from Newcastle and working class. To publishers, I'm
diverse”’, Guardian, 22 July 2020, <https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/jul/22/eliza-clarkfrom-newcastle-working-class-publishes-diverse-boy-parts>; [accessed 10 May 2023]
Dines, Gail, How Porn has Hijacked our Sexuality (Boston: Beacon Press, 2010)
Dworkin, Andrea, Right Wing Women (Los Angeles: TarcherPerigee, 1983)
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(2010), 247-253
Hirshman, Linda R., Get to Work: A Manifesto for Women of the World (New York City: Viking Press, 2006)
Snyder-Hall, R. Claire, ‘Third-Wave Feminism and the Defense of "Choice"’, American Political Science
Association, 8 (2010), 255-261
References
[1] Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards, Manifesta: Young Women, Feminism, and the Future (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2000), p.29.
[2] Eliza Clark, Boy Parts (London: Influx Press, 2020), p. 60.
[3] Clark, p. 130.
[4] R. Claire Snyder-Hall, ‘Third-Wave Feminism and the Defense of "Choice"’, American Political Science Association, 8 (2010), 255-261, p. 256.
[5] Clark, p. 136.
[6] Snyder-Hall, p. 256.
[7] Linda R. Hirshman, Get to Work: A Manifesto for Women of the World (New York: Viking Press, 2006), p. 42.
[8] Snyder-Hall, p. 256.
[9] Gail Dines, How Porn has Hijacked our Sexuality (Boston: Beacon Press, 2010), p. 48.
[10] Judith Butler, from ‘From Interiority to Gender Performances’, in The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism, ed. by Vincent B. Leitch, 3rd edn (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2018), 2383-2388, p. 2384.
[11] Clark, p. 116.
[12] Butler, p. 2387.
[13] Andrea Dworkin, Right Wing Women (Los Angeles: TarcherPerigee, 1983), p.11.
[14] Clark, p. 130.
[15] Michaele L. Ferguson, ‘Choice Feminism and the Fear of Politics’, American Political Science Association, 8 (2010), 247-253, p. 250.
[16]Ferguson, p. 251.
[17] Ferguson, p. 251.
[18] Eliza Clark, quoted in Chloë Ashby, ‘Eliza Clark: “I'm from Newcastle and working class. To publishers, I'm diverse”’, Guardian, 22 July 2020, <https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/jul/22/eliza-clark-from-newcastle-working-class-publishers-diverse-boy-parts>; [accessed 10 May 2023]; (para. 12 of 12).
[19] Snyder-Hall, p. 261.