I've been taking an acting class at my university for exactly five weeks. The class began with words from the professor saying we would learn to be vulnerable on stage and that, in turn, we would grow to be more comfortable with each other and performing in front of our peers.
The only thing I've learned in the last five weeks was to cover my body when I come to class. I spend the night before preparing my outfits, as with all the other days of the week. But Monday and Wednesday night are so much different. I don't search my closet for an outfit that makes me feel beautiful the next day -- instead, I try to find the baggiest clothes in my wardrobe.
In my acting class, we do a lot of improv games, which means students are often at the front of the class, given a wild "scene," and asked to play out whatever comes to their minds. A group of five young men enjoy the spotlight and being silly, and I don't think there is a class that goes by in which they do not get up to perform.
I love that they are confident enough in themselves and each other to get up and play the games, but every time they speak, I am afraid.
It was not until I sat in this class that I truly understand the blatant sexism that occurs in my every day life. The young men will "creatively" think up a scene about a sports team or a lunch table, and a majority of their acting ends up with a "hot girl" off in the distance. A silent scene may involve the curvature of hands to replicate a woman's waist. An attempt to be funny calls out an improv player and her "tits."
Their laughter and glances worry me. The laughter they receive from the audience worries me more. Don't get me wrong -- I am guilty of laughing along.
What does that say about us? So often we hear that our generation is making strides in gender equality. We are told that our generation will be the one to "change the world" and end so many stereotypes. And we are proud.
And yet, as we sit in a small acting class at a small university, our small minds react with laughter instead of indignation at the performance. We applaud the way in which a woman and her body were represented on the stage.
We are not making a difference. Not yet.
