|
I am a junior English major and a Philosophy
minor. During my education at the University of Kentucky, I have
been on the Dean's List three semesters and have received the College
of Arts and Sciences scholarship.
I have been a member of Chi Omega sorority for
the past three years, during which time I have held a variety of
offices including Panhellenic Delegate and Alumnae Relations Chair.
Actively participating in the Greek system has greatly contributed
to my experience at UK.
"Fascism and You" is a piece that explores both my academic and social interests. It is a critique of Greek life, academia, and popular culture, but mainly it is a comic evaluation of my attempt to excel in each of these areas.
READ MORE |
My "welcome back to another semester
of pseudo-intellectual, liberal arts majors" sign was pink this
year with bold faced, comic sans type. It was in the form of a button
and read, "Fuck your fascist standards of beauty."
 The
wearer of this personal greeting card sits in front of me in not
one, but two of my classes. Only I am this lucky to have chosen
the same completely unrelated and obscure courses as this bizarre
individual. Her long, stringy hair assaults me daily like a dead
dog in the road, as do her black "mess with me and you'll find my
heel in your face" boots. The first time her potato sack coat scratches
my left arm as she storms into her desk, this personal space invader
ignores my quiet hello and lets her button voice its own prerecorded
reply, "Fuck your fascist standards of beauty."
My initial reaction to the button is far from
complacent and, according to my over psychoanalyzed mother, would
require multiple sets of deep breaths and "yes" phrases. I cannot
help myself; my emotions run wild.
Fascist, what is that supposed to mean? As I read
and re-read the shoddy lettering, I can feel my democratic blood
start to boil. How dare she offend me like this? This tattooed,
pierced member of the "we're different and superior because we wear
black eye liner as lipstick" club has gone one step too far. I want
to lean over my desk and whisper in her ear, "I'm sorry that I like
to brush my hair, donate rather than purchase at Goodwill and have
fewer than fifteen holes in my body," but I don't. Some Dr. Phil
phantom must be curbing my temper.
I trade my disgruntlement for outrage upon realizing
that not only is this remark directed specifically toward hair-spray
goddesses like me, but I also do not know what the word fascist
means. Suddenly this is not only an attack on my personal space,
but on my intelligence as well. I am an English major, a lover of
language, a keen observer, a reader of the dictionary for fun, and
this over-kill Green Day fan is stabbing me with a malicious unknown
vocabulary word. I think this is foul and must be combated with
a fierce defense force. |
