This meme popped up on social media yesterday, in a comment thread on a post about the ‘controversial’ virginity of one of the women on the new Bachelor. Two things. Yes, this show is still on the air. And yes, the women are called ‘contestants’, though I refuse to name them as such. Because apparently, the dude is actually the winner…especially if he picks the virgin. Right? *shudder* So much wrong here. A woman’s sexuality has *never* belonged to the woman. Does this bother anyone else as much as it bothers me?
Yes. It bothers Caitlin Stasey. A lot.
When Gloria Steinem walked onto the Severance Hall stage in Cleveland Tuesday night, I screamed like the fan girl that I am.
Vasalgel, the male long-term contraceptive currently in Baboon Beta, er, animal trial, has hit my social media feed hard today. I immediately became Smirky McCynical reading about this product. Said cynicism proceeded to play out beautifully [sadly?] in popular feminist digital sources.
“At my age, in this still hierarchical time, people often ask me if I’m “passing the torch.” I explain that I’m keeping my torch, thank you very much—and I’m using it to light the torches of others.
Because only if each of us has a torch will there be enough light.”
Gloria Steinum details the plan to finally realize equity, across gender, race and socioeconomic lines. She’s plotted quite the adventure on the Ms. blog.
Sometimes I am very much Walter Sobchak. Minus the weaponry. I have been known to exclaim, at no one in particular, “Am I the only one around here that gives a shit about the rules?” I am so often Walter that his spastic plea has become a classic joke in my marriage. Along with a few others. Whatevs. I just have high expectations.
Wait. Bullshit. High expectations is just a euphemism for control freak.
It should come as no surprise that my dominant worldview lens is feminism. It clicked into place when I was still pretty young, but old enough to appreciate its framework. Say, about middle school.
Empowerment, personal successes, perfect pitch responses to thinly veiled misogynistic remarks…feminism cheers for these. And, man do I love praise.
But what about the times I unball my liberation fist for a moment? Am I letting the sisterhood down?