So I have never actually done the “staying in the city and having Thanksgiving with friends” thing. I have seen it done. As, for example, on the TV show Friends! But this year I am actually doing it.

And, you know, I’ve had nearly a year to get used to the fact that I will be doing it. For example, when I told my gentleman associate last year that I would be having Thanksgiving with my family, and he looked at me with alarm and concern and said, “why?” That was kind of a wake-up call. Or when I called him on Thanksgiving itself, and he was like, “ha ha, you’re in Ohio. I’m drunk! And there’s a baby here, which is adorable!” And, you know, as much as I question the wisdom of the whole “drunk + baby” scenario (and was alarmed by the realization that I have not only arrived at the age where a lot of my friends are married couples, I am also at the age where at least two of my friends are a married couple WITH AN ACTUAL BABY, and others are talking about baby-having, AIEEEEEEEE), it did sound fun, because what we did was we watched “Tropic Thunder” and then we made plans for me to be elsewhere when the especially mean grandma came over. So, this year, I am staying. In the city. Like an adult.

But there are unexpected downsides to this scenario. For example, your mother will be convinced you don’t love her any more, and will call you lots of times to be like, “okay, so you are not coming home for Thanksgiving. And that is okay, even though I WILL DIE SOMEDAY. So when ARE you coming home? Because clearly, there will be four to eight days, soon, when you will be home. When are those? Do you think? It’s okay if you don’t have an answer now. I’LL JUST CALL YOU TOMORROW.”

It will probably be Christmas, for the record. Because last year, my compromise was staying here for Christmas. And a certain gentleman associate “forgot” to give me a “present” because he “wasn’t aware” we were “doing that.” I was in denial for about fifteen full minutes over this. “Haha, NO PRESENTS ON CHRISTMAS. You are such a kidder! So, where is my present? Because I’m sure it’s going to be REALLY AWESOME, in that you are doing that ‘get you really disappointed by pretending there are no presents first’ thing, which is typically a prelude to a really unusually awesome present. Ha ha, you are CONTINUING TO ACT AS IF I HAVE NO PRESENTS! Seriously! Wow! This is going to be great! Ha ha, ‘no presents,’ ha ha ha OH MY GOD IT’S NOT FUNNY ANY MORE WHERE ARE THEY.” So, yeah.

with my friend Kelly is the best. Her main job is to glare at me and say, “ARE YOU TYPING? I DON’T HEAR YOU TYPING.” Also, to tell me when my research is shoddy. But mostly it is the typing thing. It is helpful like you would not believe! I recommend that everyone know Kelly, because she can hear you not-typing from 50 yards away.

Or, you could post on Tumblr! HA. FOOLED AGAIN.

I am sorry. It totally works. If I’d had to write one more thing on my living room couch, I would have gone CLINICALLY INSANE.

Plus, brioche!

I want to, Glee! I want to get on board with you! There is Jane Lynch involved and everything! But also, I was irritated by show choir when I was in actual high school, so. You and I have a fundamental disagreement.

So I went and read that Francesca Lia Block dating book about how we are all werewolves and centaurs that Emily Gould wrote up for Jezebel a while back. At a bookstore, on three separate occasions, because I could not bring myself to go up to the register with it. Even being in that section of the bookstore was a step too far, really. But: Francesca Lia Block wrote a book about dating! That is bizarre, and also potentially charming!

And it’s true: the book itself is really charming, in that Francesca Lia Block way where you deal with mundane problems by making a fairy tale out of them and thus imbue them with the illusion of significance. Like: if you have ever wanted to know what FLB thinks of you, or how she would deploy you in a narrative, this is probably your answer. Or: if you want more insight into FLB, the person, you can find answers here as well. And those are the two main reasons to read the book, really. I am assuming you are not going to read it for dating advice. Because, EEK, the dating advice. It can get pretty goofy, and pretty embarrassing, and pretty quartz-crystals-and-vegan-food, at times, but considering the fact that 99% of all dating books are like, “Step 1: Withhold sex! Step 2: Wait until he gives you presents! Step 3: Accept that your partner is a terrible sexist who treats you badly. Look, did you want the presents OR NOT,” FLB is really stepping over a fairly low bar, and I cannot hold the occasional goofiness of the book against her because at least she’s not hurting anyone.

Except. I answered all the little questions you are supposed to answer to find out whether you are a wood nymph or a pixie or a selkie or possibly Chewbacca, and I answered “yes” to all the questions that say you are a wood nymph, but ALSO to all the questions that say you are a lady werewolf! And, to be fair, they are very leading questions. Are you alternately charming and brooding? Sure! Do you like to hang out in dark bars? DO I EVER! Are you tough but do you also have a hidden vulnerable side? Is there anyone on this earth who does not have a “hidden vulnerable side?” But: I guess, yes! That seems like a reasonable thing to say about myself!

But then you read Francesca Lia Block’s expert analysis, and it turns out that if you are a lady werewolf you are a scheming mean drunk who sleeps with people to get what she wants and also tried to steal Francesca Lia Block’s boyfriend this one time. Which, aside from this not being terribly flattering (or, for that matter, remotely accurate) is weirdly over-personal and specific in a very passive-aggressive way. A good 50% of her description of the “type” centers around this one specific friend who tried to “steal” her “boyfriend.” Which: one of the many things you learn by reading this book - and I do not mean to be a jerk here - is that Francesca Lia Block is, by her own reckoning, a fairly insecure person. “This one time, a friend brought snacks over to my house, and gave them to my boyfriend! And then she TALKED to my boyfriend! And neither of them focused ENTIRELY ON ME that evening! And then when I told my boyfriend and my friend that she was CLEARLY TRYING TO STEAL HIM, they both got really impatient and irritated!” Uh, yeah. That sounds rough. And the whole book is like this, really, full of (and sort of dominated by) these little anecdotes, and lots of them are fun to read, but also you had better hope you answer the questions right, because if you don’t you are going to get a whole entire chapter on how much you suck, based on this one guy/girl that FLB dated/broke up with/hung out with/got yelled at by this one time.

Anyway. As a former ’90s tween, I will probably always have a soft spot for FLB, and as I said, I thought the book was very charming and cute in its way, BUT. I think if you are dividing people up into “types,” you should probably not make one of the types “this girl Bethany that I used to hang out with who was suuuuuuuuch a bitch.” You know. Just in the name of universality.

Oh, I know. What do you mean, this ephemeral pop-psychology book from an author of young adult literature for oversensitive girls in the ’90s is totally embarrassing and does not stand up to critical thought and also does not actually contain unparalleled and universal insights into human nature? Nothing. I am just the Big Old C-Word Type, or at least 50% of one, apparently, so I thought I’d share.

FULL DISCLOSURE BLOGGING: I think that 99% of my failure to be impatient with Megan Fox has to do with the fact that this lady - this lady, right here! - is one of my favorite ladies in the world to hang out with. And they are wackily similar in the face region, and also occasionally in the sexual politics and/or sense of humor regions, although probably my friend is smarter and funnier because she is the best, duh. BUT! Anyway! I had no idea this bit of film existed! Knowing about her music has been a weird journey, over the past few years: you know that sense you get, that someone is just gradually sort of blowing up and it is all getting a bit surreal with the level of success involved for them, and then it turns out they are already at the (award-winning!) CGI-landscape video? I mean, DUDE. But I am generally impressed with this. And thought I should share.

- sadydoyle (via isabelthespy)(via champagnecandy)

(via robot-heart-politics)

There’s a logical disconnect in this first statement. American women already enjoy many options for gender and sexuality expression - but only a few options are considered socially valid and awarded social power. It’s disingenous to argue that comporting oneself in a patriarchy-approved way won’t give a woman more cheap political power than, say, going hairy-legged.

(via jgh)

Which is a super point. And, I would argue, the point that “some varieties of femininity are more rewarded than others right now, we should broaden the scope of acceptable femininities” is not one that’s being debated by anyone here. And yet! Somehow! This is different than the point that “women are engaging in a variety of femininity that is totes slutty and destroying feminism, they are the enemy now, GGRAGARRRGH also we got it right in the ’70s YOUNG WOMEN ARE AWFUL,” which is the point I’m challenging. Because that shit is just insecure and ugly and antifeminist.  And, yeah, I’m tired of the wave of (mostly British, for some reason!) op-eds which all seem to put forth the idea that young women have anal sex and wear revealing clothing and fail to be sufficiently offended by lad mags and are therefore The Greatest Obstacle To Feminism Currently In Existence. Mostly because, given both the privilege of the writers and my own privilege as a white, middle-class, straight lady (who, GASP! Does not wear makeup, and, GASP! Favors a relatively androgynous, functional, non-fashion-forward clothing style), it feels fucking disingenuous if not monstrous to act as if those are the most severe forms of oppression out there. Like, the worst and most oppressive thing that could ever happen to me is that someone might not think I’m pretty. PLEASE.

And basically, I’m tired of women reserving the right to slag on women for being soooo slutty and call it feminist, or cite structural criticisms with which I do not disagree as a pretext for engaging in the specifically ugly and point-missing exercise that is ridiculing a woman as a “choice-chooser.” I know it’s hard to recognize, but the fact is that the anti-beauty-standard politics of the ’70s were developed against a specific context in which personal presentation was far more restrictive and mandatory than it is now. Which doesn’t even have shit to do with whether our current standard is perfect, because it’s not. The point is that partial progress has been made, and women do currently engage in (let’s say) careers, and expect success therein, and are not simply working jobs whilst cultivating their personal attractiveness and/or sexuality as their sole asset, to be bartered off to (hopefully) the first man to make a decent offer. Which means women can play around with sexuality and personal attractiveness now from a more empowered place, knowing that it’s not precisely a do-or-die scenario in the same way that it was then. Although there are still social and financial benefits to be gained or lost by presenting one’s sexuality “inappropriately.”

I’m just tired of it. Tired of feminism being used as a stick to beat other women with; tired of feminism meaning “the aesthetic of one particular clique”; tired of expecting no less shaming and self-righteousness and behavior-policing from other feminists than I did from my fucked-up Christian Youth Group, when the fact is that I don’t need God (because he’s imaginary and all), but I - along with every other woman - do need feminism. Because even if I adopted the appearance and aesthetic of a Maxim model tomorrow, fact is, I would still be subject to misogyny. Possibly more virulent misogyny than ever before. And I’d still need this movement to be advocating for me, not shaming me for “destroying feminism” with my bald vagina.

It’s the “women’s movement.” Not the “women who keep their legs together and act like proper ladies” movement. I think we need to get that one straight.

Well, DO YOU?

- Dear Hannah Betts,

1. You are not my mom,
2. You are not the boss of me,
3. Seriously, I cannot get over this. WHAT? Ugh.

Dear Hannah Betts,

It is generally considered inadvisable to

1. Call oneself a feminist whilst
2. Calling women dumb sluts for not behaving exactly as you do or as you would like them to (the phrase “bovinely dim” is used at one point), and
3. Determine that women who don’t behave exactly as you would like them to - as opposed to, say, gender inequality and male-supremacism (or, more accurately, masculinity-supremacism) - are the true “enemies” of feminism.

By the by, the enemy was never “men” per se, and only the least sophisticated and realistic “feminists,” with the most flawed understanding of how power actually works and how cultural norms are actually instilled and reinforced, ever thought so. Those feminists now seem to have moved on to determining that the enemy is NOT men, but rather women who don’t behave exactly as “feminist” women would like them to behave. Which is… progress? Oh, no. No, it’s just a horrific backslide that shows how flawed the underlying theory always was. And kind of profoundly anti-feminist, in that it always seems to rest on some underlying, unspoken sense of competition - if other women get bikini waxes, no one will love my hairy vagina! If other women are comfortable posing for cheesecake photos, no-one will pay me any attention! If everyone thinks she is pretty, no one will think that I am pretty! Etcetera - and a corresponding urge to tear other women down because they are threats. Rather than, say, acknowledging that as women have more options for gender and sexuality expression, our expressions will necessarily become more diverse, and will include expressions we don’t like, because women (I’ve done some research on this) are actually, as it turns out, people, and people do things we don’t like sometimes. People watch Jeff Dunham, people listen to Taylor Swift, people find Flash Forward a compelling televisual drama, people make bad decisions. And have the freedom to do so, hopefully. And I honestly don’t believe that everyone (or every man, because that’s kind of the underpinning here, isn’t it? The need for positive attention from men, and how some of us are taking the High Road and some of us are taking the Dumb Slutty Cow Road?) is so enamored of the bikini wax/cheesecake/Maxim way of life that taking a different approach is impossible or never rewarded.

In conclusion, Cambridge students posing for pin-up photos is not the “most depressing story of the week.” But your take on it just might be.

Love,

Someone Who Would Like To See This Movement Live Up To Its Promise Rather Than Become An Excuse for Women Who Want To Tell You That You Look Slutty In That Outfit.