So New York lawyer Roy Den Hollander once married a young woman he met while working as a private investigator in Russia. Once Den Hollander moved himself and his foreign bride back to New York City, though, she took a job as a stripper and proceeded to dump him within months.
It's a sad little story, and probably not nearly the first of its kind. But to say Den Hollander seems to have had a wee bit of trouble letting it go would be a massive understatement. Since his marriage ended, the spurned groom has turned into a men's-rights crusader so convinced that feminism is the reason for all his personal woes that he's literally made a career out of litigating against it.
Say what you will about the shock-schlock, soft-core oeuvre of filmmaker Russ Meyer, the man was definitely ahead of his time when it came to showcasing the hips-lips-tits-power! aesthetic that would eventually become inextricably linked to third-wave feminism. His best-known work, 1966's sinsister thrillride Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, has come to beregarded over the years as something of a prefeminist classic, but even those who cock a skeptical eyebrow at the equation of big-breasted go-go dancers + homicidal karate chops = empowerment can probably appreciate the film's gonzo exuberance, as well as its arresting black-and-white cinematography.
...for Estelle Getty — also known as the Golden Girls' Sophia Petrillo — who died today at age 84. Though her shoes were undoubtedly tiny, has any sitcom actress really filled them since? That's a rhetorical question, by the way, since each and every one of those smartypantssuited retirees kicked ass, but today's about Sophia. So share your favorite "Picture It: Sicily, 1912..." moments in the comments section, why don'tcha?
Before I leave the B-Word office to spend the weekend working in the air-conditioned, shades-drawn splendor of my own home, I wanted to hip you folks to two very cool projects that are looking for your input and support.
The first comes courtesy of Stacy Bias, a Portlander who many of you may have heard of because she's pretty much a one-woman dynamo of both fat activism and general creativity. Have you heard of Fat Girl Speaks? That'd be Stacy. Visited the TechnoDyke.com community? Stacy, again. Indulged in the sweet-smelling lippy goodness of Pussy Pucker Pots? All Stacy.
Anyhoo, her new undertaking is an oral, written, and visual history project called The Fat Experience Project. Here's what she's got to say about it:
We've run articles on many a controversial subject here at Bitch, and readers have responded with appropriate ardor to such topics as fat suits, pro-porn theory, eating disorders, the "hasbian" phenomenon, and more. Yet some of the most impassioned letters we've gotten in the past year or so hinged on a short piece in issue #35 about the disturbing equine makeover of My Little Pony. (It's not archived on the site yet, unfortunately.) Responses to Jesse Rutherford's Love/Shove — which took a close look at the evolution of the 1980s toy-box staple and concluded that Hasbro's aesthetic tinkering has yielded an undeniably sexualized parade of ponies — ranged from assertions that it was "terrifically over the top" and "creepily overstated" to veiled accusations that Rutherford's interest in the redesign was "the kind of logic only someone who is unreasonably sexually obsessed with ponies would arrive at."
I was reminded of this the other day when I read a recent New York Times piece on the new makeover of Strawberry Shortcake, another classic of '80s playtime who continues to be a touchstone for girly nostalgia. It seems, according to the American Greetings company —Shortcake's sugar daddy — that today's girls weren't feeling the icon's Raggedy Anne styling, Calico-cat companion, and unhealthy preference for gumdrops over fresh fruit. (I was never a fan of the doll, so I can't verify personally whether I ever got the latter directive from Shortcake and her pals, but I will say that my childhood friend Pilar had the whole fruity family — Apple Dumplin', Huckleberry Pie, Orange Blossom — and the sickly, chemical scent of them emanated from her bedroom as a kind of pastel fog.)
Maybe I'm being too way too picky, but there is something deeply underachieving about Nerve's "Girl Power Top Ten," a list of the ten most—oh yeah, here it comes—empowering movies of all time.
Now, I would never come right out and suggest that perhaps having three dudes be the ones to make both of these judgment calls is going to, you know, limit the scope of things, but...okay, that's basically what I'm saying. Andrew Osborne, Phil Nugent, and Leonard Pierce, who coauthored "Chick Hits," get shirty in their introduction about the cluelessness of the media execs and pop-culture minders who've been so pleasantly surprised at the success of Sex and the City's big-screen bow, going on to write proudly that "We here at The Screengrab aren't afraid to get in touch with our feminine sides as we raise our Cosmos to these...films that put their empowered female characters front and center (without resorting to stripper poles OR big gauzy Prince Charming/Bridezilla wedding porn)."
Are you a college or graduate student who's done a report or project on Bitch? (We know there's a bunch of you out there, if the number of interviews we do with y'all are any indication.)
Not a good week for the ladies, sports-wise. First up, in order of horrifying: The Chicago White Sox haven't been doing so hot, so they initiated a little "slumpbuster" that involved taking two female blow-up dolls and arranging them in the team clubhouse with baseball bats jammed into various orifices. Surrounding the dolls with players' bats, the team also stuck a sign on one encouraging players and clubhouse visitors to "push."
During the mid-'80s, my political education came almost entirely from Bloom County, to which my brother introduced me and to which I immediately became attached. Really, what's not to love about a preadolescent Bob Woodward type, his feminist elementary-school teacher, and a neurotic penguin with an unhealthy Caspar Weinberger obsession?