Is ‘bitch’ empowering or problematic?

When Bitch Became My Label

Dumb bitch. Those were the two words he used.

It wasn’t about his ability to speak out against me, as I had just stepped in his way while walking through one of the city’s most populated train terminals – Melbourne Central Station – during peak hour. For all I care, he could have scoffed, muttered under his breath and called me rude, an idiot, a mother fucker. Yet, out of all the derogatory names in the English language, he chose those two words. Dumb bitch. Nine letters. Two syllables. Two words that when placed together, had a way of unravelling ambivalence and anger, and overshadowing what was rather an enjoyable morning.   

When he called me that name, wearing his nine-to-five corporate suit and descending the first escalator towards the ticket machine, his gnarled mouth spat each letter out with disgust. Slowed down, the memory plays out like a stop-motion video, stopping and starting on specific key frames: his back hunched over, a lump resting between his shoulder blades; a contorted face, as he shuffled toward the labyrinth of underground tunnels; a brain full of pixie dust with only one belief – that all women are bitches and witches, evil conspirators ready to ruin someone’s peaceful morning by taking up too much space and getting in their way.

I like this idea of him. I see it as my way of distorting the reality of this man, as he distorted me – an accidental step too close to his H&M trench coat and suddenly, I’m a dumb bitch.

At that moment, I couldn’t shake the feeling I had after hearing those words. Why? I had done nothing wrong. Perhaps it reminded me of all those times I had made a mistake as a child. The feeling of guilt after canon-balling into the pool after dad said not to, over-apologising for rejecting a boy’s advances, getting in trouble for not giving an uncle I hardly spoke to a kiss on the cheek, or the shame that came with forgetting to wear a pad underneath my school dress while on my period. Back then, I thought I had to be perfect, otherwise my entire existence would be shadowed by embarrassment and humiliation. A girl cannot make mistakes. Nor can she set her own boundaries. 

If I felt remorse for not doing the “right thing” when I was younger, no wonder every imperfect act going forward, however big or small, would reinforce the idea that I’m a bitch. And who would have thought that that idea was also instilled in the brains of men…

Empowerment or insult?

When did we start to use the word bitch, with its existing negative connotations, as a compliment? How did we turn a word that was first used to hate, hurt, and diminish women into one that was, as some would say, empowering?

What’s up bitch?

Sup bitches?

You’re the baddest bitch.

Get it gurl… I mean bitch.

Cue Megan Thee Stallion’s hot single B.I.T.C.H. The song I had been listening to an hour earlier on the train the morning I stepped in front of this misogynistic nine-to-fiver.

The power that a lyric, or a beat, can give us in a moment of need is stirring, and with Megan it’s the pithiness and command that comes from her voice. I’d rather be your B-I-T-C-H, ‘cause that’s what you gon’ call me when I’m trippin’ anyway. She doesn’t just rap these words, she owns them, and twists them until the meaning is what she makes of it. It’s electrifying and intoxicating. I want to be a bad bitch like her; to not worry about what others think, to stand proud and strong, and preach to the world that I don’t care whether you think I’m a bitch or a good girl. I get to decide who I am.

But is the real world ready for the overuse of bitch, or is it just me who’s not? Because when the music stops, I find the fizz of empowerment dissolves.

Are we contributing to a sexist culture by reinforcing these words through our casual conversations and/or the music we sing?

As Sherryl Kleinman states,

‘Women who “reclaim” the term—by declaring themselves “bitches”, calling other women “bitches” in a friendly way, or using the term as a female-based generic—unwittingly reinforce sexism. Unlike the term “feminist”, which is tied to a movement for social change, “bitch” provides women only with false power, challenging neither men nor patriarch.’

Kleinman isn’t wrong. Although, the more I think about it, I don’t have a problem with women overusing the word and reclaiming it in their own complimentary way. Just as Lazy Women emerged out of a desire to reclaim another two words casually spoken by a man, meant as an insult. For me, the real issue is when men use these words. You see, despite having the confidence to sing along with Megan Thee Stallion and cite the BITCH Manifesto word to word, it was one small, insignificant ‘dumb bitch’ from the sweaty lips of a nameless man, that somehow was significant enough to infuriate me.

When the man muttered those words, there were a few moments, a few steps I took forward, before realising he was referring to me. After all, I really don’t remember cutting him off in the first place, I just assumed that was why he called me that name. (Again, a girl cannot make mistakes, for if she does, well, you know what she is.)

But deep down, I knew that there was a woman with a voice, a powerful voice, locked inside me. A woman who had just been listening to Megan Thee Stallion, a woman that some may call a bitch. And so like any bad bitch, I turned around to face this man and screamed, ‘what the fuck did you say to me?’ in the loudest terse voice that I can imagine made me look like a WWE wrestler about to enter the ring.

To which he responded with… well nothing. Never in my life had I seen someone skip that many steps going down an escalator.

After what felt like screaming at the top of my lungs upon a desolate mountain peak, I was reborn… Okay, that’s definitely a figure of speech, but I did feel a sense of empowerment and growth, like I had suddenly shed my skin and was now ready to take the first steps toward being a bitch and owning it. Steps that involved living a life exactly as I had yesterday and the day before, changing nothing about myself or restraining my actions, rather expressing them full heartedly with confidence. After all, a bitch doesn’t need to change, she just unlocks the door to the woman hidden within.

Written by Caitlin Burns.
Caitlin is a freelance writer from Melbourne, Australia. Her writing has been published in Lip Magazine, ArtsHub, Style Magazine, and Intrepid Times. You can explore more of her work at www.caitlinburnswrites.com 

Illustrated by Dorottya Bőhm.