Opinion

SHOHAM GEVA
EDITOR IN CHIEF

CLAIRE BRYAN 

AND REGAN DETWILER 
EDITORIAL PAGE EDITORS

LAURA SCHINAGLE
MANAGING EDITOR

420 Maynard St. 

Ann Arbor, MI 48109

 tothedaily@michigandaily.com

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The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Caitlin Heenan, 

Jeremy Kaplan, Ben Keller, Minsoo Kim, Payton Luokkala, Aarica Marsh, Anna Polumbo-

Levy, Jason Rowland, Lauren Schandevel, Melissa Scholke, Rebecca Tarnopol, Ashley Tjhung, 

Stephanie Trierweiler, Mary Kate Winn, Derek Wolfe, Hunter Zhao

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

“Y

our neighborhood actually looks 
kind of nice in the summer,” 
my friend remarked from the 

passenger’s seat as 
we turned from the 
service 
drive 
onto 

my street. It was a 
particularly 
sunny 

day in June, and all 
of the windows in my 
shabby 2003 Saturn 
L200 were lowered 
to usher in the warm 
breeze. 
The 
trees 

that lined the road 
were beginning to 
bud — the epilogue of 
another prolonged winter.

I rarely ever brought friends to my house 

(it was a 40-minute commute from school 
and back) and my hometown did not offer 
much in the way of entertainment. Forsaking 
the journey home would mean we would 
have access to nice restaurants, bookstores, 
movie theaters and shops — a simple cost-
benefit analysis revealed that it was probably 
advisable not to bother at all — and yet there 
we were, tourists among the factories and the 
lawns peppered with fast food wrappers.

As her passive words hung in the air for what 

felt like an eternity, mingling with the sounds 
of chirping birds and droning lawn mowers, 
I became acutely aware of my surroundings. 
The cracks in the pavement became a little 
deeper, the white shingles a little dirtier. I 
wondered how the street on which I grew up 
looked from the outside, a patch of ramshackle 
suburbia. My hands tightened on the wheel as 
I felt the blood leave my face and slowly drain 
— boiling hot — into my ears.

This 
embarrassment 
was 
more 
than 

familiar to me; my go-to defense mechanism 
against people who scrutinize my background 

has always been self-deprecation. When I 
switched schools after my freshman year of 
high school, it only intensified as I made a 
point of complaining about my hometown to 
my well-to-do friends, and as a result, they 
considered it acceptable to make similar 
comments, which sounded colder and more 
malicious coming from them than they did 
from me. I figured if I pointed and laughed 
with them, then I could alleviate some of the 
burden of not being one of them.

“Yeah, a lot of people drop out or end up 

pregnant,” was how I described my former 
high school to peers at my new school.

“It’s just a working- class suburb,” is how I 

have come to describe my hometown to friends 
in college.

But there is so much more to it than that, 

and I know that all too well.

Through my window, I scanned the rows 

of tiny houses that twinkled in the winter and 
emitted an overbearing glow in the summer. 
I idly traced the ribbon of sidewalk that 
once guided my bike as it drifted toward the 
humming interstate and facilitated the journey 
of a green wagon that kept my brother and me 
under the watchful eye of our mother. This 
was home. This was all I knew of the world in 
the first 15 years or so of my life — this street, 
these people, this town. Why couldn’t I admit 
that to myself? Why was I so eager to distance 
myself from it?

There is absolutely no shame in coming 

from a modest background, a sub-par school 
district, or a neighborhood that only looks 
“kind of nice” in certain seasons, damn it. 
Wanting more than anything to convey this 
notion to my friend, I paused for a second and 
searched for an appropriate response, but all I 
could muster was a quiet: “Thanks.”

Lauren Schandevel can be reached 

at schandla@umich.edu.

To be ashamed of home

W

hen one of your best 
friends is a guy, there 
are some conversations 

that arise over 
and over again. 
Our 
recurrent 

discussions often 
turned 
into 
a 

lighthearted, 
odd and almost 
subverted “battle 
of 
the 
sexes,” 

in 
which 
we’d 

debate about who 
had it “worse” — 
me or him. He’d 
complain 
about 

constricting and seriously flawed 
measurements of masculinity and 
about the discrimination he faced 
in a heteronormative society. I’d 
complain about sexism, inequality 
and the wage gap. We’d eventually 
both concede we both had to deal 
with society placing unrealistic 
body expectations upon us.

These “debates” started when we 

were teenagers with worldviews 
just beginning to expand beyond 
the borders of our tiny, rural 
hometown. Now, while we still both 
joke about individual challenges, 
our 
conversations 
hopefully 

include a better understanding 
of intersectionality and our own 
particular sets of privilege.

When we were still both just 

stubborn kids trying to understand 
the unfamiliar worlds we were 
about to enter, the earlier versions 
of these discussions were all about 
winning the argument. I tended to, 
as the argument escalated, bring up 
the topic that silenced every other 
man in my life — from my dad to 
my brothers to the rest of my male 
friends. 
Experience 
taught 
me 

that once you bring up anything 
minutely menstrual, most men get 
uncomfortable 
and 
desperately 

want to switch the topic.

So, there I was, aggressively 

pointing out that, in this debate, 
I was the only one dealing with 
bleeding, bloating and cramping 
monthly. My best friend, who has 
an older sister, was completely 
unfazed. This was also typically 
the cue for a teacher, a classmate, 
a neighbor or a waiter to interrupt 
our conversation and overhear me 
mid-rant. Then they’d leave and 
I’d be embarrassed, and my friend 
would laugh hysterically. Amid the 
laughter, he’d agree with me and 
acknowledge that his understanding 
of the subject was probably lacking.

Today, the same scenario is 

still at play, except on a larger 

scale. Menstration is still a taboo 
discussion 
topic. 
If 
you’re 
an 

individual who experiences this 
biologically driven red mess every 
month, you’re expected to deal with 
it as discreetly as possible. You don’t 
talk about it, and you certainly don’t 
let there be any visible evidence. 
Yet, the individuals who decide how 
much it’s going to cost to ensure this 
discretion are most likely men who 
don’t understand the experience. 
They treat the products women use 
to manage and hide this bothersome 
natural process as “luxury items” 
that deserve to be taxed.

Numerous 
states 
provide 

exemptions 
for 
products 
that 

are deemed necessities, such as 
food, prescriptions, a selection 
of 
over-the-counter 
medicines 

and prosthetics. There are even 
some states that have removed the 
sales tax on clothing purchases. 
However, Michigan is currently 
one of roughly 40 states that 
impose a “tampon tax.” Feminine 
hygiene products, such as tampons, 
sanitary pads and other similar 
products are subject to Michigan’s 
6-percent sales tax, simply due 
to being labeled in legislation as 
“luxury 
items.” 
Anyone 
who’s 

actually 
ever 
experienced 
a 

menstrual cycle would find this 
terminology ironic. The absolute 
last thing someone would describe 
using these products as is as a 
“luxury.”

Even President Obama, in an 

interview last Friday, displayed 
some confusion regarding both 
the classification and the tax by 
stating: “I have no idea why states 
would tax these as ‘luxury items’ 
... I suspect it’s because men were 
making the laws when those taxes 
were passed.” Obama encouraged 
citizens and states to make “local 
level” changes to address the highly 
gendered tax. In particular, he 
mentioned a recent bill in California 
that seeks to remove the sales tax 
from feminine hygiene products, 
such as pads and tampons. Doing 
so would alleviate the financial 
burden, in a myriad of states, on a 
population of individuals who are 
already subject to a substantial 
wage gap.

Even the tiniest of additional 

costs tacked onto a purchase can add 
up, especially for women of lower 
socioeconomic 
backgrounds. 
A 

news release stated that Californian 
women pay roughly $7 each month 
for 40 years of tampons and pads. 
These purchases accrue to “over $20 
million annually in taxes.”

The 
United 
States 
certainly 

isn’t the only country disputing 
a “tampon tax.” Canada recently 
removed 
the 
tax 
on 
feminine 

hygiene products this past summer. 
The initiative was followed this past 
fall by protests in Britain to follow 
Canada’s example and abolish the 
tax. Women wore white pants and 
no form of hygiene product while 
they were on their periods.

Some may argue that tampons 

and sanitary pads are akin to other 
everyday products. However, these 
products are a necessity — one 
that’s also heavily insisted upon by 
society. Cultural standards strongly 
stigmatize the idea of women 
bleeding in public and view it as 
unsanitary. Women and girls rely 
upon these products to continue 
leading their normal lifestyle — 
whether that involves working, 
going to classes, playing sports or 
just generally being in public. These 
products 
also 
protect 
women’s 

clothing and ensure their hygiene.

Additionally, if one is going 

to argue against removing the 
“tampon tax,” they must also 
consider that women are most 
likely already paying inflated prices 
for grooming products, such as 
shampoo and deodorant. Thanks to 
a highly gendered price discrepancy 
known commonly as the “pink tax,” 
a product designed for women, 
even when there’s an identical 
product intended for men, may cost 
more simply because of its pink or 
purple packaging or its particularly 
“feminine” fragrance.

While women may avoid unfair 

gendered pricing by buying the 
cheaper men’s alternative, there’s 
no male equivalent for tampons 
and sanitary pads. Women have 
instead been expected to pay 
an extra tax for decades on 
a 
necessity 
that’s 
mistakenly 

referred to as a “luxury item,” in 
addition to extra fees on grooming 
products. State governments and 
businesses must stop treating the 
gender and biological processes 
of their consumers as something 
they can take advantage of for 
financial gain, especially when the 
wage gap still remains a prevalent 
issue. Perhaps we can remedy the 
pricing discrepancies by creating 
more 
gender-neutral 
products, 

but until then, state legislators can 
ease women’s financial burdens by 
removing an unnecessary tax on a 
monthly necessity.

Melissa Scholke can be reached 

at melikaye@umich.edu.

A misplaced luxury

LAUREN 
SCHANDEVEL

MELISSA 
SCHOLKE

I 

was bulimic in high school. Before writing 
this, the only person I had ever told was my 
cousin Marissa. We were sharing secrets 

around a campfire, unhinged by one too many 
bottles of wine. Even under 
the influence of alcohol and 
emotions, I knew she would 
understand.

I don’t exactly remem-

ber the first time I stuck my 
hand in my mouth, fingers 
stretching toward the back 
of my throat to activate my 
gag reflex. For months, I 
tried not eating, and run-
ning as much as I could with 
little to no results. Eventu-
ally, I began to think about 
alternative options.

April 17, 2009 — I need to figure out how to 

throw up and get better self-discipline. Or I’m 
going to be huge.

Two months later, I apparently figured it 

out.

June 15, 2009 — I barely eat. When I do, I 

throw it up. But I’m in control, so it’s ok.

Twice I thought I was going to be caught, 

but no one ever figured it out. As the months 
passed, I became increasingly concerned with 
my behavior.

Aug. 26, 2009 — Sometimes when I throw up, 

it worries me. What if it ruins my body? I don’t 
know. It just freaks me out. But it’s hard to stop. 
Food just smells too good. And tastes too good. 
It’s just hard. And NOBODY at all has noticed.

In my senior year of high school, though my 

home life was still hectic, I made some incred-
ible friends and never returned to that familiar 
position above the toilet. I felt selfish for what 
I was doing to my body and knew the people I 
love would be concerned if they knew.

I stopped throwing up before enrolling at 

the University in 2011, yet my diet remained 
destructive. When trying to eat healthy in the 
dining halls during my first two years in col-
lege, I reverted to the salad bar; it was all I had 
ever known. Eventually, I began to familiarize 
myself with different foods and how they sup-
port the human body. I watched documenta-
ries and surrounded myself with people who 
had positive relationships with food.

At nearly 23 years old, I’m the most confi-

dent I’ve ever been in my life. I eat food that 
I love — cheese, pasta, chips, bread, chocolate 
— but I also consider the moral, environmen-
tal and health implications before making a 
purchase. It took a long time, and a lot of edu-
cation, but I’m finally able to understand my 
teenaged behavior.

While I now feel confident enough to admit 

that I suffer from disordered eating, there are 
many University students who struggle in 
silence.

In 2012, Ph.D. student Sarah Ketchen-Lip-

son initiated the University Study of Habits, 
Attitudes, and Perceptions Around Eating 

student survey. With the help of Suzanne 
Dooley-Hash, an assistant professor of emer-
gency medicine, and an interdisciplinary team, 
U-SHAPE was published at the 2013 Student 
Life Research Symposium, formerly the Divi-
sion of Student Affairs Research Symposium.

According to the survey, 28 percent of 

female and 12 percent of male undergradu-
ate students, and 21 percent of female and 10 
percent of male graduate students, screened 
positive for disordered eating. Additionally, 18 
percent of females and 6 percent of males indi-
cated that food and weight dominates their life. 
Among those with disordered eating, interna-
tional students, sorority members, LGBTQ 
students and students who experienced abuse 
are disproportionately affected. Disordered 
eating is also correlated with mental illnesses 
such as anxiety and depression.

In a conversation about why students decide 

not to seek help, Julie Stocks, University 
Health Services registered dietician nutrition-
ist, said, “It’s important if you feel that it’s an 
issue in your life to seek treatment. And it’s a 
great opportunity when you’re here to find 
wonderful, highly skilled treatment.”

Stocks affirmed that there’s plenty of infor-

mation available to University students about 
ways to maintain a balanced diet — online 
webinars and nutritional information, dining 
hall dieticians, the UHS Nutrition Clinic, sup-
port groups at Counseling and Psychological 
Services, etc. But people struggling with dis-
ordered eating cannot be forced to use these 
resources. 

Overall, Stocks noted that students — and 

people in general — need to be realistic when it 
comes to weight, diet and exercise. Though the 
media constantly bombards us with images of 
how we should look, comparing ourselves to a 
chart or another person tends to lead to more 
destructive behaviors. Instead, Stocks recom-
mended we focus on being healthful and eating 
foods that are good for our bodies. We need to 
seek help when faced with irrational thoughts. 
We need to be vocal about our anxieties, our 
depression and our body image. When that 
happens, Stocks assured me, natural weight 
will go where it needs to be.

It’s not an easy road, to say the least; some 

people will never recover from disordered 
eating. But there’s always hope. In the past 
three years, I’ve internalized a lot of the advice 
Stocks gave me during our conversation in my 
own time. I’m at a healthy weight, I eat nutri-
tional food and I’m constantly on the move. I 
recognize that I have certain anxieties, and I 
work proactively to combat them. Sometimes 
though, the past still haunts me.

Aarica Marsh can be reached 

at aaricama@umich.edu.

Lessons in balance

E-mail FranniE at FrmillEr@umich.Edu
FRANNIE MILLER

AARICA
MARSH

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