Article and poem by Kelly Foxworthy
Hello. My name is Kelly and I’m an
activist. It started in my sophomore year; I’m now a junior. My friend got into it first, just
another young innocent girl brought into activism by her desire
to make the world a better place.
She brought me to my first meeting. Don’t get me wrong: I
don’t blame her. I was excited. It was a high to know that I could make a difference. I learned about the
issues, how to organize and talk to the administration. It was addicting. I could change the world! Then I
went my first conference, and I got discouraged.
One of the best things about being an activist is
knowing that there are others out there believing the same things and working hard. But what if they
don’t like you? What if they judge you by your appearance instead of your ideals? "Impossible," you
say, for we all know that activists and radicals accept those who are different because they know how it feels
to be judged on looks alone. Remember the hippies? That group from the 60s that just wanted peace and love to
reign in the world. The ones who wore their hair long and dressed in bell–bottoms and flowers. Case
in point.
Each one of us in vessel are we born
a shell made beautiful
by others perceptions
shouting that inner beauty counts
while
privileged eyes receive the first impression
hollowed minds with
outer splendor
are made the wanton’s ideal
drab appearances
go unnoticed
’til inner greatness shines through
such
greatness overcomes
artificial beauty, however,
seldom viewed
and so
those with gorgeous souls want
gorgeous shells insteaD
Sadly, this ideal of acceptance for everybody is not true. I’m 5’2".
The underside of my blonde hair is dyed black. I like to line my blue–green eyes with black and paint
my lips with mauve gloss. When I’m able to get myself out of bed on time I put in my contacts,
because they make me feel better than my glasses. My jeans are from Express, my tops from discount stores
and my accessories are handmade. I go thrifting, I shop at the mall, I wear Clinique, and I spend the
majority of my money at Tops, Chipotle, Marshalls, Marcs, Big Lots and Target. So what? Who cares what
products I wear and what brands I dress in? Well, I should also state that I am not a radical. So
what, again? I feel more comfortable with makeup on than off. Because of this I was laughed at by
some, and ridiculed behind my back.
I was seen as mainstream. Not dedicated enough.
Corrupted by the media. Here I was, giving up one of the last warm weekends in the fall of 2003 to
travel down to Wooster College. I sacrificed my bed to sleep side by side with strangers in a
borrowed sleeping bag on the floor of a campus church. All of this to learn about environmental
issues. That didn’t show dedication? I felt hurt and ill–used, like my desire to effect
change wasn’t good enough.
A lot of the workshops talked about equality: How can we
take time to view society more closely? How can we open others’ eyes to hidden inequalities?
And all the while, the same people I heard condescendingly commenting on "her mascara," were
nodding their heads in agreement. What? Didn’t they realize how prejudicial they were being?
Do equality, diversity, and acceptance only apply to those who aren’t mainstream? Is our goal
to alienate those who are different from us? In distancing ourselves from those who are different,
we are no better than them. It doesn’t matter who throws the first stone. What matters is who
is dignified enough to extend their friendship.
I was an outsider at the conference. I
woke up, washed my face, put on makeup, brushed my hair, and was embarrassed for doing so. Though I
was obviously in a group that prided itself on difference, my differences weren’t wholly
accepted. Don’t get me wrong: Many who were there listened to my ideas. I was complimented
on my articulation, but at the same time I felt really uncomfortable and estranged from the
group.
Within such an accepting community I found prejudice. It made me realize
that education needs to start within the activist community. How can we reach out to the "mainstream" if
we look down on it? Activism will get nowhere if we assign values to those who are different. And
wearing brand–name jeans or belonging to a frat does not make you an unworthy
person.
My Name Is Kelly
I
Wear Makeup, and Shop At The Mall, And I Am An Activist.