It’s a hot, grossly humid Sunday in a pandemic year. If that wasn’t exhausting already, I find myself in a social experiment that involved a digital detox, self-introspection and keeping my idle nephew alive and well-entertained.
So, just your typical Sunday, huh!
As the two of us sat up on the sofa carefully curating our day without the crutch of the doom scroll, we filled up the hours doing things we love. We found joy in between the pages of our novels and in the crumbs of our freshly baked cookies. Hearty giggles ensued as we attempted to hand-paint Van Gogh’s The Starry Night and instead were left with a messy floor and colourful, painted palms. We poured out stories- old and new, of school friends and crushes over milkshakes and cold brews. When we got tired of doing things, we put on some music we discovered through his Instagram Reels, lit up scented candles, and converted my living room into a spa. Hydrating face masks, painted nails, the works — no stone left unturned in making the most of this digital detox.
Mission Accomplished. A day well spent. Happy days!
Come Monday, we roll into our respective lives, I get back to my full-time job, and he to whatever a 12-year-old does, albeit with skins glowing and nails dazzling.
It wasn’t uncommon for the two of us to spend our day like this. I’m a mildly social millennial and he a shy and curious pre-teen. We tend to find our middle ground in quietly embracing our little quirks and exploring small ways to express them without judgements. Always knowing that his individuality is respected. However old he is, whatever he wants to do, and whoever he wants to be. I’ve spent all these years with him, encouraging him to pursue whatever his little brain and heart told him he could be and protecting him from the gendered expectations that the society is waiting to lay upon him, with bated breath.
But today, I found out that he wiped away the nail varnish on his finger because he was going to meet other members of the family. It broke my heart a little. He was always a self-assured kid, always quite decidedly knowing what he likes and dislikes. However, today I saw him put others’ prejudices before his personal expression.
Is this how we ruin young boys?
Is masculinity so fragile that painted nails and long hair shatter the egos of its devoted fanbase? Is patriarchy so fragile that it crumbles at the thought of a 12-year and his choices?
Perhaps it is. And perhaps it is the same reason that society begins to shame our boys at a young age when they break away from the moulds of gendered roles.
My nephew is growing up around vocal, opinionated, and independent women. He is surrounded by angry feminist aunts who are constantly challenging their family and dismissing notions that are self-limiting both for themselves and him. They are standing up for him in whatever way he expresses his individuality. And yet, despite his experiences, he cannot disregard the critics that will jump at the drop of a hat to mock him.
Grown-ass adults taking explicit joy in embarrassing a young boy because he does not fit into their outdated perception of how a boy should behave.
I’m shocked at their joy as they dress boys in tutu skirts when they are toddlers, take a picture even, share them around, gush over how cute they look. But god forbid they did it out of their own volition when they grow up. That’s blasphemy!
Shuffling quizzical gaze, minor irritating comments, snide remarks, comical taunts, and insulting gestures are all-powerful weapons that bode the arsenal of this highly bigoted society. They are used strategically, often with intended malice that teaches our boys that it is a terrible madness to do anything that has a semblance of femininity.
Underneath the steady construct of gendered roles, we let society inflict our boys with the jarring impression that femininity is unimportant. It’s less. They carry the shame with them when they grow up and inflict upon the world the same anguish they felt when they donned a pink t-shirt to a party and fell victim to the mockery. They mirror the powerlessness they felt to anyone confident enough to walk comfortably in their skin and belittle the ones that do. The micro-aggressions they witness as young boys root themselves and find a way to further feed their fear of judgement.
Rarely do our young boys escape it, unscathed.
So, hey Patriarchy, we have a problem. You’re ruining everything.
Apart from a lifetime of roadblocks that I must navigate courtesy of you, old friend, you are also affecting the life of a 12-year-old who is getting ready for a roller-coaster ride that is his teenage. The testosterones are going to be confusing plenty. I doubt we are going to have much time for your narrow-minded diversions. I want to cherish my Sundays with him without the tired excuses of gendered normalities. I want him to enjoy watching rom coms with me, just as much as we enjoy watching the Avengers. I want him to feel just as comfortable in the kitchen as he is elsewhere. I want him to walk into a salon someday freely and not be ashamed to get his nails taken care of. I want him to have a choice. His choice. To feel and express.
We really do not have the time for you, patriarchy. Step aside.