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
These lists are fashion content at its worst: regurgitated “guidance” with roots that should be more at home sometime around 1950.
Women rethink the narrative they’re born into, laughing at Mean Girls rather than recreating their own version. They aim to bake a great, gooey pie, rather than merely perfecting one rigid, self-absorbed slice.
I’m sorry that posting has been pretty sporadic or downright nonexistent lately–I have some exciting stuff going on that has taken me away from the blog, but I promise to be back in action ASAP.