How many fucks should we give?
Thoughts on pronouns and being kind.
I’m 49, and I hear a lot of negativity about this phase of a woman’s life. The hot sweats, the chin hairs, the invisibility, the 3am chats with the Reaper: there’s a lot not to like. But there’s one brilliant thing about it, that you just don’t hear enough of, and it’s this:
You give a lot less fucks.
An opportunity comes along? You take it. Are you scared? Yes but also you don’t give a fuck. Someone you don’t like shows up at the party? You leave. Do you feel a bit rude? Yes but also you don’t give a fuck. Your hairdresser asks you what you do for a living and you end up giving her a fifteen minute TED talk about males in women’s sports. Are you worried she might think you’re a terrible terf and give you a revenge mullet? Yes, but again, no fucks to give.
In my twenties and thirties, I gave way too many fucks. Every decision I made in those decades involved some version of, “What will other people think?”, being run through my brain. Now, depleted not only of oestrogen, but also of patience and time, I marvel at just how accommodating I was, how readily I gave parts of myself away, and how quickly and easily people took those parts without so much as a by-your-leave. The world will happily take full advantage of a young woman with way too many fucks to give. If I could give my daughters and any other young women my best piece of advice it would be simply: be more menopause.
#BeMoreMenopause. If we could bottle the bold, change-making energy of middle aged women and give it to 19 year old girls the entire cosmos would transform overnight. Rather than asking all the time, “What will others think?”, they’d find themselves striding about, fizzing with angry energy and unapologetically putting themselves first. From bad sex to social injustice, they simply wouldn’t put up with it for five seconds. But instead, we keep telling them to,‘Be Kind’.
Be Kind - a version of this message has predominated for the past decade in the girl’s clothing sections of every supermarket. The boy’s clothes urge them to explore, play, reach for the stars etc, whilst the girl’s tell them to be kind, or versions of this same message (happy, lovely, sweet, princess, yadayada). It’s been complained about endlessly and yet it barely changes, and even if it did, the wider cultural messaging would stay the same: women, think of others before yourself at all times! (otherwise you are a very nasty person / old / ugly / a Terf / a Karen / have a chin hair.)
Which brings us to pronouns.