I am a feminist. I am a women whose very definition of the word “feminism” is thus: that women and men are of equal value. There is the dictionary definition, I know. But I stand by my interpretation. It’s what I’ve imbued my daughter with. I know that if I view things through this lens, I can stand behind my convictions, my values, my internal handbook. My definition of feminism gives me the strength to care about the bigger picture, of the future that is female, of the world where women and men co-exist personally, politically, professionally. It allows me to believe that supporting women, no matter what your gender, allows for an egalitarian society. Here is a good guideline if ever you are not-sure, unclear, on the fence, having a moment of crisis, or in general have eschewed the term. Also, for those of you who know who you are, I bow to you. So. I am a Feminist, to the Nth Degree.
*That you support women.
*That you tap into the power within you to fight for your voice, for your next meal, for your goals.
*That you have female friends; some that you cleave to, some that you run with, some that you have text-based relationships with. And none of them are ever toxic.
*If you are a woman in a position to hire others, you seek out female candidates.
*If you are a woman in a supervisory role, you listen to the women on your team when they feel Clarence Thomas’ed.
*If you are a woman in the baby stages of your career, you open yourself up to the women at your job with experience and learn from them.
*If you are a woman who is raising children, or caring for children, that you make time for yourself, that you connect with the woman you are, that you tend to all that makes you vibrant, vital, alive, even when your hair is frazzled and the twins are shrieking and the latest Fresh Air episode is not downloading.
*That if you are one of or a combination of any of the above, you always, always, always support women.
See, I notice the eye roll when I walk around with my Feminist t-shirt proud across my chest. I hear the intake of breath when I say any of the following: menopause, Hillary, third-wave. I feel the temperature in the room shift from interest to dismissal when I sit down across the table from a potential employer. None of this—and so much more—ever escapes me. Which is why I care. I care that we support women. I care that you support women. I care that we band together, not just on that one time a year at a women’s march, but in our everyday lives. I care about the future. And I will continue to do so.
Cynthia Nixon: “We talk a lot about outsiders, but sometimes a little naïveté is exactly what is needed. With a jaded system everybody says, “Yeah, well, that’s the way it is.” You need somebody to come and say, “Why? Why is that the way it is? Don’t try to tell me that I don’t have a right to stand here and say, “I want to be Governor, because I think you’re doing a lousy job.” Nobody is talking about the things that you’re not doing, so I am going to do it.”
The March For Our Lives is happening this weekend.
Nathalie Cabrol is a badass.
Don’t vilify Stormy Daniels.
Don’t go Craig’sList personals, don’t go!
Solo sex stuff!
And now have a laugh with Marina Franklin.