The Cutprice Guignol

Two days ago, I was making a cup of tea when I heard the thud of the post landing in my hallway. Once I had managed to chase my cat away from the fresh batch of interesting new smells, I went through the letters; spam, spam, adverts, local politics…and, oh, a letter for me, something official-looking. I was about to open it, when I spotted the title before my name, and sighed: Miss, instead of Ms. Again.

I know I’m far from the first female member of my family to roll my eyes over a letter like this. In fact, my very first introduction to the concept of the word “Ms.” came from my mum, a staunch feminist and one of my personal political heroes, tossing aside a letter in irritation after another official organisation had ignored her frequent requests to be referred to as “Ms.” instead of “Mrs”. It was a step up from the groups who insisted on referring to her by my father’s name, which she has never taken or gone by, but still a frustration. She’s not the only one; every woman I’ve met who goes by Ms. has stories of having the patiently, politely, endlessly correct people on their title, no matter how many forms they fill out indicating the contrary. I started using it about seven years ago, preferring a title that didn’t have anything to say about my marital status, and since then, I can count the number of times any official documentation actually used it on one hand.

And I know this might seem like a minor issue to some people. It certainly isn’t the most pressing matter facing women today, and I’m never going to argue that it is. But it does serve as a reminder of the way women are defined based on their relationships to other people and especially men, and I’d like to talk a little about why it matters.

The exact date of the first use of Ms. as a marriage-neutral honorific for women is debated, but language historian Ben Zimmer identified a 1901 column published in the Springfield Sunday Republican as a possible progenitor of the title’s use. The writer described the need for a title that served as “a more comprehensive term which does homage to the sex without expressing any views as to their domestic situation”, and proposed Ms (which included letters from both Miss and Mrs) as a potential solution. While men could use the neutral Mr whether they were married or not, women were stuck with titles that defined their status before they’d even spoken their name.

The term didn’t grow in popularity as part of the feminist movement, however, until the early 1960s, when Sheila Michaels, an American feminist activist, began searching for a term that could be used to describe a woman not attached to any man. For Michaels, Miss indicated the ownership and influence of a father; Mrs that of a husband. Michaels, who was unmarried at the time and had been asked to stop using her family name due to her step-father’s discomfort with her activism, settled on Mss as a new potential title.

It wasn’t until 1969 that the term entered widespread use when feminist activist and writer Gloria Steinem, after being informed of the term by a friend, chose to name her iconic feminist magazine after the term. The first issue of Ms. Magazine was published in 1972 (if you have the time, I would so recommend checking out some of their back catalogue of articles and issues – they’re fascinating, well-written, and still painfully relevant in many cases), and the term was recognised just a month after the first issue’s release by the US Government as an acceptable title for official documentation. The term was adopted across many feminist groups across the world as well as earning recognition as an official title in several countries, serving as an indicator of a woman’s personhood outside of her relationship to a man.

And I really don’t think it’s importance in that regard can be overstated. Mary Thom, one of the early editors of Ms. Magazine, was an early adopter of the new term, spoke of it’s practical value in defining women outside of a husband or father – “when I applied for a department store credit card,” she explained. “They wanted my father’s name because I wasn’t married, even though he lived 500 miles away, even though I was in my 20s and living away from home”. Etymologically, for decades, women had been recognized as either a child (Miss) or a wife (Mrs). The moniker Ms. taking on a broader cultural recognition offered us a third option: an adult woman whose marital status was irrelevant.

Which is exactly why it matters to me, and so many women who choose to use it. When I am introduced in an official capacity – or any capacity, really – I don’t want the first thing people hear, the title that comes before my name, to be an indicator of whether or not I am married (and, up until very recently where I am in the world, that marriage would only have been possible if it was to a man). This prioritizing of relationship and marital status is an extension of the way we treat women as fundamentally tied to men, attached to a specific role that historically limited them to domesticity as a wife and mother – that switch from Miss to Mrs serving to indicate a shift of ownership from one man to another. When I chose to use that title, it was because I wanted to be seen as a person first and foremost – not a wife, not an unmarried woman, but a person.

And, while I don’t base the conception of my own personhood on whether people writing official letters use the correct title for me, when it’s dismissed and ignored as often as it is, it serves to remind me how normal it is to define women by something other than their personhood. The number of times I’ve gently corrected someone on my title, only to be met with an eye-roll, some snide comment about radical feminism, or being completely ignored? More than I would care to think about.

And I know I’m not the only one. Even outside of the term Ms., which so many women struggle to be recognized by, women face issues with professional titles like Doctor or Professor, too, with the terms being used far less for women than they are for men. Again, it might seem like a small issue, but it’s another chip in the block of women’s liberation – a refusal to respect women’s authority over their professions, or even their own identities.

Even though it’s a relatively new moniker in terms of it’s use as part of the feminist movement, Ms. is a small form of rebellion. I would never judge a woman by what she chooses to title herself, whatever that might be, but for me, Ms. is a small statement of my personhood every time I use it – and every time I correct another official document that doesn’t.

What’s your relationship with the word Ms.? If you use this title, have you found it difficult to get people to respect it? Let me know in the comments!

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(header image via Harper’s Bazaar)