Why Rihanna is the Reason I Might Not Get Married
by Melissa Sherman
In the flurry of fake internet outrage & uproar about Rihanna doing the sensible thing with temperatures rising and ditching a bra in favor of sheer awesomeness, I stumbled across a tweet from an upset young fellow. His tweet simply stated “She not wifey material if she look up to Rihanna.”
Then, I decided I’m not wifey material.
Here’s the thing. I’ve always wanted to get married. I was born a straight black girl. I like men. When I was in kindergarten, I thought I wanted yellow and purple to be my wedding colors. I really enjoyed the idea of a whole shindig dedicated to me and someone I really love hanging out with. I aspired to be a wife and have a job and take care of my own kids as well as my mom did for my siblings and I.
When I got a bit older, I started to understand how complicated marriage is. Marriage actually is a two-way street and you both better be sure as hell that’s the road you’re intent on travelling. I’ve seen a lot of relationships collapse, break-apart right in front of me, several of my own included. I watched my mom’s terrifying and messy divorce from my stepfather for the safety of our family when I was seven.
But I also saw my sister marry her high school sweetheart and build a beautiful life too. They’re strong and happy, even in challenges. They’re my last remaining hope that marriage is still a worthwhile institution, to be honest.
I’ve wondered what it means to be a good wife, what it means to be a good husband. What does it look like to love and to cherish? Do I have to stifle myself to be loved? Can’t I be me and love my womanhood without threatening my mate’s manhood?
I had all of these thoughts swirling through my head for a while, but then Rihanna showed her fabulous titties and a selfish, sick, misogynistic young man decided a week before that it’s not ok for women to make conscious decisions on their own and they deserve to die for it. It really bummed me out. So I decided to list a few reasons why I’m not wifey material.
See, I’m not wifey material because I love myself too much.
I’m not wifey material because I won’t break myself anymore to be with a man.
I’m not wifey material because I think that I’m beautiful inside and out, muffin top and all.
I’m not wifey material because I work hard and I think I deserve to be paid the same amount as a man if we’re doing the same job.
I’m not wifey material because I don’t think I should have to stifle my creativity and intelligence and love to make a man feel better about his shortcomings.
I’m not wifey material because even though I’m happy to make a house a home, I won’t be the only one helping keep it home-y.
I’m not wifey material because I don’t think I should have to wear a bra because if I don’t, I might give some idiot the impression that it’s cool to rape me.
I’m not wifey material because I don’t see any redeeming value in sympathizing with domestic violence against a man or a woman.
I’m not wifey material because I pick Jesus sandals over J’s and heels most days.
I’m not wifey material because my mom taught me that you have to love yourself before anyone else will.
I’m not wifey material because sometimes we all need to leave Twitter and go read a book.
Then, I decided I’m not wifey material.
Here’s the thing. I’ve always wanted to get married. I was born a straight black girl. I like men. When I was in kindergarten, I thought I wanted yellow and purple to be my wedding colors. I really enjoyed the idea of a whole shindig dedicated to me and someone I really love hanging out with. I aspired to be a wife and have a job and take care of my own kids as well as my mom did for my siblings and I.
When I got a bit older, I started to understand how complicated marriage is. Marriage actually is a two-way street and you both better be sure as hell that’s the road you’re intent on travelling. I’ve seen a lot of relationships collapse, break-apart right in front of me, several of my own included. I watched my mom’s terrifying and messy divorce from my stepfather for the safety of our family when I was seven.
But I also saw my sister marry her high school sweetheart and build a beautiful life too. They’re strong and happy, even in challenges. They’re my last remaining hope that marriage is still a worthwhile institution, to be honest.
I’ve wondered what it means to be a good wife, what it means to be a good husband. What does it look like to love and to cherish? Do I have to stifle myself to be loved? Can’t I be me and love my womanhood without threatening my mate’s manhood?
I had all of these thoughts swirling through my head for a while, but then Rihanna showed her fabulous titties and a selfish, sick, misogynistic young man decided a week before that it’s not ok for women to make conscious decisions on their own and they deserve to die for it. It really bummed me out. So I decided to list a few reasons why I’m not wifey material.
See, I’m not wifey material because I love myself too much.
I’m not wifey material because I won’t break myself anymore to be with a man.
I’m not wifey material because I think that I’m beautiful inside and out, muffin top and all.
I’m not wifey material because I work hard and I think I deserve to be paid the same amount as a man if we’re doing the same job.
I’m not wifey material because I don’t think I should have to stifle my creativity and intelligence and love to make a man feel better about his shortcomings.
I’m not wifey material because even though I’m happy to make a house a home, I won’t be the only one helping keep it home-y.
I’m not wifey material because I don’t think I should have to wear a bra because if I don’t, I might give some idiot the impression that it’s cool to rape me.
I’m not wifey material because I don’t see any redeeming value in sympathizing with domestic violence against a man or a woman.
I’m not wifey material because I pick Jesus sandals over J’s and heels most days.
I’m not wifey material because my mom taught me that you have to love yourself before anyone else will.
I’m not wifey material because sometimes we all need to leave Twitter and go read a book.
I’m not wifey material because if I don’t want to sleep with you, I shouldn’t be subject to potentially being murdered.
I’m not wifey material because of Sojourner Truth, Audre Lorde, Gloria Steinem, Maya Angelou, Rihanna, Mae Jemison and Toni Morrison.
I’m not wifey material because I like my TWA.
I’m not wifey material because I think it’s possible to still respect a woman after both consenting adults choose to share their bodies outside of wedlock.
I’m not wifey material because I won’t fight a sister over a man.
I’m not wifey material because I have an opinion and assert my rights.
I’m not wifey material because I won’t settle for a man who thinks looking up to strong, beautiful, vibrant women like Rihanna would in any way hinder my ability to be a loving, caring, loyal or disciplined wife.
I’m not wifey material because I have trouble finding compatible hubby material that can’t recognize and understand how patriarchy and male privilege make their lives 10x easier than my own.
I’m not wifey material because girls and women are being trafficked because men want wifey material.
I’m not wifey material because women are still being stoned to death to preserve their “family’s honor.”
I’m not wifey material because Planned Parenthoods are closing in the places where they’re needed most.
I’m not wifey material because who told you being wifey material was something I had to aspire to be?
I’m not wifey material because even though I’m a Christian, I’m also a feminist and that’s incompatible with over half of the bible.
I’m not wifey material because who cares if you’re gay, trans, straight, black, white, asian, latin@, old, young, fat, skinny, have acne, short hair, long hair, big boobs, little boobs, big penises, small penises, are a Democrat or Republican or nada, or whatever, you deserve to be respected and loved and you need to show respect and give love too.
I’m not wifey material because you will listen to my stories, tell me how cool they are, then I will eat the sandwich I made for you, in front of your face.
I’m not wifey material because I’m sick of waiting for a prince to save me. I have an iphone with Google Maps and I think I know how to change a tire by myself.
I’m not wifey material because if/when I do get married, my partner won’t have found wifey material, but will have to settle instead for a ferociously intelligent, hard working, focused, strategic, willful, loving, brilliant, shimmering, versatile, tenacious, gorgeous on the inside and out woman who’s got her head on straight and knows her worth no matter what.
I’m not wifey material because I want to teach girls they don’t have to be validated by men who would narrow their socially acceptable lifestyle options so much that the only thing they should aspire to be is wifey material.
I’m not wifey material because if I were, I’d probably be a lot more boring.
So, with all that being said, thanks Rihanna and your awesome nudity, for likely ruining my chances of ever being wifey material. It’s much appreciated.
Photo: D. Dipasuli/Getty Images
Melissa Sherman blogs here
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