This past weekend, I went shopping.
I went shopping, and for the first time in my entire life, I didn’t hate my body while doing it.
I walked into the store, told the gal I don’t know how to dress myself, and asked if she could help me.
My, did she.
I told her my sizes with confidence (no shame), told her that I have great legs and a soft middle, and I want to find things that look good on THIS body.
It was spectacular. The gal kept bringing me clothes to try on, always checking in, seeing how I’m doing, making sure I wasn’t overwhelmed.
And for the first time? I wasn’t overwhelmed. I was trying stuff on, and if I didn’t like it, it was because I didn’t like it, not because my body was fucking disgusting and goddamnit why can’t I look as good in these clothes as the models do.
Nope, it was just, “Nah, I’m not into this top, it’s not my jam.”
I had agency over my decisions. I wasn’t having a meltdown in there. I wasn’t thinking “I’ll get these even if they’re a bit too tight and surely I will drop 15 pounds before I have to wear this next week.”
When the first few pairs of pants she brought in didn’t even zip, I didn’t speak unkindly to myself, I just took the pants off and asked her for another size.
I felt empowered, supported, seen, understood.
At a fucking store.
At the mall.
By a woman.
Her name was Hillary.
I was going shopping because I’m in LA this week on location for a client commercial. If you know me, you know I’m not super stylish, but I had a great week last week, and I just really wanted to feel as good on the outside as I did on the inside. And my current closet selection was lacking in that area.
And while the fight for equality is an uphill battle, we cannot forget to celebrate the small personal victories. We need to acknowledge these moments so we can stay fueled up for the fight. Feminism isn’t a cutesy thing on a shirt (though I will be rocking mine today with my primarily female-driven crew), or something to sell and commoditize because it’s “trendy.”
Feminsm is a lot of things, but first and foremost, it should be intersectional. Which means that the battles are harder, longer, and fought for more people, not just the women who look/love/work like us.
With that said, we MUST celebrate the small personal victories. Whether that’s successfully gathering up your female friends who are flippant about women’s rights and having a serious conversation, making it through a whole shopping experience without insulting yourself, or just simply waking up in the morning with enough strength to get through another day of smashing the damn patriarchy.
This is how we persist. This is how we fight. This is how we make a goddamn difference.
I want to leave you with what I wrote on this day last year, because every single word still resonates, and it’s a bit more fluffy.
Happy International Women’s Day, folks. Make it a great one.