The Woman Climber

I was told that because I chose to be half-naked in an offwidth, I was setting a standard for all girls. They said: “I think it sucks that you’ve got to be half-naked for people to pay attention to your pictures because you don’t. What you’re doing is cool—but heck, if they can get a photo of a chick doing something cool half-naked, then (duh) that one’s better.” and:

“Congrats, but come on—offwidth in a sports bra?”

I came back from Human Chew Toy, breathlessly excited about a route I’d finally sent when these messages found me. My pride slowly disappeared and I felt embarrassed, ashamed. My gut twisted in a combination of sadness and disappointment and these comments sat with me for several days.

It obviously makes me uncomfortable and I went back and forth between feeling like I had a right to defend myself and then thinking “I shouldn’t have to defend myself,” I wish that I had spoken my mind at the time, but my feelings were hurt by this commentary and instead, I remained silent. But now, instead of sweeping it under the rug and moving on, I want to talk about it. So, let’s get awkward.

I’d posted a picture on social media that had been taken of me in July, during my first attempt at climbing Human Chew Toy, a 5.11d offwidth in Soddy Daisy, Tennessee. I was wearing a sports bra and jeans. At this point, I’ve unapologetically posted many climbing photographs on social media channels; in most of them I am wearing a sports bras. Heck, in some of them I’m wearing the occasional short shorts. I could give you a rationalization for each time, too—bras and shorts because it’s summer and my body temperature runs hot. But why does any woman have to rationalize what they are wearing—to anybody at all?

I want to talk about “slut shaming”. What is slut shaming, exactly? According to Geek Feminism Wiki, it’s “the act of criticizing a woman for her real or presumed sexual activity, or for behaving in ways that someone thinks are associated with her real or presumed sexual activity.” Oxford Dictionary defines it as: “The action or fact of stigmatizing a woman for engaging in behavior judged to be promiscuous or sexually provocative.” Slut shaming is the act of making any person feel guilty or inferior for certain sexual behaviors that deviate from “societal norms.” It’s possible that we’ve all been on either end of this in some way or form. Comments are made within circles of friends—especially if we think that the mentioned party might never hear about it at all. It’s easy to judge. It’s easy to make these snap judgments, but the weight that our words hold is heavy and can hurt.

Why is this an issue?

Shaming has become such a pervasive role in young adult culture, and it’s becoming more and more commonplace. The consequences of shaming go beyond my experience to shaping societal views and conversation based around sexual harassment, sexual violence, rape, and abuse. With a sharp rise in popularity of social media and Internet bullying and trolling, its continued growth becomes impossible to ignore.

Let me clarify: You don’t have to use the actual word “slut” to be guilty of this act. You can be shamed as a male or a female. You don’t have to be someone who actually physically partakes in a sexual act to be a victim of slut shaming. You can be a virgin. You can be a climber. You can be an athlete or model or sex worker. Women and men from all walks of life can fall victim to this form of shame. And this issue should interest all genders because it affects every single one of us. If you have ever been cat-called walking down the street; if you have ever been or known someone who has been sexually harassed, assaulted or a rape victim; if you have requested access to birth control; if you have had or know someone who has had an abortion—basically, if you are human, you should be concerned about this.

When the “Climb Like a Girl” campaign came out and videos and blog rolls exploded onto the scene, I remember really liking what they had to say. I even used the hashtag “#likeagirl”. I remember seeing a comment along the lines of “I don’t necessarily need someone high-fiving me for being a climber AND a girl,” emphasizing the desire to be acknowledged as a climber first and foremost, which as a female climber I can relate. But I think that the message got lost and what the campaign attempted to highlight was female power and prowess. Not trying to diminish the capabilities of the female gender by segregating it, “Climb Like a Girl” asked the community to look beyond what an outfit to elevate her ability, mental fortitude, and intelligence. There is such a moral panic over how women dress these days that it was a refreshing campaign to see and, most importantly, gave younger generations of girls a new way to perceive themselves and female companions.

But it’s a catch 22, isn’t it? As a female climber, we want to be respected for who we are and not what we look like—and especially not for what we wear (or choose not to wear). But if we appear a certain way to the public, we run the risk of being judged. And let’s be honest, regardless of our gender, we all run the risk of being judged the very moment we step outside of our homes and into the world. Judgment inevitably will happen and if it has to, I want only to be judged on my thoughts, words, and actions. Judge me based on how I greet the person who hands me my cup of morning coffee or how I speak of my ex’s when they’re not around or how I treat my closest friends. Don’t make assumptions on the grades that I do or don’t climb; judge me on my determination. Don’t form your opinions of me on whether or not I failed or found success, but instead on how I handle my failures and successes.

And definitely don’t judge me on what I am wearing. Fabric that I wear has nothing to do with the fabric of who I am.

I used to not have very thick skin and have always been self-conscious about my body. I’m short and petite and not leggy at all. My hair has always lacked style or definition and, much to my disdain, does whatever it wants to. My eyes are too small. My teeth, too crooked. My legs, too beefy. All of these things still ring true but the difference is—I care much less. Yes, other people’s opinions should not matter but it’s much easier to say that we feel that way—that we’re stronger than words, that we’re rubber and they’re glue, after all. But it takes so long and so much self-work to get to that place. For me, it was well over two decades. And there are certainly days where I have to start all over again, right back at square one.

But my skin’s a little thicker these days.

It was climbing that allowed me to start re-building confidence in physical self, which spills over in so many different corners of my life. Climbing itself already feels like such a gift, and then, one day, it gave me a new toughness—the backbone I’ve always secretly wished I had. It made me believe that I had inner grit. We should all be able to climb in whatever we feel the most comfortable in without worrying about what other people are going to say or think. You want to climb in some shorty booty short shorts? Please, go right ahead. Don’t explain to me that it’s because it’s the most comfortable thing or that you, god forbid, like the way you look in them because you don’t have to explain those things to anybody. Wear a bikini, if you want to. Send a bunch of routes in your underwear.

Personally, I think that life is too short to care what people do with their clothing.

And finally, for a moment, I had felt a sense of self was robbed from me. It is difficult for me to not feel wounded by these kinds of statements, especially when they come from someone you admire so much. But then I remembered that nobody can take those things from me unless I allow them to, and if there is any kind of standard a photo of me climbing in a sports bra sets, I hope that it’s you can confidently wear what you want while climbing. I hope that that’s what women see first and that’s what sets the bar.

“Please don’t misunderstand, because I have a healthy self esteem. (Some might say too healthy!) I, however, am aware of this weird relationship that women have with self esteem. Somehow, you’re supposed to love yourself but just not too much, otherwise you’re full of yourself. You should be proud of your body, but don’t you dare show it off otherwise you’re a whore. We are told to be two different women and it’s hard to be either.” - Tatiana Cicchelli

Cover photograph courtesy of Kat Carney