Straightlaced

Good Manners for Young Ladies, by Emily Thornwell, 1859

Rule #1: “A lady ought to adopt a modest and measured gait; too great hurry injures the grace which ought to characterize her. She should not turn her head on one side and on the other, especially in large towns or cities, where this bad habit seems to be an invitation to the impertinent.”

And now, nearly 200 years later, tell me, please, how this has changed. When from the moment our hips begin to swell outward, we learn to walk like stiff robots, avoiding eye contact for fear of tempting “the impertinent.” I watch young girls sprint down the street like exuberant colts, covered in sweat and dirt and laughter, and I hope with all my soul that this won’t change. But I know it will. 

Rule #2: “A lady should not present herself alone in a library, or a museum, unless she goes there to study, or work as an artist.”

And here I was taking for granted the fact that I can step into a library and immerse myself in ink and paper without having someone come up and question my motives for being there. Who knew?? Even now, our motto as women is to travel in packs, because it’s safer. Because maybe moving as one fluid amoeba will ward off, how did she call it?—the impertinent. 

Rule #3: The following behaviors are, and I quote, “in the highest degree displeasing:” to balance yourself upon your chair; to bend forward; to strike your hands upon your knees; to cross your legs; to laugh immoderately; to roll the eyes or to raise them with affectation; to play continually with your chain or fan; to beat time with the feet and hands; to whirl round a chair with your hand; to shake with your feet the chair of your neighbor; to rub your face or your hands; wink your eyes; shrug up your shoulders; stamp with your feet.” 

From all this talk, you’d think our bodies were, at their core, deeply corrupted. Well, now I feel like a certified sinner, because I’ve broken every one of these rules. The fire in my spirit refuses to be contained, and I reject the notion that the motions of my body ought to be controlled by the frowning faces of others. My body is a fortress of strength and power, and it is capable of so much more than you, Emily Thornwell, will ever know. 

Rule #4: “All are aware that uneasy feelings, existing habitually in the breast, speedily exhibit their signature on the countenance, and that bitter thoughts, or a bad temper, spoil the human face divine of its grace.”

Well, now I know that my anxiety, my fear, my depression, and my heartache are only cause for concern because they may mar and spoil the “divine grace” of my face, thus transforming me from a flawless angel into a real life, flesh-and-blood human being. And what could be more terrifying? Even now, in the 21st century, we are taught to conceal, hide, repress, and smother—and in doing so, we become accomplices in our own abuse. We cannot be lifeless rag dolls with tight, jagged seams for lips, refusing to embrace the power that is just there within reach. We can’t sit on the shelf collecting dust, limbs stuffed with cotton, a fake cherry-red smile painted on our lips. 

Rule #5: “Avoid even the appearance of pedantry. If you are conversing with persons of very limited attainments, you will make yourself far more acceptable, as well as useful to them, by accommodating yourself to their capacities, than by compelling them to listen to what they cannot understand.”

Ah, this sounds familiar. As a woman, I must downplay my intelligence, put on an appearance of stupidity, play the ditzy blonde once again. You see, smart women are dangerous women. Women who know their power, who challenge the status quo, who speak their mind—they must be squashed and exterminated at all costs, because they threaten the toxic foundation upon which this country was built. And this is why, Emily Thornwell, we firmly reject your advice. Because we’re changing the rules. And because we know a better way.