If you landed here by way of Google, *certain* you had coined a new wry turn of phrase—pardon my french + some fuck you sass—please accept my condolences. A million crappy clothing marketers have beaten you to it. And me. I, too, so thought I was the first.
Welcome! This may be the only site in your search results *not* selling shredded t-shirts, frilly skirts or purses sure to choke you out in an elevator door mishap.
I’ve toyed with the pardonmyfringe concept for a while. It reflects my pervasive impulse to apologize for my intensity, passion and natural antagonism. A #sorryimnotsorry nod to the fear of taking up too much space in a world governed by narrow and binary expectations for a straight, thirty-something, white woman in the Rust Belt.
I’m a progressive, feminist and activist in Cleveland, Ohio. Probably a socialist, too. I do a lot of pointing and linking and have a generally demanding check-this-out-itude, but it’s because I ♥ you, and want you to take a peek behind the curtain with me. I invite you to look at our culture with a more critical eye, and view yourself with a more loving one.
I’m also a dedicated Brené Brown groupie and recovering perfectionist, so my writing predictably leans into embracing vulnerability and the hard work of personal transformation. That, friends, takes up *a lot* of space. I encourage you to do the same.
Social change ninja
Listen I’m not your most unconventional friend. I have no tattoos. Most of my more interesting piercings have closed up. I drive a Subaru. Aesthetic mainstreaminess makes me the ideal social change ninja…I might be any flat-ironed mom at your PTA, with a passion platform rivaling the New Deal and the War on Poverty combined. Hey, if *you* are that mom at your PTA, please reach out. We can swap old shirts from the Northern Sun catalog and plan and #OccupyBakesale.