What does it mean to be feminine? Is it rooted in appearance, in long hair and pink skirts? Or is it more associated with action, in the way one speaks and acts, in the way they walk and the way they carry themselves? Is it actually anything at all, or just the way society has told us to see each other, on a scale from pink to blue? It’s not my question to answer, though it is certainly a topic I am obligated to discuss.

“What happened to your pretty, lovely hair?” My mother runs a hand through my freshly cut hair, trimmed around the ears in what I saw as a very mod, very chic haircut. She doesn’t say she hates my haircut, but anyone with eyes could see the worry in my mother’s eyes. Her daughter, with boy's hair— it was a tragedy. I wear button ups and big sweatshirts; I am flat chested and frequent a pair of Birkenstock clogs; my makeup is often nonexistent, if not a blend of nudes and soft pinks, made to look like no makeup at all.

Does that make me any less of a woman?

The answer is no.

Because I feel like a woman and I always have, which is nothing to shy away from. I am proud of my femininity, as avant-garde as it may come across.

As we, the general public, stray away from heteronormative gender roles, as women gain more and more of a voice in our contemporary culture, there is more and more of a desire to stray away from the common principles of femininity. But with this comes, for many women, something of an identity crisis. There’s nothing wrong with being femme and wearing dresses or whatever, but know that such style is being reinforced by the patriarchy; years and years of oppression rooted in every smack of lipgloss, every click of your heels against the pavement. There’s nothing wrong with wearing clothes that don’t highlight your femininity, but then again, where’s your pride in your lady-ness?

It seems to be an impossible enigma, and I constantly feel like I’m juggling the two. If I leave the house dressed down in skinny jeans and a rugby polo, I often feel like I look too masculine, as if someone will mistake me for a boy because my face is bare and my hair is short and my clothes don’t scream WOMAN. When I am at work, if I wear anything nice, certain lovely middle-aged men (with smiles that leave me writhing behind my work hat), have to tell me how beautiful I look or how pretty I am.

It seems that finding one's identity as a woman can often be muddied by the expectation of individuals that have absolutely no insight into how you feel inside; whether it’s male or female or nothing at all. I suppose the issue isn’t how you define your femininity, but how others view the ideals of femininity, be it your mother who misses your “pretty, lovely” long hair, or your co-worker that compliments you every time you wear a skirt.

I am interested then, as to why feminists might choose to represent their brand with the color pink. Why feed into the binary of men and women and feminine and masculine? Is it problematic that I might see an issue with the choice of the color pink, that I don’t just see it as a color but as a way of defining a particular facet of your being? I can’t answer these questions because even as I speak now, I can feel my body tensing up at the thought of this becoming an extended study of Plato’s “essence” philosophies, which even after hours of studying still leaves my head spinning with thoughts of who makes what makes what?????

So, what is the essence of a woman? What is the essence of femininity?

It is whatever the hell you want it to be.

Wear skirts if you want or pants if you don’t. Cut your hair off and then grow it out. In the end, those who mind don’t matter and those who matter will see you as you want to be seen. Take charge of your identity.