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chapter eight izzy's guide to f*ck the patriarchy
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Being a woman had been a tricky thing for as long as Izzy Windsor could remember. Either you chose to acknowledge that or you ignored it and stayed silent. And silence . . . well . . . silence would be the downfall of the human race.
No matter what she did, there would always be someone there to criticize her. You might have thought since Izzy was rich and pretty, society would just let her pass by without picking at her insecurities, but that wasn't the world she lived in. Sure, she got it easier than other girls, but no matter what she did, there'd always be something that she could have done better. She could have smiled more; she could have worn more makeup or less makeup; she could have skipped that meal or exercised more; she could have been better. The patriarchy had ingrained those customs into her. She had to do better. There was always room for improvement. She had to be perfect.
Izzy hated trying to be perfect.
She knew others saw her as this Barbie doll with the perfect body and blonde hair. But if you looked closer, you'd see the pimples dotting her cheeks and chin that she covered with foundation. You'd see the scar on her chin from when she slipped and fell while playing tennis. You'd see all the imperfections that she had so desperately tried to hide.
Those imperfections were the things the world, especially the men in her life, had told her made her unattractive. There were other things, too. She was told to smile and agree even if she had differing opinions. She was told so many things, so much bullshit. Like 'you're gaining too much weight' or 'you need to eat more' and 'you're wearing too much makeup' as well as 'you're not wearing enough makeup' and if she slept with more than one guy she was a slut. Not to mention all the other bullshit she had to put up with on the daily.
She wished she lived in a world where a woman could do something without being criticized, but she knew better. She knew as long as there were men in the world who thought women owed them something, things would never change. But that didn't mean she wasn't tired of it all. Because, trust her, Izzy was tired of all the men in her life trying to control her. She felt trapped, but she had no idea how to escape from their clutches. No one would listen to her anyway. After all, she lived in a world where if a man spoke his mind, he was a man . . . but when a woman gave her opinion, she was a bitch.
