We often ignore the indifference of men and dive headfirst into their lives, filling all the empty space with a curiosity, an empathy, that isn’t shared.
As a woman, you can’t look at that face without seeing the façade, but as a girl, it would be easy to convince yourself that such perfection exists.
The belly wakes up first: it needs the most protecting. After all, this is where a kind of magic happens.
Consider this my official to plea to have the appeal of The Victoria’s Secret Show unpacked for me, preferably via a detailed PowerPoint presentation created by a non-sexually-fantasizing male or female.
A rebuttal to The Harvard Lampoon Editor’s recent silly piece about women reaching “peak frump.”
It was all my insecurities manifested as some sort of Dali-esque nightmare…the makings of a surrealist film that Women’s Studies majors would go to town with.
This book doesn’t hate men, but it knows they’re flawed—it knows that our world, and its system of privileges, is wholly warped…that it continues to need fixing
Society has built up a problematic narrative where the ideal woman acts in a very particular way: she doesn’t care about superficial things (make-up, fashion), yet always manages to look and feel perfect despite that. Call it Jennifer Lawrence syndrome, if you will.
Inspired by the brilliant Meh List published every week in The Sunday Magazine of The New York Times, I thought I’d start crafting my own, in a similar spirit to the Dear Diary posts.