slut · noun \’slət\ · a promiscuous woman
Slutty girls used to make me really mad. They were hot, they knew it, and all they had to do was flash a little cleavage and they got whatever they wanted. They made me look ugly and prudish by comparison, and I feared that no man would want to “settle” for me when they were constantly seeing their scantily clad fantasies walk by. I was jealous and wished I could look like them, yet I loathed their unfair superficial ways on principle.
All of this changed when I became friends with a few of these girls and saw what being a slut really entailed. I realized that my jealousy and resentment were stupidly pointless and unfounded. Maybe they got whatever they wanted in an immediate sense, but it came with a huge price – human respect. Sluts might get what they want in a short-term, physical sense, but in the process, they are dehumanized and hardly anyone truly respects them.
- Women don’t respect sluts because they are jealous and/or fear that they will steal their boyfriends away. They also fear that the presence of slutty women gives men impossible high expectations for how women should look and perform sexually. Don’t be jealous that most women (including other sluts) hate sluts.
- Men don’t respect sluts because they don’t have to respect them in order to get what they want. They see them more as toys instead of people. They have no idea that the girl they slept with one night and then never called again is now crying over a tub of ice cream, wondering why she wasn’t good enough; it doesn’t enter their mind because toys don’t have feelings. Don’t be jealous that emotionally immature and selfish men use and abuse sluts.
- Sluts don’t respect themselves. They give themselves away because they don’t realize that they’re worth so much more. And with women hating them and men using them, why would think highly of themselves? They stake so much of their value on how they look that a pimple or cowlick can crush their self-esteem into a million tiny pieces. Don’t be jealous of fragile self-esteem and self-loathing.
I know, I know, this isn’t always the case. Before you accuse me of generalizing, let me confess that one of my friends is a self-proclaimed “slut” who can sleep around without falling apart. She is incredibly self-assured, independent, and able to be emotionally detached in her sexual relationships. Not all sluts are suffer equally, some girls can successfully pull off the slut lifestyle. If that’s you, congratulations –slut away! Based on a rudimentary survey of my social circle, however, self-respecting sluts are incredibly rare. In fact, my aforementioned friend is the only woman I’ve met who can live like that. All my other slutty friends are insecure wrecks.
I always wonder why they choose to do this to themselves. I watch my friends cry and vent about how stupid boys are and wonder why they don’t just say “no” when boys ask them to go home with them. A lot of times, they believe this is just how relationships are supposed to be, especially when they see the same thing happening all around them to their fellow sluts and all the magazines talk about it as if it’s totally normal. For many of them, it’s repeated naïveté: they genuinely mistake male lust for love, so when they get dumped, their response is to try to make themselves hotter in hopes that it will prevent it from happening again. Their self-worth and value hinge on their ability to constantly attract men.
But, you might ask, isn’t it their fault that they are slutty? Aren’t they responsible for forfeiting their own right to respect? Yes, in some ways they are. But in other ways, they’re victims of their culture, and they’re paying a hefty price for it. The idea that looks are of utmost importance is such an obvious lie to me because I grew up being told I was ugly and had to get my self-worth from other sources, but it’s not necessarily obvious to girls who grew up constantly being told how pretty they are, with that as their main value. Hollywood tells us that women are worthless if they’re not hot, and the hotness barometer is popular male opinion. These girls desire to be affirmed by male opinion more than they desire respect. It’s no wonder that these girls can’t see a way out. This certainly doesn’t warrant jealousy.
So, no matter how much you want to strangle the next hot blonde with giant boobs who snags your crush (girls) or tap that thang with no strings attached (boys), remember that sluts are people too and should be treated accordingly.
“If you want to feel sexy, wear sexy underwear!” It’s one of those fun, sexy, and kinda-naughty-but-not-enough-to-be-shameful pieces of advice that gets passed around in female circles. I’ve had conversations with friends on this subject, I’ve read about it in Cosmo and equally-classy women’s magazines, and I’m pretty sure Oprah has said something to this effect.
Up until I got to college, my underwear came exclusively in economically thrifty packages from Target. They are awesome for several reasons:
- Sooo cheap!!! $5 for a week’s supply of 7? Um, yes please!
- Soft and cottony… mmm
- Fun and colorful! Yay!
Then I spent my freshman year of college living in a co-ed dorm. I know that there is controversy about allowing young men and women to live so physically close together, but for a girl who was raised to fear boys, living with 22 of them all at once was a very educational experience. I’ll probably write more on that experience later, but back to underwear: we talked about underwear a lot. Actually, we talked about sex a lot, but underwear was a frequent tangent.
It was through these deep conversations with my floor mates that I learned that the clear winners in women’s underwear were these things called thongs. The term “thong” was not foreign to me because I grew up wearing thongs all the time. Of course, by “thongs,” I mean what the rest of the world calls, “flip flops” (my parents still talk about how much they love wearing thongs in the summertime. It’s embarrassing.). I had no idea what an underwear thong was until middle school, when I had a conversation with my friend who was talking about sexy underwear, while I was talking about summer footwear. Thanks to that horribly awkward experience, I at least knew what my college floor mates where talking about, though I had yet to wear one.
Intrigued, and feeling behind-the-times, underwear-wise, I decided that maybe I should try one of these things for myself. I went to my old trusted friend, Target, and bought a pair (probably for under $5! Go me!). I saved it for a special day when I knew I would be seeing this guy I had a huge crush on at the time, to see if Oprah was right.
At first, it wasn’t that bad, it was just different. I felt kind of sexy just knowing that I was wearing something scandalous under my jeans. But as the day went on and I realized that the string in my butt wasn’t going anywhere, it got increasingly annoying and uncomfortable. By the end of the day, it was all I could think about! Instead of feeling sexy, my mind was plagued with thoughts of my own discomfort, worry over whether or not this boy I loved could see this discomfort, and how I wished I had just gone commando instead. I was not confident, funny, smart, interesting, smiling, or any of the other qualities that I would normally associate with being sexy. I was just fervently annoyed at a stupid piece of string.
Since then, I have occasionally tried wearing them again, in hopes that I could get used to it and just feel sexy, dangit! I even somehow ended up with a few more pairs, but I always come to the same conclusion: it’s not worth it! They are currently stuffed in the back of my underwear drawer, along with all my ugly old worn out underwear that is reserved strictly for days when I run out of clean laundry. Maybe one day the thongs will come back out, but for now, I’m just going to wear what makes me happy and comfortable. I don’t care what Cosmo or Oprah says; being happy and comfortable makes me feel infinitely sexier than being distracted by a relentless wedgie.
My parents really wanted their daughters to succeed in life, so therefore, they wanted to make sure we stayed away from boys until we got into good colleges. Their method? FEAR. And it was incredibly effective. So effective, in fact, that my sisters and I are all still single! Of course, my parents’ hope for future grandchildren decreases by the day, but that’s a small price to pay for protecting their princesses from the world’s douchebags. Continue reading to learn their parenting techniques…
1) Isolate your girls from any and all male peers. My parents successfully had 0 sons and 3 daughters, and they raised us in an all-girl neighborhood. Our neighborhood had over a dozen girls of all ages and races, but impressively no boys. There must have been something in the water. The only boys who were ever present were two guys who occasionally visited their grandmother, who lived across the street. They vegetated inside playing video games all day while we played outside. They didn’t care about us, so we didn’t care about them. Since we had such little interaction with boys, my parents had total control when it came to forming our opinions about boys. That absolutely must be your goal – total control. This leads to step 2:
2) Explain that S-E-X is the grossest thing ever. I still remember when my mom told me about sex. I think I was around seven or eight, and we went into my parent’s little walk-in closet (which was the scariest place in our house, so it was fitting). She explained that sex was when a man put his penis into a woman’s vagina and then a baby comes out 9 months later. I think there was an accompanying book with drawings of naked people or something, because I didn’t understand how the man could get that big dangly thing up there. When I asked my mom about this issue, she explained that when a man gets turned on, like by looking at a woman’s boobs, his thing magically gets really hard and it rises so he can put it in. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever heard! Fortunately, my mom added, only married people had sex, and they only had to do it when they wanted to have a baby. Oh thank God, there was a way out! I didn’t need to get married or have babies! I never wanted to participate in (or even talk about) sex ever again.
3) Emphasize that boys think about sex 24/7! SEX! SEX! SEX! Yes, sex, that gross nasty thing we just talked about in step #3. This will convince your daughters that boys are the absolute epitome of grossness. EWWW!!!!!
4) Openly frown upon girls who like boys. My dad hated the Disney Channel show, Lizzie McGuire, because Lizzie constantly wanted a boyfriend, instead of focusing on her schoolwork. He would point this out repeatedly to us until we finally realized that Lizzie was a little slut. We went back to doing our homework like good girls because we weren’t needy like Lizzie and didn’t want stupid boyfriends holding us back. Whenever we did get infected with crushes on boys, we kept those shameful secrets to ourselves.
5) Condemn all forms of PDA. When your daughter gets older, biology and hormones will start to take over, so she might start to forget some of these things you taught her and start talking to boys. You have to accept that she will be talking to boys, as its difficult to function in society without verbally interacting with males, but you mustn’t let this progress to touching. Remind her of point #3 and that allowing boys to touch her could potentially launch that nasty rising process. This will immediately remind her of the nausea experienced in your walk in closet years earlier and discourage all forms of inappropriate physical contact, such as hand-holding, hugs, and even taps on the shoulder. She’ll avoid coming into contact with male skin as if it were infected with a fatal fungus.
So that’s it! It’s pretty simple. In no time, your daughters will be the academically overachieving single man-hating women you’ve always wanted!