At the moment, I am experiencing this again but in a new way, as the mother of a ballet dancer preparing for a performance. According to the written instructions I have received, I must put my daughter’s hair in a neat bun by utilizing various hair products. I am also supposed to apply cosmetics such as powder, blush and lipstick to her face. With embarrassment in my voice, I asked Abigail’s teacher for advice, confessing that I am not familiar with cosmetics. In the store I stared at the racks of colored tubes and compacts, scrutinizing labels as if I were learning a new language, overwhelmed and undereducated. Although I know in my mind that makeup doesn’t make up a woman, I feel I must be less than feminine, especially at my age and as a mother, not to know how to put hair in a bun or powder on a face. I feel I must have missed my female instruction manual.

From my earliest memories I was not a stereotypical girl. I didn’t like dolls. I hugged imaginary and stuffed animals instead. I never had a Barbie. I didn’t look like Barbie. Or have her voice. One time I answered the phone and was told I sounded like a boy. Little words but big impact in my memory. I didn’t like pink. Or lace. I couldn’t twirl on bars or dance on balance beams. I lacked grace. When I looked in the mirror and when I looked inside myself, I feared I was a failure in my own gender. I feared I wasn’t the way a woman was supposed to be.

Now I’m raising three girls. We spend most of the days together, my daughters and I, side by side. What it means to be a woman is a crucial question, one that I am answering, sometimes in words but all the time in actions, in the way I live each day, an example before their eyes. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found freedom in femininity. I’m more comfortable with myself, whether or not I look like a model in a magazine or fit what various marriage books say a wife should be. There’s a range, not rules, and a spectrum of possibilities, despite what may be publicized or glorified in society.

Yet it is in moments of mothering my own daughters I can feel insecure about my femininity again. I want an instruction manual so I will feel I will fit the expected standards accorded my chromosomes. But rather than being afraid or embarrassed, it is these times I should seize as examples, opportunities to demonstrate to my daughters what matters most. Maybe they’ll see that their mom needs help with combs and cosmetics. And maybe my daughters will also discover that what it means to be a woman is more than what eyes can see.

I’m not a woman who can afford to spend hours on fashion yet I’ve been consumed by clothing the past few weeks while organizing my daughters’ winter wardrobes and seeking something to wear to Palo Alto in November.

Some of my purchases are passionate. And some are practical. I am a utilitarian shopper and only make the effort if I have a need. But eyes do wander… I have a few pieces that I loved at first sight so I brought them home with me. However they have a occasional quirks such as fabric care requirements, hard-to-match colors or a fit that is slightly imperfect. Yet there’s nothing to me like wearing something I like, something creative and colorful, something that says this is me!.

Occasionally I will buy practical. I’ll go to the mall for a pair of jeans or black boots and that’s what I’ll buy. I’ve discovered though that flexibility is a better asset. Sometimes even if I try to be organized and focussed on what I want, or if I try to build a specific look or outfit, I can’t find it. It’s better to be open to options. (Next time I go jean shopping, I’ll learn from Jacqueline Massey Paisley Passey…)

Then I come home with the clothes. Sometimes I have fun parading them before my husband. And sometimes I feel I need to make a little explanation about the price tag before I show him what I did with our money at the mall.

I don’t think I’ve ever hidden receipts from my husband. But apparently some wives try to keep their clothing expenditures secret…that is, when they allow themselves to buy clothes…

Women who buy on the sly: Guilty feelings persist even when it’s their own money [Seattle Times] (excerpt)

Despite women’s growing economic power and independence, the cost of their wardrobes remains one of the best-kept secrets in many homes. Even wives who earn money and need to dress well for work and social events often don’t want their husbands to see the bills. As a result, this “Shh-h-h, don’t tell” accounting is surprisingly common at all economic levels, according to fashion retailers and wardrobe consultants.

The secrecy stems in part from women’s guilt about spending money on themselves. But it can also reflect deeper issues in a couple’s relationship.

[...]

By the 1970s, as legions of women embarked on careers, domestic roles and expectations shifted. Now, von Sperling says, even though women have more power, their sense of self-worth and entitlement sometimes appears to have diminished. “They’ll spend money on themselves, but they’ll still feel guilty.”

Motherhood can pose another obstacle. “Many women who are home with kids don’t think they deserve to spend money on themselves,” says Mary Lou Andre, author of “Ready to Wear” and a wardrobe consultant. “They’re not working, not bringing money into the house. But taking care of children is tremendously taxing, and you need to feel good about yourself.”

Another guilt-producer is the bathroom scale. “A lot of women don’t feel good about spending money on clothes when they’re not at the perfect weight,” Andre says.

I use many of the same excuses as reasons why I don’t have an updated wardrobe. I don’t work outside the home. I hardly appear anywhere where nicer clothes are needed. With little kids fancy clothes are impractical. I usually wear jeans since we are often outside walking a trail, kicking a ball or climbing a ladder. Also I want to exercise more before I invest more in clothes.

And I do feel guilty when I spend money on myself. I have finally accepted the fact that the kind of shoes I need to buy to support my flat pronating feet cost more than $100. I need these shoes. It’s okay if I buy one pair a year.

I do feel good if I have something nice to wear. I feel it is silly to say it – clothes don’t make the woman – or do they?! but I feel it is true. Although I believe that the source of self-esteem shouldn’t be one’s closet, I think it can help to feel pretty.

My favorite new item at the moment is a pink patchwork skirt. I saw it hanging on a rack outside an island boutique and I knew I had to bring it home with me. I like the colors and the fit. At the end of the day, as I’m dusting the bedrooms or folding laundry, sometimes I’ll slip into this skirt. I’ll spin and twirl and feel the fabric fold around me. It’s a little escape, something pretty, something that says this is me.

I’m not sure that spending lots of money on clothing is necessary or perhaps appropriate or even wise for at-home moms (living on one income) but I liked this quote of justification: But taking care of children is tremendously taxing, and you need to feel good about yourself. I’ll have to try that one the next time I go clothes shopping…

This piece that Glenn Reynolds linked takes the opposite tact, arguing that the declining birthrate in Europe could be improved if women would heed his advice…

…So ladies, if you could just round up your Jimmy Choos, Manolo Blahniks and other fancy footwear and place them over there on the bonfire please? You won’t be needing them any more as I am about to show you with impeccable liberal logic.

[...]

…as for the good of the Continent you are going to have to go back to being barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen. This might also cure us of the current plague of celebrity chefs as feeding your extensive brood on one income will require intimate knowledge of macaroni cheese, not foie gras.

The irony in this ironic article is that the author, Tim Worstall, cites the United State’s fertility statistics, as if these philoprogenitive Americans should be imitated. He also urges women to give up their fancy footwear for fertility. However, the Seattle Times piece praises the power of fashion in a mother’s life.

I don’t own any Jimmy Choos. I’ve been barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen on more occasions than I can recount. But contrary to Worstall’s opinion, I think those European women should be allowed to keep their sexy shoes…and buy more of them…for a number of reasons…

“It’s important for women to invest in themselves, whether it’s a foreign-language class, a cooking class, or a new suit. Anything that enhances you in a positive way is worth it. Then you have more power to go out and invest in other people around you.”[Seattle Times]

When a woman has power to invest in other people around her, her husband (and children) will be appreciative! And this joy will only increase as the family grows Not to say that purchasing a pair of shoes or a suit will make a marriage magical or motivate motherhood…but it might help…and it’s better than hiding receipts or high heels from your husband…

Ah, the kind of day yesterday was, I could have used a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. Or a spin in a silky skirt. Maybe I am a woman after all. I’ll have to settle for the Binary Circumstance Women’s T shirt I received in the mail this weekend from CafePress…;-)

Or a browse through Ariel Meadow Stallings’ fashion forecast.

Often I feel quite confident of my femininity. That is, until I walk into a room of women. There’s something about an all- female group that intimidates me. I realized this suddenly last week when I visited one. It’s a bit of junior high deja vu. I suddenly feel I’m on the outside of an enormous clique. Something inside me is still thirteen. I’m terrified and feeling instantly insecure and rejected. These women belong but I don’t. They have their group language, history and secret jokes. They even have the same hair. They are friends. I am certain I will never fit.

I push these fears aside and put a smile on my face. But it gets worse. The group starts discussing crafts….

At this stage of life, when I make the extensive effort to get together with other women, I’d like some intellectual interaction. Let’s discuss the federal deficit! Or talk about terrorist networks. Teach ourselves how to hack an OS kernel. Okay, I’d settle for hacking HTML instead. CSS? RSS? Or even exploring some simple psychology. Neural anatomy and brain development. Hey, I’d even enjoy playing with some politics. Let’s make presidential election predictions based on the recent state polls. Or debate national security, capital punishment and gun control.

But please don’t ask me to control a gun of glue and assemble fabric flowers into some sort of wall montage. I’ll make a dress for my daughter or curtains for a window. At home. But don’t ask me to trim pictures into stencil shapes, paint pumpkins, or spell my child’s middle name with macaroni. It’s just not me.

But then I begin to wonder whether it is me who is the problem. I begin to wonder whether I am a woman. I don’t seem to enjoy these girlie groups. I don’t like to do crafts. I don’t like the fluffy chatter. I want to go deep and intense and direct. Forget gluing flowers to hang on the wall. Or gluing nails on my fingers. But then am I truly feminine? Why don’t I like to hang out with my peers? What kind of woman am I? I’d rather interact with people through the computer than drive 20 miles across the county to sit in a church basement in person.

Where are the women in blogging seems to be a constant question. Female bloggers can be uncommon. But I am realizing that where I want to be is with the women who are in the blogs. And with bloggers in general…

A few other posts in the past week caught my eye on gender differences and men and women:

Michael Williams feigned surprise that men and women are different. I don’t fit many of his ideas(definitions?) about women, but that’s good…for a number of reasons…

Beth Grigg has some ideas for future Microsoft conferences for men and women.

You are invited to the first annual conference on work-life balance for all male Microsoft employees. Topics include:
• How to have a real relationship
• How to go home for the night even though it won’t compile

Scheherazade wrote

My criteria are fairly simple for dating: I’m looking for someone cute, fun, and smart. It is easy to find two out of the three, but all three in one package is harder.

Guess I got really lucky!

After reading at feministe, I read danah boyd’s proposal on Representations of Digital Identity which will be presented at the Computer Supported Cooperative Work 2004 conference.

Some of the questions proposed include:

What are the differences between digitally constructed presentations of self and the projection of self through the body? What does the digital form say about how the body is used to project identity?

[...]

In what ways can/should/do users have control over their digital representation of self? How does this differ from the control that people have over their bodies?

With the feministe pieces still in my mind, I wondered how these aspects of femininity affect digital identity. How does a modest woman express herself on-line? Author Rachel Ann wrote

I dress modestly because I want my scent, the scent of my soul to prevail; what I think of as the real me. Not my body, my weight, the color or length of my hair. Not whether my face is smoothed or wrinkled; or marred by some disease or disaster.

I want people to see my thoughts, my feelings, my value. I am modest not in an effort to hide, but to reveal.

Does this kind of connection happen easier in an Internet relationship? How can one bring back the scent of flowers to an on-line world?

Women who have been assaulted often wrestle with issues of body image. Does a survivor of sexual violence communicate this in her on-line persona? Just as there may be characteristics that abused women exhibit due to their experience, are there indicators on-line of what a woman has suffered? How does the way a woman feels about her body and her sexuality become communicated through her digital identity?

Questions I wish I had more time to explore….

…so I thought I’d give my kids a head start on filling in the gaps, and let them read Danielle Crittenden’s book at an early age…apologies for the poor photo quality…it’s from our pre-digital days…

In response to my retro-rose-colored ramblings the other night, Jay reminded me of reality and then Richard added an apt Danielle Crittenden quote to our dialogue. It was years ago when I read her book (the picture above is NOT Elisabeth…) and I don’t remember many specifics from What Our Mothers Didn’t Tell Us: Why Happiness Eludes the Modern Woman but I do remember that I liked it. I liked it to the point of advertising it to others, dropping it into conversation and emails whenever I could. I was amazed by how well it resonated with me. Thanks, Richard, for helping me remember…and go through our family photos to find this one…

I want to clarify and say that I don’t believe the past was better than the present. Even if Jane Austen’s novels seem richer with romance. Rose-colored retro-glasses tend to be deceptive and I resist wearing them except in my moments of weakest temptation. I am aware that the life I live now I would not have been able to have in another time or culture. Every era has its strengths and weaknesses. I am certainly enjoying many pleasures, freedoms and benefits of being where I am here and now: I am grateful.

For example, if I had lived in Jane Austen’s day, I wouldn’t have been able to wear a T-shirt. Jay now has made makeoutcity.com T-shirts and hats available through CafePress. He even has them in toddler sizes. Jay, perhaps you should buy some of the smaller sizes and save them for your first born, whom I hope you will love and cherish much more than any Powerbook…*

Another shirt I’d like to see offered in a todder size would be Lisa’s. I’ve bugged her in the past about bumper stickers for her blogs. Her T-shirts would be particularly helpful for our family. When people ask me – as they often do – what our homeschooled daughters are studying – I could say “They are Learning the Lessons of Nixon!”

I think there are any number of intriguing blogs that could make great T-shirts, hats and maybe even glasses…;-)

*forgot to add in original posting, updated 7/13/04 15:40 pm

I’m grateful Scoble resurrected his aggregator blog recently and since the weekend he has posted hundreds of entries. In one he linked to Sara Comments on Women in Computer Science and in the other he linked to the Geek Wives Club women unified by the common condition of having husbands that carry their mistresses–I mean computers–wherever they go… (link is broken so I can’t link directly, but I did read it)

While I’m happy to make new friends and meet other women, I’m not sure I belong in the Geek Wives Club. It’s not only the fact that I don’t own a sarong. Sure, my husband likes his computers. When we were first married, I called his machine Mistress Mac. I was jealous.

But things have changed in time. Our marriage has improved and grown deeper – or maybe it’s me who has grown in maturity and security. I no longer envy any microchips, even pretty-”platinum”-encased ones with fruit logos on the lid.

Part of these changes in me are also changes in my use of computers. Like Ted does, now I find myself spending hours on-line, reading and writing blogs. I don’t feel I can point the finger at my husband, when I’m guilty myself of sitting and staring at the screen. One night he came to talk to me at my desk and thought it was funny to see the role reversal – I was in the middle of trying to hack the HTML for my blog templates, frustrated and focussed on my computer with an intensity usually reserved for Ted. I can’t bring my laptop to bed, as he can (he’s only done it once or so) but that’s because it was my choice not to get a wireless card for my machine. Otherwise, who knows, maybe I’d be tempted too…I feel my husband might be as much a candidate for a Geek Husband’s Club. (do they wear sarongs?! or maybe Utilikilts?)

Sara Ford’s thoughts on her experiences, how she became involved with computers and programming, make it clear that I am not in the same class she is. I’ve been the only female student in a course (college p-chem) and one of a few in my science -intense route through the educational system. I did well in math when I was in school. But I didn’t study computer science or spend my spare time writing lines of code when I was a child. I can’t pretend I’ve had the experiences she’s had.

I’m not sure where I fit. Wherever I’ve worked, I’ve found myself as the one trying to help the office get on-line, create a web site, or access email. I’ve been one of the most computer-aware and Internet-conscious employees in my (small) group. Now I find myself explaining “RSS” and “weblog” to my friends and family. In the circles where I spend time, I find I am often the “geekiest”.

But I’m not very geeky at all, compared to Sara or my husband or anyone who can code. I’d like to learn. I try to learn. I have to be realistic though and realize that at this time in my life, I don’t have the intensity to study and master many languages, computer or other. I want to learn more HTML and then I had planned to try Python. At the moment I’m hoping I can sit alongside my girls when Ted teaches them computer science. But I know I can’t try to compensate for more than twenty years of technical education and pursuits that I’ve missed.

I’m not sure where I fit – not quite a Geek Wife, but definitely not a programmer. I understand more than I would have, if I hadn’t married Ted. At the same time, I can’t swim in all the acronyms or attempt to understand certain conversations.

Sara wrote

Perhaps with the advent of the Internet in so many households, we’ll start to see the number of women involved in computer science increase.

I hope so. I want my girls to grow up talking about RSS and XML. I want it to be their second language. Second nature. I want them to know how to program. Maybe they can marry a Geek. But I hope they want to be one too. At least a little.

Dave Winer linked to an interesting article in the BBC about teenage bloggers

Teenage boys and girls are using blogs, easily publishable online diaries, in many more similar ways than has been predicted, according to a study.

As I’ve been reading blogs this past week, I’ve noticed more discussion concerning the question: Where are the women?

I believe that the complicated answer to the question has multiple dimensions. Numerous factors play parts, including sociology, biology, neurology, psychology, sexuality, computer science courses, educational systems, video games, previous generations and economics. I can’t, shouldn’t and won’t attempt to provide the complex answer; that role belongs to those with expertise and experience that I lack.

But from what I see, I feel there is a simple observation I can say in response to “Where are the women?”

Many women are here now.
Many more are coming.

Then again, there’s nothing like trying on a swimsuit to bring one into reality – and to help me feel less than pretty. If it wasn’t for the price tag and practicality (when do I go to the beach to look pretty anyway? usually I’m carrying kids and bags of diapers and wipes, wearing boots and shorts for tide pool explorations…but maybe if I had such a suit, I could find some excuse to wear it…) I’d order it anyway, in hopes of finding that pretty feeling.

I think Scheherazade captured it well, this fun spinning in a dress, elegance, feeling lovely.

…it fit like a glass slipper. I felt like a princess. When I got home from work I tried it on again, late, and spun around with a big smile.

It’s addictive. And powerful. A couple months ago I bought a skirt, and whenever I had a chance to try it on, even for a few moments, I’d slip into it and feel the fabric caress me as I twirled between laundry baskets in the hallway.

Do guys get this feeling? I don’t know if guys feel particularly handsome or hot when wearing certain outfits. But I know that there’s something feminine to to feeling pretty…as Maria in West Side Story expounds in a song that seems narcisstic and silly and fun…

I feel pretty,
Oh, so pretty,
I feel pretty and witty and bright!
And I pity
Any girl who isn’t me tonight.

I feel charming,
Oh, so charming
It’s alarming how charming I feel!
And so pretty
That I hardly can believe I’m real.

See the pretty girl in that mirror there:
Who can that attractive girl be?
Such a pretty face,
Such a pretty dress,
Such a pretty smile,
Such a pretty me!

I feel stunning
And entrancing,
Feel like running and dancing for joy,
For I’m loved
By a pretty wonderful boy!

A dress is nice. It’s fun to feel beautiful or to enjoy a favorite outfit. But, after all, it’s love that makes me feel pretty and stunning and entrancing … “like running and dancing for joy”…no matter what I’m wearing…!

How beautiful you are, my beloved, how beautiful! Song of Songs 1:15