The “B” word is way less sexy in Western society than the “L” word.
I take being called a bitch as a compliment.
In today’s world, it is what it is. If you’re aggressive, straightforward and stand up for yourself, a prototype that is generally praised in the United States, and have a vagina, this is more than likely what American society will call you.
I’m okay with that. I adjusted to that fact quite a while ago, and learned to smirk at it just as quickly.
Because of rules made by other people, this is considered a bad word… Well, that is an entirely different argument altogether.
In most societies, it carries a degrading connotation if a man calls a woman such a name. Women have their bitches in their girlfriends, but I love women getting all high-and-mighty riled up about men calling women the same thing.
Whatever. I can curse like a sailor when I don’t monitor myself, which I usually don’t bother to, and in the heat of the moment, childish as it may be sometimes, sure—I resort to name-calling without thinking about what is behind the meaning of a particular word. Everyone does it (whether you vocalize it or not). Get over yourselves. The meaning behind a word is only whatever society has given it.
And if someone stops to actually think about the word before they throw it at you, why, then even better.
The female b-word is unique. It doesn’t mean “jerk,” it doesn’t mean straight-out “mean,” it doesn’t mean “self-obsessed.” Well, not by itself anyway.
Perhaps this is best explained by the example people call Hillary Clinton a bitch and other unprintable things because they wouldn’t want to have a beer with her or cozy up next to her on the couch.
My mother likes to refer to her as “That Pant-Wearing-Socialist.” (This is assuming, of course, that if Clinton were That Skirt-Wearing Socialist, she would be much more palatable for the public.)
Females who know what they want and go after it, displaying the same or usually even less assertiveness than do males in the same situations, are written off as bitches.
That was what I was used to.
Now, suddenly, over here in the Mother Land, it feels like I’m in an even meeker society.
Cultural differences be loved, but I am used to looking people in the eye, smiling, giving a firm handshake, and speaking up when I meet someone for the first time. And…well, continuing to speak up long after I’ve met someone for the first time.
So far that has gotten me a variety of reactions that nevertheless occasionally end with people staring at me sidelong, unnerved, as if I’ve suddenly sprouted an extra head.
I know Americans, especially females, have international reputations as being loud, obnoxious, and overly forward.
We’re a noisy, sometimes largely un-self-aware culture and many of our tourists, leaders, celebrities, and other various individuals are colossally irritating and disheartening for the future of the human race in general. I get that.
I’m not saying this is Central America either. When I lived and worked in Panama last summer, the thing I had the most trouble dealing with was the way women were treated (and the fact that loving to speak up about things typically caused more harm than good if you tried to say or do anything).
It is hardly only the females I’ve encountered here in England that are milder-mannered than the in-your-face contact I’m used to, anyway. I couldn’t tell you the last time I, or any other woman I have seen, was hit on at a UK bar. Don’t get your feminist panties in a twist—I’m not stereotyping an entire country or saying I miss being sprayed with spit by the two-drinks-too-far-gone 30-something with sideburns at Flip Side; these are merely observations.
It’s also nice to be in a culture that is okay with nixing the small talk. Most Americans I know, particularly women, are deeply uncomfortable with silence. They would rather listen to themselves blather on about other people or nail polish than accept the fact that no one in the room has anything notable to contribute at the moment. There is something to be said for just crickets sometimes.
It’s just an adjustment. I’ll try to tone down the infamous horselaugh, but don’t expect one of those limp-fish handshakes from me anytime soon.
Standing up for what you believe in, whatever that may be, speaking out about it, and getting people to think? If that doesn’t scream sex appeal in American society then maybe I’ll just relax the vocal chords and stay put. At least from here I can enjoy the universal healthcare—even if it is something That Pants-Wearing Socialist would approve of.
-Jillian Swords is a contributing reporter studying in England. She will return as a news reporter in January.
