I recently realized that nearly every decision that I have made has been—on some level—in the interest of men. I want a family more than I want almost anything else. I am naturally inclined toward partnership, I detest living alone. And so I have made all of my decisions with some imagined future partner in mind. How can I be the most ideal partner to the imagined person I would like to be partnered with? What small shifts can I make to be the version of myself that is most desirable, most lovable, most worthy? I would, of course, prefer to be in a relationship with someone whose values and preferences largely align with my own. I do not pretend to be someone else in order to appease men. And yet when I get dressed, decide where to live, how to decorate my home, and what to write the question crosses my mind: what would he think about this?
Last week, I was driving alone in Los Angeles—considering whether a surgical procedure to lift my left eyebrow two millimeters would open up my face in a way that would significantly and positively alter the projectile of the rest of my life—when a thought came to mind. What would it feel like to stop? To stop considering whether writing online sounds like an unserious profession or whether men even want a woman with a serious profession. Whether the kind of partner I want respects my interest in the female experience, whether I am more attractive with blonde hair, whether weight lifting would alter my physique better than pilates even though I prefer pilates? What would it feel like to abandon my desire to be attractive, loving, a Suitable Partner? And to focus only on being myself as I wish to be?
I do not know.
At thirty-three years old, I feel late coming to an interest in doing things only for me without much care for what those outside a very close circle think. Women who live their entire lives without concern for what imagined future partners will think feel mythical to me. I almost called them sirens and realized that no, Hannah, this is exactly what we’re working on.