Permission is a Myth
Thanks for your patience while I didn’t write. It’s not that I didn’t feel I didn’t have anything to say, I think I just needed a break. Also, I wanted to spend some time listening. So I did.
I couldn’t stay away forever though. I’m back and I really, really, really have something to say. Well, maybe rant about is a more accurate phrase than having something to say. I’m about to shout.
While it’s still a relatively new year, I’m the same old me. Thank Beyonce. Mixed feelings are what I currently hold about resolutions but I’m insatiably curious about dissecting trends and pop culture. May I forever stay wanting, observant, and thirsty.
As a millennial, and a privileged white woman, let me get dizzyingly high on my soap box and shout to y’all. I am near physically sick of hearing a message that’s been repurposed in a zillion different ways and my blood has boiled over. It’s firmly 2025 so let’s put this outdated idea to bed. How many times have you even just today heard…?
“I don’t know who needs to hear about this...”
“It’s okay to…”
“I want you to know…”
“Remember that you…”
“The rules of dressing…”
“10 things to avoid when…”
“It’s totally cool if you…”
“This is in… and this is out…”
“We co-sign…”
“You can take up space…”
“I’m giving you permission to…”
These seemingly innocuous phrases are all different versions of people (men, authors, more men, influencers, capitalism, etc), places (primarily the internet, weekend courses, and the self-help aisle), and things (articles, listicles, social media, etc) giving you various forms of permission. To simply exist. Permission to exist as a living, breathing, already unique human is blasphemy. I loathe this idea.
Note: If you are a victim of domestic abuse or in a controlling relationship, I’m so sorry to hear that, this rant is not meant for you. Here is some information for various local resources.
While I think granting permission is rooted in the attempt to dismantle or rework or retrain our brains from the wrongful socialisation of the patriarchy, I reject the idea that any third party can bestow any adult the permission to exist or feel feelings.
By being alive, you already exist as a human. Check.
No external permission validates you more than simply being an alive adult. Check check.
Further, I deem permission-based language or, as T. Swizzle may purr, this particular narrative further perpetuates the bullshit, messed-up limiting belief. I reject the system. If you’re part of the 18 years young and plus club, the concept of needing and granting permission is ridiculous.
(Please do not conflate permission to exist to with obtaining consent. Not the same. Expressed, enthusiatic consent is so hot. Permission to exist as a human is not.)
To share more specifically what I grinds my gears, let me provide a couple firsthand examples over this past year of having permission-based language pushed on me.
First, while at a yoga and mindfulness seminar, multiple speakers and instructors gave me permission for things I didn’t know if needed. I found out it was “okay to go to the washroom whenever I needed” and that “It’s totally fine to take breaks when you want.” And finally, at the provided lunch, “I could absolutely eat my prepaid meal at lunch.” Thanks? I’ll continue to be a human today.
Second, perhaps a simpler example is a domestic one. Many women at a personal finance learning session I attended last spring were absolutely gobsmacked at my truth when the leader asked for a work/life example of “What you give yourself permission to say no to”. After a long pause and silence in the room – cue the crickets - I spoke up that I do not cook. My partner has taken the lead as long as we have lived together. He cooks; I clean. It works for us. Many followed up,
“How is that okay with him?”
“How did I get him to do it?”
Ooooof.
I simply replied, “I eat what’s put in front of me and stay out of the way.” And of course, because I’m me, I followed up with, “I strongly believe that one can enjoy dating whomever. That said, building a life – combining assets, having pets, caregiving, sharing a home - with an incompatible, toxic masculine bro-dude dud is to be avoided at all costs.”
Conversation over.
If the above are not obvious enough, perhaps we need a third. Don’t get me started on the amount of times I’ve heard, “You husband lets you wear that?” Pardon? Excuse me? Are you implying I need permission to wear clothes on my body that I’ve purchased with my money and then live the life I’ve been building for myself?
Yikes.
Indulge me by repeating after me, adult fashion friends: permission is a myth.
Permission is a myth. A myth that may distract you in how you choose to live your life, how you make a living or spend your money, whom you love, and if you need to start somewhere smaller than a complete and terrifying existential crisis: what clothing you choose to put on your body.
Any noun mentioned above telling you otherwise is not to be trusted. This dangerous, controlling enemy of personal autonomy does not exist in my utopian mental health cocoon that I have deliberately built for myself in my adult years. No one can provide me permission to exist but myself.
May I repeat for emphasis: granting permission from one adult to another adult is a myth. It only exists if you believe it to be true. The searing hot feeling rattling in my bones is because I struggle with most forms of external validation in our late-stage capitalist society. Life is a buffet for you to choose according to your own tastes. “Once I get this / buy this / have this title / marry this person / drive this car / post this / have a family / live here… blah blah blah” are all things that exist OUTSIDE of oneself. Instead, focusing on how you want to feel for yourself and yourself alone will take you to more genuine, satisfying corners of self-actualisation. Go in. Seeking validation outward is a fool’s errand.
As a decent, law-abiding human, choosing what to wear whatever you want on whatever day you want and spend it doing whatever you want with someone who loves you exactly as you are is it. That’s it. No notes.
When someone attempts to grant you permission and you’re not into it, interject. A simple, “I didn’t ask for your permission” is a quick way to nip that in the bud.
If you need someone else to break this down for you that is not a millennial white woman oozing with privilege, totally fine by me. It is not lost on me that I’m a writing a blog on my own site urging y’all to reject permission which feels pretty much like granting permission. Ugh. I just don’t currently know how else to say it.
So maybe don’t listen to me. There are other folks doing a much better job. May I suggest:
One of my personal favourite single podcasts of 2024 featuring Drew Afualo and Karamo Brown.
Samia Benchaou is a living art piece who knows exactly who she is and how she wants to show up.
Further proof that style has no rules, including antiquated ideas about age, Grece Ghamen is more than a moment.
Lilly Singh continues to get honest about confidence and self-evolution.
One of my favourite body positive activists, Felicity Hayward, keeps the fashion industry honest and accountable.
Multi-hyphenate Alok - including comedian and poet - has no equal. They have immense wealth of self-love practice that they share openly.
Lauren “Lolo” Spencer’s book is on my reading list for 2025.
