In thinking about an oral history of my perspectives and what I can tell, one theme kept with me. It was this idea of Feminine envy and how I wish I could do the things they get to do without a second thought.
Boys don’t have to think about their surroundings or body. The world wasn’t made to hurt them.
They can get gas in the middle of the night and not park as close as they can to the machine so there is only space for your car door and the pump. They aren’t looking over their shoulder.
It’s not that I am mad at boys, it’s that im envious of what they can do.
They’re allowed to open up their dresser and wear the first thing that they see. Then they have the audacity to say “women spend to much time getting ready” when in reality it is a decision of how we are going to be perceived that day.
If I wear something too tight, will people think I’m a slut?
If I wear something baggy, will people think I’m lazy?
If I wear a really well curated outfit, will people think I’m trying to hard? Or that I wear impractical clothing?
This all seems trivial but they have an affect on how people treat us.
Over the span of my life I have made multiple trips to my local giant. The level of which I am dressed will always affect how people treat me.
If I decide to dress nicely then people stare at me. However, If I need to ask for help employees are far more likely to help me and will sometimes even go out of their way to help me (which could be attributed to that I am a pretty little white woman and the privilege that I hold in that)
On the opposite side if I decide to dress in sweat pants, a baggy shirt, and no makeup no one will stare at me however I am greeted with side eyes. Maybe a store employee will watch me to make sure I’m not stealing anything.
When I was a kid everything I was allowed to do changed once my breasts started to develop. Suddenly I couldn’t run, I couldn’t wear my spaghetti strapped tops, and I had to wear an extra hot layer underneath my shirt. All my friends who were guys now started to act differently towards me, and all my family members couldn’t stop bringing up that I was “a woman now”
Boys never had an experience like this. Boys didn’t get their childhood taken from them because of their bodies betraying them.
I have come to love my breasts; they are a wonderful part of me now. However I wish I could’ve come in to my body on my own without the world’s judgmental eyes.
Comedian Jo Sunday has a bit about when people say “Get home safe” In relation to the way she dresses. She states “Well it’s polite… but it’s really not up to me is it?” https://www.instagram.com/reel/DPe7jwXD6BC/?igsh=bzZ6Ymk4eDRxYzBp
I’d highly recommend everyone to check it out:)
Unruly Bodies 
I really connected with what you said as I’ve felt and gone through many of the same things as a woman myself. I also agree that the world constantly reminds us how we’re perceived and judged for simply existing in our bodies. But I don’t fully agree that the world isn’t made to hurt men. Even though the system was created by men, it still crushes them too as it forces them to constantly prove their masculinity. That’s why we see the rise of trends like “alpha males” telling other men how to breathe, walk, and dress. These expectations just show up differently depending on gender, but everyone is impacted by it in some way.
Your post reminds me of a Billie Eilish song/monologue:
Do you know me?
Really know me?
You have opinions about my opinions
About my music
About my clothes
About my body
Some people hate what I wear
Some people praise it
Some people use it to shame others
Some people use it to shame me
But I feel you watching
Always
And nothing I do goes unseen
So while I feel your stares, your disapproval or your sigh of relief
If I lived by them, I’d never be able to move
Would you like me to be smaller, weaker, softer, taller?
Would you like me to be quiet?
Do my shoulders provoke you? Does my chest?
Am I my stomach? My hips?
The body I was born with
Is it not what you wanted?
If I wear what is comfortable, I am not a woman
If I shed the layers, I’m a slut
Though you’ve never seen my body, you still judge it
And judge me for it
Why?
We make assumptions about people based on their size
We decide who they are
We decide what they’re worth
If I wear more, if I wear less
Who decides what that makes me? What that means?
Is my value based only on your perception?
Or is your opinion of me not my responsibility?