Dear President Bill Clinton: Welcome to the Women’s Club

Dear President Clinton,

Sure, you know what it’s like to be the leader of the free world, but it seems clear to me that until this week, you had been spared the indignity of knowing what it’s like to be a woman in the public eye.

But then you spoke on behalf of your wife, Hillary Rodham Clinton — former first lady, former New York senator, former secretary of state, and now the first female presidential nominee of a major party — at the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia on Tuesday night. And now? Now all I can say to you is: Welcome to the club.

First you were criticized for the content of your speech itself, rife with meet-cute details involving the Yale Law Journal and how your future world leader wife kept turning down your marriage proposals until you left her with no option when you bought her an 1,100-square-foot, non-air-conditioned house. Some critics said it was “not feminist” and had too much of the weird love stuff in it that we normally expect (female) political spouses to effortlessly gush about their (male) partners to make voters understand that they are just as relatable and real and adorable as any rom-com character.

Then there was the satirical analysis of your wardrobe that evening while you spoke — because, after all, a political spouse’s wardrobe choices infamously contain multitudes of layers of meaning. And you probably casually — but maybe a little nervously — laughed about it with Hillary and Chelsea when you saw it making the Internet rounds, everyone begging for your every buttonhole and notch lapel to be treated to the same heavy scrutiny that women — your wife, most of all — are subjected to every single day that they get dressed and leave their houses and dare to exist in the world. “Oh, bloggers!” you probably chortled. “Maybe next will be a great reality television flick about all my wardrobe choices, every day! Project Clinton, they could call it! Because, haha, wouldn’t that be silly if we scrutinized men’s appearances the way we do women’s! That’ll never happen!”

And then it did.

By the time the day had come for your wife to accept her party’s nomination, the clucking tongues of the celebrity gossip press had begun their wagging.

“Did he have plastic surgery?” they whispered in the quietly caustic tone usually reserved for the Kardashian family and any woman in Hollywood, politics, or the media over the age of 30.

Because this is what happens to women, and now you know.

We expect them to be feminine and nonthreatening but not too emotional.

We expect them to be beautifully and effortlessly dressed but to not reveal the work and effort of having been “styled.”

We expect them to age but not look old. To stay young but not demean their so-called natural beauty with the indignity of cosmetic procedures.

In other words, we want them to be all things that are impossible to concurrently be. And worst still, we want them to be the kinds of neutral canvasses onto which we can project our own anxieties — especially when it comes down to what we look like and what we wear to convey who we want to be.

We want women to not be for themselves, but for us — to pick apart and analyze and admire, sure, sometimes, but in a way that more often than not dangerously treads in the world of commodification and objectification.

Yes, now, dear President Clinton, you know (almost) what it’s really like to be your wife. And not because she is hoping to assume the same job you held almost two decades ago. No, now you know what it means to be judged for your body, your hair, your clothes, your feelings — to have all these things elevated above your work, your reputation, your character, and your achievements.

But don’t be too alarmed — it is grueling and exhausting to be a woman, dissected in grave detail in the public arena, yes. But just look to your wife for motivation: She has endured it every day for almost four decades, and now she’s poised to become the most qualified person in American history to hold the office of presidency.

So don’t let the haters get you down: Hold your head up, turn the volume down, and keep working. After all, this is what every woman in this great country manages to do every single day, so seamlessly and quietly that somehow we still manage to be parents and spouses and employees and bosses and creators and makers and doers. Just like our male brethren.

When you join our ranks, know you’re in good company — especially since you’ll never really know what it’s like to walk a day in our (often uncomfortable but allegedly quite stylish) shoes.

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