A girl has to have her role models.
Problem for me is that I don’t know who they are. I know they’re out there, and I’m looking for them, but I can’t recognize them since they’re women speaking through the mouths of grown, important men.
These women are my fellow ventriloquists. The important men are our dummies.
We’re phrasing the messages, but we’re not the ones who get to say the important words.
I don’t have much authority. People don’t really listen to me in meetings. I could blame my small stature again, but Madonna is smaller than I am and I don’t think she ever has problem getting people to listen. It’s something else. Apparently, it doesn’t have much to do with the talent for wording the message, since that’s what I get paid to do.
And I’m not alone.
My world is filled with ventriloquists. We’re an army of women speaking through the bellies of successful men. I’ve worded the cheerful letters of CEO’s. I’ve constructed perfect punch lines and made room for feelings of regret, gratitude or restrained happiness at the end.
I’m not saying these men couldn’t write their own letters. Of course they could and they have, they’re beyond that. Now they have more important stuff to take care of in meetings, boardrooms or wherever important men go. I don’t really know, as I’m not often invited there.
I actually like my ventriloquist ways. I like writing a pompous letter, signing it ”James”, though all involved know James didn’t write that himself.
Sometimes I wonder if the world wouldn’t be a tiny bit more equal if we quit being good girls, helping the busy men fulfil their tasks. I don’t know. Maybe not.
It’s not even certain I wrote this myself. I might have a young boy writing this for me. His name could be James, but he’s closing this letter with
Heartfelt greetings from your own
Ps. It’s enough to make me feel like one of those Russian dolls. Are all the layer dolls dolls, or is only the tiniest, the solid one, real? Perhaps that’s what we are? We are the littlest dolls. But we’re real.