The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
8 — Wednesday, April 20, 2022

I’ve been thinking a lot lately on what 
constitutes a friend. The qualifiers and 
the levels all associated with it. What 
distinguishes someone as a true friend 
versus someone you spend time with? 
An issue I had in the past (and still suf-
fer from) is failure to define, creating the 
boundaries between different categories 
of friendship. I consider myself close 
with a lot of people, but am I actually? 
How many can I consider a true friend, a 
partner, a protector of my own interests 
who hold me in the same regard as I hold 
them? 
My friend Eliya sent me a TikTok the 
other day that featured a quote about 
female friendship — that it is a ferocious, 
ugly, messy, emotional creature we are 
never taught to train. My first reaction 
was to laugh, because it’s never that deep. 
Friendships are simple. Easy. It’s roman-
tic love that’s the complicated kind. But 
the quote has rattled in my head as I’ve 
been studying abroad, separate from the 
people I call home.
Sometimes I forget where my best 
friends begin and where I end. Their 
friends are my friends. My belongings 
are their belongings. Their house is my 
house. The lines are blurry to nonexis-
tent at times. No topic is out of bounds. 
We consume each other’s emotions. We 

ruminate over situations, strategizing 
and theorizing in our imaginary situation 
rooms. We tell each other our secrets. 
Our shame. Our burdens. Our pain. Do 
you remember last winter when I held 
you in my arms after you told that boy you 

loved him? I do. The light reflecting off 
your tears, which I had never seen from 
you before. The tremble in your voice as 
you described his rejection. But it’s not 
just the difficult parts that we share. 
We also cheer for each other. Praise one 

another for putting ourselves out there. 
Uplift one another when we feel we might 
have fallen short. And although you were 
shaking, I could not stop thinking how 
strong you are — for taking that risk, for 
being vulnerable. I am proud of you; I 
know you’re proud of me too. I could hear 
it in your voice months later, in the sum-
mer, miles away from one another as you 
cheered me on for going on my first New 
York City date. We give and give and take 
and take and take. 
I am a hopeless romantic. From the 
media I consume to the stories I write 
about, romantic love has always been 
paramount. It’s not like it’s hard to obsess 
over it. Media is saturated with love sto-
ries. Countless books, podcasts, movies, 
TV series and more are all dedicated to 
the pursuit of love and keeping it. My 
favorite TV show used to be “Sex and the 
City.” For months, I watched religiously 
as Carrie chainsmoked her way around 
New York City. You would often join 
me on the couch of our house, holding 
Socratic seminars on Carrie’s shenani-
gans. Would you have gotten back togeth-
er with Big? How could anyone break 
up with Steve? Why do you like Aiden? 
Despite the hours we spent discussing 
the show, we still managed to miss the 
point entirely. The men came and went, 
treated like minor comedic blips, but the 
core four — Carrie, Miranda, Samantha 
and Charlotte — remained, brunching 
and bickering as usual. That’s the true 

love story of the show. Despite whatever 
happened romantically, fans knew as long 
as those friendships were there (ignoring 
the reboot), everything would be fine. 
So do all great love stories have to be 
romantic then? It’s seemingly reinforced 
that romantic love is the only love worthy 
of writing an entire album over or book 
on. But not for me anymore. The friends 
that I’ve made, they’re my big college love 
story. Not one of those random fuck boys 
I keep tripping and falling over for. When 
I look back on this season of my life, I 
won’t think of these minor comedic blips. 

I won’t think of the people I just hap-
pened to spend time with. I’ll think about 
you. I’ll think about the hours we spent 
on the phone, screaming at each other for 
fucking up once again. I’ll think about the 
aimless walks, where we don’t have the 
slightest clue of where we are going. I’ll 
think about the viewing parties, joking 
about Wattpad. I’ll think about the time 
we spent growing and building together. 
It’s messy, ugly, beautiful and everything 
in between. In the longest most convolut-
ed way, I wrote this just to say I miss you. 
I love you. I’ll see you soon.

Author’s Note: I would like to clarify 
my terminology out of respect for the 
gender non-conforming community. 
When I say “men” I am specifically 
referring to cisgender men. When I say 
“women” — I am referring to cisgender 
women, the only identity I can mean-
ingfully speak on. I think it’s important 
to make these distinctions because gen-
der identity is incredibly fluid and we do 
not live in a binary world. We cannot 
keep enforcing such barriers in the lan-
guage we use, which is why it is neces-
sary to clarify what one means when 
they speak so generally. It is oppressive 
by nature to not acknowledge the exis-
tence of identities that do not fit into the 
conventional binary. 
My first sexual revelation as a 
woman happened during my sopho-
more year of high school when I 
stopped wearing bras. It was terri-
fying. I was a flat-chested “skinny” 
girl with chicken legs and everyone 
around me growing up always made 
sure I knew that. I was bullied in mid-
dle school for my body being under 
the standard “healthy” weight and the 

last thing I wanted was for my unflat-
tering legacy to continue into high 
school. To wear the bra or to not wear 
the bra: it was a decision that I went 
back and forth on at least 1,000 times 
and eventually culminated in a split-
second action before I left for school 
that morning. 
When I finally arrived, I took all 
my layers off from being in the harsh 
Chicago winter months. I was just 
a young girl with a black and white 
cubic patterned dress. Exposed for 
the world to see. Except I didn’t want 
to be seen. I was afraid people would 
notice that my chest looked a bit flat-
ter than normal. I went about my day 
going to first period, then to second 
and so on. No one said a word. It felt 
good. Maybe it wasn’t as noticeable as 
I had thought. Maybe I had nothing to 
be ashamed of. I had quickly evolved 
from being afraid to let my natural 
shape show to making a point for it to.
Only one week after I stopped 
wearing bras, I was already so much 
more confident in my body — in 
myself. I started wearing shirts where 
it was more clear that I wasn’t wear-
ing a bra — nothing too crazy — just a 
fitted blouse of sorts. One day while I 
was in the cafeteria with my friends, 

a guidance counselor approached me 
and said, “Your nipples are protrud-
ing.” I did not have the slightest clue 

about what her comment meant, but 
I assumed it was a positive comment 
so I said plainly, “Thank you.” She 

responded, “No, that means they are 
projecting out,” to which I, once again, 
said, “Thank you.” 

I truly was not trying to be funny 
— I genuinely took that as a compli-
ment because I was in a period of my 

life where I was trying to embrace 
my natural form and I assumed that 
a woman in a higher position would 

support that. I was sorely mistaken. 
She told me to put on a jacket or I 
would be removed from the premises. 
So I grabbed my jacket, stood up and 
walked myself out. The counselor fol-
lowed and I was met with three secu-
rity guards and my principal — who 
was a woman. She explained to me 
that their policy was meant to protect 
me from predatory men. I explained 
that it isn’t my job to conform to 
safeguard myself. She said — and I 
remember this quite explicitly — “If 
you were to go in front of a judge for 
being raped, you would be held at fault 
because you enticed them.”
I cannot make this up. I wish I 
was. An administrator working in an 
institution dedicated to learning told 
me this. I couldn’t believe it. It was 
humiliating. This was the first time I 
had been criminalized for my body by 
an authoritative figure. It would not 
be the last. This was the beginning 
of a tumultuous road ahead where 
I would have to fight for the right to 
autonomy over myself.
The fact that a fellow woman, one 
whom I was supposed to look up to, 
said such vile things to me demon-
strates how deeply rooted the patri-
archy is in all of us — men and women 
alike. The patriarchy can be defined as 
a society in which “men hold the posi-
tions of power and have more privi-
lege: head of the family unit, leaders of 
social groups, boss in the workplace, 
and heads of government. In patriar-
chy, there is also a hierarchy among 
the men.” To be clear, the patriarchy 
is harmful to men and interrupts 
their growth as human beings as well. 
Make no mistake, I am not saying 
women are at fault for the suffering we 
experience. But I am saying that all of 
us reinforce the patriarchal pressures 
in our lives without even realizing it. 
The patriarchy shows its face 
everywhere you go. It’s just a matter 
of recognizing it. See, that’s the thing 
about men — when you call them a 
misogynist, they immediately get 
defensive because they think you’re 
accusing them of some kind of hate 
crime. Sometimes this is true, but it 
doesn’t take the most extreme level of 
hatred toward women for men to have 
misogynistic tendencies. 
Furthermore, if you are a man, you 
are upholding the patriarchy simply 

by existing. The privilege you hold as 
a man does not go away just because 
you acknowledge the strife of women. 
You still hold the obligation to always 
be cognizant of how the space you 
take up impacts the women around 
you. There is nothing you can do to 
rid yourself of your male privilege, 
but rather, you can use it to uplift 
the women around you. Even if you 
think you are a particularly progres-
sive man, remembering to check your 
privilege is of the utmost importance. 
To the men reading this: You hold 
power over women in the job mar-
ket and take away opportunities 
from them. You are more likely to be 
heard in group conversations and 
suppress the voices of women. You 
are more likely to be taken seriously 
at the doctor’s office and therefore 
have, on average, gotten more effi-
cient and effective medical treatment. 
Most importantly: your willingness 
to believe this phenomenon does not 
change the fact that you experience it. 
The reality of the situation is that you 
inadvertently benefit from the sup-
pressive injustice that women endure. 
There is virtually nothing you can 
do to escape that. Does that mean 
there is nothing you should do to be a 
decent human being to the women in 
your life? Absolutely not. You should 
always be striving for an awareness 
of the privilege you hold. We are con-
stantly living in fear of being victim-
ized — the least you could do is walk 
through the world with an acknowl-
edgment of that. 
If you are now thinking to yourself 
that women are strong, independent 
beings who can conquer anything — 
you’re not wrong, but you’re missing 
the point. That type of circular rea-
soning places the responsibility on the 
woman to halt her oppression while 
ignoring the fact that much of her 
torment is out of her control. I cannot 
begin to explain how little grasp we 
have over the patriarchal forces in our 
lives and how absolutely soul-crush-
ing it is to know that my existence will 
always be defined by a man. No mat-
ter how radical I try to be, no matter 
how many “social rules” I break, I will 
always be subject to the patriarchy. 
We live in a man’s world. We have 
generationally formed a society where 
men are at the forefront and women 
are in the background. Can you blame 
me for feeling so powerless? 
At the end of the day, women are in 
this fight alone. I do not care how pro-
gressive a man you consider yourself 
— you are still a misogynist or have 
misogynistic tendencies. To illustrate 
this, let’s take a look at a common 
misconception of the dating scene: 
the friend zone. If you declare you’re 
in “the friend zone” with a woman 
whom you just met — that’s misogy-
nistic. You are categorizing your rela-
tionship with a woman on whether or 
not you are successful in your pursuit 
to seduce her. This deduction misplac-
es the blame onto women for exercis-
ing their right to say no. It devalues 
a woman’s feelings in a relationship 
because it implies that a woman owes 
that man something in return for his 
supposed kindness. It is an explana-
tion used by insecure men to project 
the responsibility onto women when 
they are rejected. It reinforces the 
objectification of women when you 
assume that being kind to a woman 

The greatest love story

i love being a slut

 KATHERINA ANDRADE OZAETTA
MiC Assistant Editor

 KAILANA DEJOIE
MiC Columnist

Design by Tamara Turner

Design by Rita Sayegh

“Media is saturated 
with love stories. 
Countless books, 
podcasts, movies, 
TV series and more 
are all decdicated to 
the pursuit of love 
and keeping it.”

Read more at MichiganDaily.com