a love letter

to female friendship (I know I have written many of them)

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If you are one of the—by my estimation—eighteen straight men (hi dad!) who reads these essays (circulation is nearing 10,000!) I am going to tell you a secret. If you’re one of the 9,000 plus others, you’ll already know this secret. If you are in a relationship with a woman—and for the purpose of this text, to know a woman is to have a relationship with her, to ask a woman for her phone number is to have a relationship with her—there are at least two other people in your relationship: the woman’s best friend and her sister. (Her sister may or may not be a blood relative.) Every interaction a woman has, particularly in a romantic context, is analyzed and dissected by her closest friends. Women are sometimes vilified for this behavior: What gossips! Is nothing sacred? Discretion is a value! But sharing intimate details is not a betrayal, it’s an act of trust and love. It’s significant bonding. Mothering is not a trait women have inherently. It is a skill we develop through discussion and analysis. Mothering is a skill forged by tender friendships. Female friendships teach us how to understand others, and understanding others leads to empathy, and empathy leads to compassion. And what is it to mother someone, other than to treat them with non-judgmental compassion? Have you ever felt like your girlfriend understood something about you that you didn’t know how to explain? You owe her good friends a round of drinks.  

Men sometimes think that women hate their friends. Women do not hate their friends—they love their friends enough to fight with them and then make up, to tell them hard truths, to forgive their weaknesses. Women do not hate their friends, they have real friends. A real friendship is a relationship as deep and complex as a marriage. Men, most often, have buddies. 

one of my sisters

A friend is someone you share things with, a buddy is someone you do things with. Being a heterosexual (white) man means that you can, realistically, make a billion dollars, become President of the United States, sleep with people twenty years your junior with alarming frequency, or gaslight someone you’ve spent every night with for sixteen weeks into believing that you didn’t notice they had called you fourteen times over the last three days and that you were not ignoring them. But it also means that you’ll never walk hand in hand, platonically, with a woman down the street as she strokes your long hair and laughs with you at a private joke. And for that reason, I do not wish to trade places. 

This is a love letter to female friendships, some vignettes from my life. 

…

When I was 19 years old I was in an all-female intensive outpatient eating disorder treatment program. When a woman graduated to a less intensive level of therapy, we had a ritual (because bulimics need more rituals!) where the non-graduates would go around a table and say a one or two word description of the woman leaving. When it was my turn to move on, a barely older woman with curly blonde hair and bright, watery eyes described me as, “my friend.” It is the kindest thing a person has said to me, I think. 

…

my biological sister

  A few weeks ago, I was sitting on my friend’s couch, both of us under blankets, laptops open, red wine in hand. “Want to come write here?” But writing is also talking and experiencing the world and I told her this story: I was in a car with a man I was casually dating and he said something to the effect of Hannah, you know you’re actually very smart. (I do know that about myself but I will always take a compliment.) And I said, yes, people sometimes think I’m dumb when they meet me, I think it’s my vibe, the way I look and the way I dress. I don’t mind it. And then he said… As I was telling her this, at this moment in the story, my friend jumped in and she and I said in unison “it’s also your voice.” And then we made eye contact and said, with the exact same intonation, “but I like my voice.” And then we laughed. 

… 

Texer A:

Very very very lucky to know you and have known you for so long 

I love you 

Texter B:

I love you too

And always here for you

Texer A:

I’m always here for you 

And I am not always here for everybody I’m an air sign

(photo)

Texter B:

This is true

Maybe you should talk to my mom

The woman has a pathological amount of self-respect

Your window is so chic it hurts my feelings

…

another sister

A few years ago I got a massage in Italy. I do not know if this is typical of an Italian massage as I have gotten massages at exactly one spa in Italy, but it was a very sensual, almost sexual experience. The masseuse massaged my breasts and ass and inner thighs. It didn’t feel like a violation, it didn’t feel sexually aggressive or seedy, it was just different. I left the treatment room as my friend was exiting the one nextdoor. 

“Was your massage a little…?” I asked. She laughed and put her tongue to the roof of the left side of her mouth. 

“Uh-huh.” 

“But not exactly in a bad way?” 

“No it was fine, did you have a man or a woman?” 

We had already booked a second treatment the next day, a body wrap that included a short massage at the end. We decided not to cancel. 

About a year later, the same friend recounted the story of the sensual Italian massages to a new (rather uptight) lover. 

“And you went back?” He said to her, horrified. 

“Yeah, I mean, why not? Nothing happened.” 

“I would never pay for sex.” He said. She was still stunned as she recounted his reaction to me. 

“I would never buy a two bedroom condo in Sioux Falls.” I said to her. 

“What?”

“You should have said that back to him, when he said the sex thing.” 

“And then when he asked why I was talking about South Dakota, I should have said, “I thought we were just saying irrelevant facts about ourselves. Things that have nothing to do with the story.” 

“Exactly.” 

We still laugh, at least weekly, about that damn condo in Sioux Falls. 

…

and another

“I’m going to invite Alice to my birthday party, even though we haven’t really spoken in six months, do you think that’s the right move?” 

“I think it’s a nice olive branch.” 

“She was kind to me at your party, I think we both understand the issue.” 

“I don’t think she’ll come but it’s a nice gesture.” 

“I will be surprised if she comes and surprised if she doesn’t. I want her to know I still love her.” 

…

The feminine experience is complex, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

I love you, I am your friend but I hope you have very many more, 

Hannah Stella