Yesterday, Canadian musician Grimes put up a poem-like post on her tumblr, describing aspects of being a performer that she doesn’t like. In a matter-of-fact way, she presents the challenges that women face in the music industry: a presumed inferiority to men, immediate sexualization, categorization based on body type, unwanted and dangerous touching.
When I read Grimes’s tumblr I wanted to fist-pump. So many women are afraid of the backlash that venting their frustrations about male-dominated environments can have. Unfortunately, the next day she felt the need to apologize and explain herself.
I don’t know why. There’s nothing mildly offensive or whiny in her original post – it’s just a calm presentation of the shit women deal with in the music industry.
I was so moved by it that I felt the need to write my own, dealing with similar issues. So here goes.
I’m upset that at my journalism school, some professors discouraged women who wanted to write about entertainment or fashion, and yet supported men who wanted to write about sports.
I’m tired of older men in the music industry, men I’ve never met, who condescend to me in emails in the guise of polite introduction.
I’m sick of people asking me every time I get a job who I know who works at the company. (Answer: No one – ever. I’m from Deep River and have no connections.)
I’m bored with rappers judging women on what mixture of “hot” races they are.
I’m annoyed by press releases for bands with names like DayGlo Abortions.
I’m outraged that there were no performances at the Juno Awards by artists who weren’t Caucasian.
I’m sad that the Juno categories with the highest number of black nominees were not televised.
I’m aggravated that the Game Of Thrones creators think that giving us Khaleesi, the most badass character ever (and she is), makes it all right to be incredibly misogynistic elsewhere in the show.
I’m angry that some men use crowded concerts as an opportunity to molest women. My one and only Backstreet Boys concert was ruined when I was inappropriately touched by a man. He pressed against me. I moved away. He pressed against me. I moved away, again and again. I was 12.
There. I feel so much better. And I will not apologize for any of the above.
