I'm powerful. I'm fabulous. I'm unashamed. I'm a boss-ass bitch....most of the time. No matter how much I have been empowered, I seem to come back to my cup size, or lack of it. I love myself, but I can't escape the feeling that I need to be larger for acceptance. The hard part is that women cause me to feel this way as much as men do, the eyes that go up and down, sizing competition and establishing beauty.
My partner of over 8 years has been a consistent feminist since day one. He will speak up when people say sexist things, he's pro-choice, not conservative, and treats me like his equal. He has said how he thinks it is out of line when men tell their girlfriends they can't wear revealing clothing. However, last weekend we were out with another couple and someone mentioned a nudist colony.
Welcome to the latest installment of Ms. Opinionated, in which readers have questions about the pesky day-to-day choices we all face, and I give advice about how to make ones that (hopefully) best reflect our shared commitment to feminist values—as well as advice on what to do when they don't.
Dear Ms. Opinionated.
Last night my boyfriend and I were drunkenly walking to our train, stopping in the middle to tell each other how much we love one another, and giving mushy, drunken kisses. Then all of a sudden, he told me that some people, I think from work—who he insisted on keeping anonymous—asked why he stays with me and say that he can do better.
Why do images have such power? In this episode, comics collective Ladydrawers, Australian felt-tip-marker artist TextaQueen, and colorism researcher Jyoti Gupta all delve into the big issues of how visual media shapes how we see ourselves. Plus, two Bitch staffers talk with Equity Foundation Executive Director Karol Collymore about images that shaped us growing up, from fashion magazines to drawings of Ramona Quimby.
This episode is sponsored by GladRags, makers of washable cloth menstrual pads that are better for your body, your budget, and the environment. Use coupon code "bitchradio" for 15 percent off at their products online.
When I first picked up Nalo Hopkinson's The Chaos last summer, I thought, "Finally! A book with a young woman of color as the protagonist!" Of course, I've since learned that there are other dystopic novels with girls of color, but this hasn't ended my love forThe Chaos even after a second (and third) reading.
The Chaos isn't actually set in a dystopia. It's more of a post-apocalyptic world in which Toronto transforms from its usual racist, misogynist, able-ist normalcy to utter chaos, complete with hoodie-wearing sasquatches, escalators that ask questions about quantum physics, and Baba Yaga and her flying house.
This past week, the news broke that New York City began to instruct its police officers this winter that to make sure they act accordingly to legality of women going topless in public. It's easy to dismiss this law with a punch line, but the truth is that instructing all of New York's police force to leave topless women alone is groundbreaking and part of a long running movement lead by women who have fought for topless equality.
I spent last week in Seoul, the modern cultural hub of South Korea, where international sensation Psy first made his mark. It's a crowded city plastered with images of celebrities on buses, billboards, storefronts, giant windows, and any other usable space. As I traversed the city, one thing that struck me was how uniform all their faces were: big eyes, white skin, raised nose bridges.
As the modeling industry here is accused of conforming to a white, northern European look as the standard of beauty, South Korea seems to be chasing a different ideal: a generic Caucasian look.
A common trope about models is that we don't eat. Well, I'm a model and I love food. I eat often and during all parts of the day—the spicier the dish, the better. Most models—at least the ones I work with in Los Angeles—do eat, with fewer exceptions than one might expect.