A Space of One's Own

“Why do you have a separate girls’ chat for your friend group? Surely that creates a bad divide, I thought you guys were striving for equality?”

My initial reaction was to agree, such binary segregation usually sets a bad standard for social interactions, encouraging people to stick to their assigned gender and roles. But I paused when my gut suddenly informed me that actually I really like our gals’ chat, and the thought of getting rid of it in the interest of creating a more inclusive environment seemed… wrong.

I realised that I value this chat as a specific place where I can talk to other girls, where I can share, query, gossip, laugh, or just feel like there’s somewhere special for me to belong. I value having a space for people just like me.

In intersectional feminism, the concept of “space” differs slightly from its everyday colloquial use. Including but not restricted to a physical area, a “space” for marginalised folk is a time, a forum, a physical, linguistic or emotional place to be themselves. To share their experiences with people who live in similar circumstances, and to take a breather from the struggle of navigating a society which is built to exclude minority identities. Queer spaces, trans spaces, black spaces and women’s spaces exist to provide safety and comfort to people whose everyday experiences with cis-heteronormativity, white supremacy and the patriarchy make them feel unsafe and uncomfortable.

My women’s spaces, whether they be gals’ Whatsapp chats, girls’ nights, the women’s bathroom at a club or even just the five minutes you pull your friend into a room to ask an opinion on an outfit are all places I’ve joined or created for myself to feel comfortable within. Perhaps I am ultimately conforming to gender stereotypes that will harm the autonomy of my self expression in the long term, but these “girly” moments are times when I have looked at the patriarchy, shrugged, and made myself a home. Unlike the family structure which was built on a system of literal fatherly dominance, unlike the education system which continues to value “masculine” skills and the male voice, my gals’ chat was made by women, for women. When the rest of society ascribes “femininity” to women and then puts them down for conforming to “girliness”, my women’s spaces allow me to act the way I choose - or admittedly potentially the way I’ve been taught - without judgement and without fear of ridicule or violence. All marginalised folk require their spaces; it’s often the only time and place available for self exploration, which is something people whose identities are validated by wider society often take for granted.

Incidentally, these same reasons explain why minorities are upset by majorities’ attempts to claim equal rights to their own spaces. Gay pride parades exist because of a very real need to create a space for the LGBT+ community; our society as it stands simply does not provide it. The subsequent demand for “straight pride” to “create equality” fails to understand that the literal entirety of society is a space for heterosexuals. Heterosexuals do not fear discrimination or violence for their sexuality, and so do not require a safe space. Men do not regularly face jokes whose punchlines rely on the assumption that men as a gender are dumb, and so do not require a space where they can assure themselves that they are strong and capable. White people do not face stereotypes as criminals, and so do not need a space to take back their culture and positively redefine it.

When boys ridicule me and my girlfriends for having “girls’ time”, I’m jealous of the patriarchy that makes them feel like the space they occupy every second of the day supports them, encourages them and loves them, because I can only achieve this by making it myself.