Exposing Ourselves in Public.
Free the Nipple
There’s this nipply thing going around the internet these days, and it’s hashtagged freethenipple. Basically, it’s a feminist movement (and movie) lobbying to allow our lovely lady bits (nip bits, specifically) to be released from their prison—our clothing: tit-slings (bras), wife-beaters, tube tops, and sweater-stretchers—you name it, anything that women wear.
Modern feminists claim that in order to break the glass ceiling, attain true equality and overcome all manner of male (gender?) oppression, we must be permitted to bare our boobs. Not just cleave. Not just under-cleave. Not even just side-boob. Nope, they want to see nipple action on the streets of Wherever and Whenever. Same as dudes can.
Okay, I get it. I am sort of a feminist. Ish.
I even agree with equality. I’m cool with non-discriminatory same-same wages and job opportunity and with women having a voice and even voting *sarcastic grin*. And I’m for sure super glad we can just say No—or Yes *wink*.
But I’d rather not expose my naked high beams in public. (Not that the reform suggests this as mandatory.) But, in all politically correct seriousness, here’s why I’m against #freethenipple:
Sex is a powerful motivator, especially for men, maybe especially for men in business. Why take away one of women’s last remaining points of leverage: sexualized high beams? The other is the vagina, which is awkward to flash in a board meeting without fallout. Especially since wearing skirts is anti-feminist nowadays. Imagine trying to flash our va-jay-jay whilst wearing slacks? There’s the whole undoing the belt (no pant suit is complete without a fashionable cincher). And then there’s the zipper and, of course, during all of this lag time getting our labes out, the moment is lost. In big business, timing is everything, people.
Car accidents—not from chicks walking down the street bare to the breeze and men driving all haywire, but topless Tinas dropping their cell phones while driving and trying to take a selfie on the way to the office where they no longer work as secretaries (because their shakin’ bakin’ Ta-Tas have taken them straight to the top of the corporate ladder; see #1. Just because there are still fewer than 1% of Bitchin’ Babes at the top of the corporate ladder is beside the point.
Personal injury claims would send insurance premiums through the glass ceiling. A woman could be going up an escalator and could trip, fall, and get her nipple caught in the grate. Or bountifully busted babes could be giving themselves black eyes when jogging, or possibly other joggers if these sexy sprinters are really top heavy. The Boston Marathon would have to be shut down. (Wait, I think most runners have small boobs. I could be mistaken… But the escalator thing could happen for sure, followed by a day with Judge Judy and then buh-bye Trump Tower.)
Leaky, lactating milk jugs in restaurants could cause medical disasters with the lactose-intolerant should a spout accidentally go off and strike some poor guy at a nearby table in the mouth just as he is about to take a bite of his tastes-like-chicken taco. Legal claims galore! (I have no idea if human breast milk has the same allergic reaction in lactose-sensitive adults as animal dairy does. Who would study that? Seriously.)
Um, most importantly, I’d like my nipples to remain sexually objectified sexual objects, thank you kindly. What if (straight) men did stop popping chubbers looking at our pencil erasers? Maybe not all gals (or guys) have erotically sensitive nipplettes, but this lady does, and I’d like them to not be forgotten or abandoned because they became no more arousing than my elbow is to a (normal) dude. Am I right or am I right?
Here’s the thing: Feminism has done wonders for women’s liberation. #Truth.
But although feminism has empowered women, it’s emancipated men (in some ways) and left them confused (in many ways). Do they open our car door or not? Pull out our dinner chair or not? Compliment us on our hair, make-up, God-forbid our bodies or (God-forbid) not compliment us?
There is certainly still a gap in the business and political world—I’d argue that the business/political world is one and the same—but we ladies have become equals in many other ways. In our admirable support of each other, we can now support ourselves, buy sperm, raise families and open our own doors of opportunity—without any real need of men. Um. Hmm.
I appreciate what radical feminists, like Gloria Steinem, have done for us. And! Now I’m ready to allow—Hell, I encourage—men to take their balls out of our purses, ditch their man bags and get back to the business of being men. And part of that, for me, is sexually objectifying my damn nipples!
Come in, Tokyo!
What have I (re)learned?
It will take at least one generation (likely longer) for straight men to become desensitized to the female nipple, and I’ll be worm-bait by then so it won’t affect me. Let’s face it, grown men still giggle like teenage boys when I mention bionic vagina.
Even if women on the streets of Wherever and Whenever allow their cups to runneth over, I can benefit because no matter who pumps up his1 “tire,” I’ll still be riding his “bike.” (And Hell’s bells, maybe he’ll even appreciate my sexualized bits more! Win-win, baby!)
Homework: Put your girls away, Jorgensen, you’re causing another scene in the coffee shop!
1If I decide to get a “he”. The jury is still out on that one.
