Feminism and Shyness: 'Why are Women Shy?'

Why are women shy? This is a question that I have seldom asked though I am highly familiar with the physical and emotional symptoms of shyness in social situations. In fact, I’ve always seen myself as a ‘shy girl’. As a child, I recall hiding behind my mother’s leg while stuck in a room full of strangers. As a teenager, I felt uncomfortable and anxious in unfamiliar social settings. As an adult, I’ve used shyness as a blanket-term to describe my character and to validate myself when choosing a quiet night in over a wild night out. And yet, I am not always shy. I can be assertive, outspoken, confident, and comfortable in the public eye. The problem is that I have been socially groomed to be shy. As I’ve read, researched, and learned more about feminism, I’ve realised that shyness is an explicitly feminine trait that complies with female gender norms particular to Western society. Young girls are praised for their good behaviour when they are quiet, respectful, and docile while young boys are encouraged to be assertive, outspoken, and forward thinking. In adulthood, women who are assertive and outspoken are ridiculed for their brashness while men who express the same behaviour are celebrated for their leadership. Indeed, the vocabulary that we use to describe men and women fundamentally determines their acceptance within society.

Throughout my art history and feminist research, the theme of excess prevails in discussions surrounding women, the female body, and the idea of femininity. Historically, visible excess has been strategically employed in visual culture to shame, or degrade, those human or material bodies that threaten to expose the fragile boundaries which govern Western society’s gender and societal mores. As Julia Skelly argues in her important book, “[t]he choice to embrace excess is not without risks,” thus signifying Western society’s shameful response to women that exceed the feminine norm.[1] Applying Skelly’s argument to ‘shy girls’, women who exceed the quiet, docile, and controlled nature characteristic of the ideal are subject to a public and private shaming induced by family, loved ones, and general society. Women who do not fit within the ‘shy’ ideal are deemed transgressive as their behaviour visibly and characteristically exceeds what others have deemed feminine traits.

Last spring, my therapist and I began to deconstruct the ways in which I perceive myself and my own characteristics. I vividly recall mentioning that I’ve always been shy. In fact, my mother observed my tendency to make strange with people as an infant; this observation was recorded in a diary just five months after I was born. My therapist nodded and we began to explore what it means to ‘make strange’ with others. Unsurprisingly, the very phrase to ‘make strange’ is to be shy when encountering strangers or unfamiliar situations. I do not share this story to insinuate that this behaviour is uncommon for infants, both male and female. Instead, I wish to use this story to consider the ways in which society nurtures young girls to exhibit this behaviour throughout childhood and well into adulthood.

As young girls grow up, they are praised for making strange with unfamiliar people or places; they are taught to avoid certain situations, interactions, or spaces in which they may become vulnerable to the harsh realities of the public gaze. Women are encouraged to dress and act modestly to avoid excessive attention. Indeed, women who cover their bodies in bright colours or alternative dress put themselves at risk for being perceived as more excessive than those who remain loyal to traditional fashion trends. The excess being a source of anxiety for the male gaze. These examples share a common theme: To be a woman is to avoid excess whether socially, emotionally, or physically. The fear of being ‘too much’ or occupying too much space within society ostensibly nurtured my shyness as a child and positively reinforced how I saw myself as a young adult. And yet, while this behaviour complies with society’s ideals, it left me feeling inadequate as my ostensible shyness was confining and unsatisfyingly restrictive.

In Bodies that Matter, Judith Butler argues that gender is fundamentally performative.[2] Thus, the female body is recognised as a woman through her performance of femininity; this establishes a tradition of evaluating a woman’s character through her adherence to the visual codes and signs which define society’s idea of femininity as an indicator of both virtue and morality. Butler writes, “[w]ithin speech act theory, a performative is that discursive practice that enacts or produces that which it names.”[3] Applying this theory to the concept of excess, women learn to behave in particular ways to fit within the socially contrived femininity box. Indeed, women avoid excess to avoid exceeding the metaphorical boundaries of this box. As a result, the shyness and timidness characteristic of femininity is not necessarily a personal deficiency; at large, this is a consequence of social construction and the vocabulary used to describe women.

To destabilise this predicament, we must first begin with language. I invite you to start by observing your own verbal and written patterns; the words you use to express certain wants and needs, the words used to describe superiors in your life, or the words used to describe yourself to others. For example, the term shy is not problematic on an objective level. The term shy becomes dangerous when used to mask gendered vocabulary intended to confine women. Drawing from Butler’s argument, vocabulary is an important constructive tool that fundamentally builds and shapes society, therefore the only way to rewrite the narrative around women is to literally re-write the ways in which women are discussed and described in society.

[1] Julia Skelly, “Introduction,” The Uses of Excess in Visual and Material Culture, 1600-2010, ed. Julia Skelly (London and New York: Routledge, 2014), p. 4. [2] Judith Butler, “Bodies that Matter,” Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of the ‘Sex’ (London: Routledge, 2011), p. xii. [3] Butler, “Bodies that Matter,” p. 13.