Feminism, Femininity, Fingernails and Fragility.

Despite the years I've spent talking about it, practising it, reading about it, wondering about it and arguing about it, I still couldn't tell what I think submission is. I could try but I suspect the only words I will elicit would be empty clichés. Honestly I don't have a clue. Nor do I have a clue whether I truly am submissive or not. I don't always do what I'm told, I always speak my mind and I can't worship the ground you walk on as a rule. I am neither reverent nor selfless. Despite not meeting several guidelines that I am given to understand are prerequisites, I know I feel it and I always have. I couldn't tell you what it is that I feel, but I know I feel it.

A few weeks ago I was talking to my partner about being submissive and how introducing that paradigm into our relationship dynamic and not just limiting it to our sexual dynamic has been interesting and a little overwhelming (mostly for my vagina) when he told me that it was way before we ever started actively admitted to desiring d/s that he noticed me at my most submissive. A few months into being together, he cut my nails, and he said that it was the moment in which he first saw me as submissive. Before that he thought of me as a girl who wanted you to knock her out and then talk feminism at dinner where you split the check. But when he cut my nails he saw me as someone else. Someone else that I truly am too. It's just harder to admit. There are things I can't say out loud, or couldn't, so I just let him cut my nails.

Because, to me, my nails are that thing I associate my femininity with. I've spent most of my life as a thoroughly unfeminine person and a large part of it was deliberate suppression because I wanted to be taken seriously and I was afraid that any expression of vanity or femininity would be seen as frivolity or weakness. We can argue that it may not and you're right it may not but I couldn't take that chance. Yet my nails survived my crusade against all things feminine because I cannot hide completely that I have a genuine desire for femininity inside me. Not fragility, but grace and beauty. I hate admitting this, truly, I guess I still haven't fully let go of the idea that embracing femininity somehow means that the patriarchy has won. I know it doesn't but sometimes reason is not enough to change a belief.

And that is what it was with my nails. I wouldn't get rid of them despite all reason. They make everything harder. Writing, cooking, washing up, fingering people. But I hate having short nails because, in a nutshell, it's the one thing in the world that makes me feel like a boy and i don't like it. I love being a woman, despite all of the bad shit that comes with and maybe even because of it, I love being a woman and it's always easy to admit that. Being a girl and feminine is nice too, I like it and while it's harder to admit I like that, I hate having it taken away from me. And having my nails short makes me feel like a boy.

I always keep them long. I have since I was fifteen. I always paint them red or black. I fuss over them. I take the time to redo them. I become happy when they look pretty. I feel sad when they chip or break. It's my indulgence in vanity and its my stereotype of choice for femininity. It's also my weapon of choice. I don't attack people that often but if I have to, I use my nails. I've thwarted people this way and I know it works. Besides I have a strange kind of trust in my nails, I know that they're strong and I know they can hurt people. It's a very different kind of strength that I feel at my fingertips. It makes me feel protected. I know I'm probably not but I feel less paranoia if I believe I am.

There's a lot going on for me emotionally when it comes to fingernails. Too much, perhaps.

Yet.

When he said he was going to cut them because I wouldn't stop poking him (I like to poke), I remember just holding out my hand and saying he could do it.

I don't know that I believed he would.

I don't know that I cared if he did.

He did and it made me cry.

Big messy child tears.

But later when he held me down my wrists and my boy-nails made me feel like my fingers had been chopped off, I felt feminine. And I guess that's as close to an answer as I will ever have. Being submissive is the thing that makes me feel feminine. It doesn't require me to have long nails or wear pearls. It's just a strange internal ornament that makes me feel willing and feminine.

I still have notions of femininity associated with my nails but it's different now. Now I do my nails how he likes them. I do them again and again because I don't want the little chips and missed spots to annoy him. I do them in colours he likes. Because I know that it's not the nails that make me feel feminine. It's him, making me feel this stupid desire to be subservient. And i do it. Because I like it. Secretly​. Secretly i like that being submissive makes me feel feminine.

Is that wrong?

It feels wrong.