"Some lesbians find themselves right in the middle of the classic beauty argument. Some dykes find the Playboy woman to be their ideal, and others find her to an ideal but they feel guilty about her."
-Susie Bright
                Lesbian feminist: a contradiction in terms? Sometimes it feels like it.
                Take, for instance, Xena Warrior Princess. Sure, she's a strong woman, possibly even a role model for some. But it's impossible to ignore that fetching leather-dominatrix "armor" she wears. Aaahh! See? I just did it! I referred to her outfit as "fetching"! My inner feminist is screaming, "Fetching! Don't you know that that outfit is merely a cheap ploy of the patriarchy? It's only purpose is to amuse and titillate stupid heterosexist male viewers!"                 But my inner lesbian says, "Hubba hubba."
                Or Angelina Jolie. One of the most beautiful women on earth. While watching her in a film the other day, I realized that I was making the same sort of comments that a straight boy would make. How did I know? Cuz I was watching it with a straight boy friend and we were making the same comments. Of course there's nothing wrong with admiring the goddess-given beauty of the female form, right? Of course right! But then I get this uncomfortable feeling, and I realize that I, like any other stoopid weenie hetero boy,* and seeing a fellow woman as a piece of meat! The feminist in me desperately tries to rationalize, reassuring me that I appreciate Ms. Jolie for her acting skills as well……but the lesbian in me knows I'd go to see her if she were in the worst movie since "Starship Troopers.”
                I know it doesn’t have to be this way. It's by no means necessary to to demean women in order to be attracted to them. It's that I do it unconsciously! Someone could say to me, "Oh, you watch the X-Files?" and I'll say, "Not really, I just think Scully's hot." On a recent trip to the local bookstore, a friend picked up the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. "Do you find her attractive?" he asked, pointing to the buxom, bikini-clad babe gracing the cover.
                I glanced, said "No," and continued leafing through the funny anarchist mags. My friend gaped at me. "You don't!?!?" he said. "What are you, straight?" "No!" I protested (as if were a fate worse than death; yeah, I need to work on my heterophobia). "Well, what about her?" he asked, showing me another victim of cosmetic surgery. Again I shook my head.
                What followed was one of the most hideous displays (I ain't saying it wasn't fun, but it was a hideous display) of misogyny that I have ever taken part in. My friend and I went through that whole magazine and rated each model, a "yes" or a "no". To my credit, I gave most of them "no"s. (I might be a dyke, but I fail to find bleached hair, breast implants and sun-lamp tans attractive.) But I was still doing it, I was still judging these women who I didn't even know merely on their appearance. I felt like a Miss America judge. It was not a pleasant feeling.
                Do straight women do this with men? Have I missed something?
                Of course, it doesn't have to be like this. Perhaps I'm just not mature enough to find certain woman attractive without a little bit of that old-fashioned objectification. The thing is that, deep down dark in my secret soul, I like it. I like looking at strange women that way. It’s not that I have problems with both liking and respecting a woman. But if I don't know her….well, where's the fun in that? I see a girl walking down the street, my head does the little turn-and-tilt thing. I'm no stranger to the phrase "Break me off a piece of that."
                Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh! See!?!?! Just listen to me! I’m a pig!!! Somebody smack me!!!
                *sigh*
                Really, it's not that much of a problem. I mean, it only happens with strangers—once I know a woman, I can’t help but see her as a whole person. So I guess all this worrying is silly, and this whole lesbian OR feminist thing is only a theory that will disappear in praxis. Now, if only I could get in on some of that praxis...
                ......but that’s another article.

* Not a reference to the aforementioned straight boy friend.
NOTE: this peice was written before I knew that Angelina Jolie had breat implants.