On April 9, my husband and I took my younger brother to his first roller derby (and our second): Debutant Brawlers v. Trauma Queens, both of whom are part of the Carolina Rollergirls league along with newly formed Tai Chi-Tahs.
We arrived with no concern for who won but were soon given three reasons to root for the ultimately losing Trauma Queens: crowd favorite Roxy Rocket, who cuts through the pack like a phantom; Penelope Bruz, who won our vote for best dressed with her leather miniskirt of a uniform; and rookie sensation Eris Discordia, whose well-earned victory salute involved pulling up her very short dress to wave her barely covered fanny at the skaters behind her.
I admit that scantily-clad women pummeling one another doesn't sound like family entertainment but you wouldn't know it from a crowd that made Benetton commercials seem diversity-challenged. Folding chairs filled with little kids with dreads, butch lesbians, bespectacled techies, original '70s roller derby fans, and grandmothers in the knitted American flag cardigans weren't the most interesting social commentary of the evening, however: it was the skaters themselves.
I have long thought of feminism in its least feminine variation: the bra-burning, makeup-scorning, no-eyebrow-plucking, comfortable-shoe variety. It was the feminism that was originally needed to bend the status-quo, a visible reminder that society's ideas of womanhood were unnecessarily limited.
For years I subscribed to it - my husband jokes that the first time he saw me in makeup was the day of our wedding, which is close to true. Sure, I owned heels and skirts which I donned for special occasions but in my mid-twenties I stated finding myself with the disturbing desire of wanting to explore my femininity, in the most traditional terms. I got a Mary Kay makeover. I waxed my caterpillar-esque eyebrows. I took my husband's name (though, granted, I initially tried to convince him to ditch his name for a mutually created surname).
Femininity and feminism felt mutually exclusive and I spent months trying to reconcile these contrary needs, during which time my cousin said something that rarely strays far from my mind: We know we can do whatever it is that we want to do, but we don't necessarily want to do it... The power is in the choice, not in the accomplishment.
She was talking about employment but the point is universal: we have reach a place in feminism where we don't have to go to special lengths to make our point; we just have to be whoever it is we want to be.
In that way, the roller derby is a microcosm of modern feminism, both tender and tough. It's not hard to imagine these women of all sizes, shapes, persuasions and personal styles pulling on fishnets and gingerly applying blood red lipstick before the bout so they can look good as they get hip checked into the eager fans sitting cross-legged just outside the rope lights marking the game boundaries.
To me, the brawling beauties are a reminder, too, that though the feminist fight has reached a new stage, it is far from over. While, tough, determined women, from Susan B. Anthony to Sandra Day O'Connor, have diligently chipped away at the glass case of propriety and position, creating holes large enough for women CEOs to slip though, it us up to modern feminists to break down what remains of those walls. Perhaps a skate-clad foot is the perfect tool.
I, for one, will be wearing pearly lipstick and rhinestone-encrusted glasses on feminism's frontline.
This column was originally published in the News & Record on May 3, 2006.
Sarah Beth Jones is a freelance writer specializing in opinion writing, features articles and public relations copy. For more information, contact Sarah at heyyou@sarahbethjones.com.