Suffragette: to Boycott or Not to Boycott

Photo courtesy of ScreenRant

Earlier this week, the cast of the upcoming film Suffragette came under fire when the cast was photographed wearing shirts that read "I'd rather be a rebel than a slave."
If you know the context of the quote, you might like these shirts. If you don't know the context of the quote, you might still like these shirts. If you blame slaves for being enslaved, you might also like these shirts.

But let me explain.

For those who don't know: Suffragette, out October 23, is the mostly-true story of the women's suffrage movement in early 20th century England. It stars Carey Mulligan, Helena Bonham Carter, and Meryl Streep, among others. It also boasts a female writing/directing team (Abi Morgan and Sarah Gavron, respectively). It's been hyped as "the epic feminist movie we need."

The quotation in question was spoken by Emmeline Pankhurst (who Streep plays in the film), a key leader of the women's suffrage movement. Within the context of this film, the quotation is appropriate; after all, it was the early 1900s. Now, though, it's 2015, we're much more racially sensitive (or at least, we should be), and many people are wondering why any photographer, stylist, or publicist thought it would be a good idea to put a group of white women in shirts that seem to suggest that slaves could free themselves by simply being rebellious.

The photos in question.
Courtesy of Irish Times

Time Out London, the publication for which these photographs were taken, have defended their photoshoot and the intentions behind the controversial shirts, saying that "[the quotation] is a rallying cry, and absolutely not intended to criticise those who have no choice but to submit to oppression, or to reference the Confederacy, as some people who saw the quote out of context have surmised."

Now, film reviewers and movie-goers stand in wait. Will the bad publicity affect the box offices, or will offended parties take a chance on the film anyway?

As a feminist, I am torn. Realistically, I know that this photoshoot, and the fact that this film is acted by an all-white cast, is a bad move for intersectional equality; the women's suffrage movement was notorious for pushing the efforts of black women to the background and putting white women front and center, an idea which makes me uneasy. However, I worry that poor sales for this film will hurt the chances of female-helmed films in the future. Women should get the chance to have their voices heard on screen -- but by supporting Suffragette, am I implying that it is only white women who deserve to have their voices heard?

As a feminist and as a cinephile, I've got some thinking to do, and one question to ask myself:
Is it more important to read the shirts, or is it important to understand the film's message?

***

This comic sums up how white women treated black women during the suffrage movement.

(Courtesy of Kate Beaton)

Let's Pretend the Words "Dad Bod" Never Happened

This is Vladimir Putin, Russia's leader and haver of a dad bod.
This photo is intended for humor alone. The joke really makes itself.
(Photo courtesy of IAgreeToSee)

As we head into the winter months, I have stopped to gaze at the changing leaves, breathe in the crisp air, and consider all of the horrifying culture trends we left behind us in the summer. One particular trend is close to my heart: body acceptance. This year has been great for the body acceptance movement, from clothing line Aerie deciding to quit airbrushing their models, to  model Ashley Graham's body-acceptance TED Talk going viral. I embrace all of these movements and encourage everybody to apply them to their own lives as they're relevant. 

But I wouldn't mind leaving the term "dad bod" in the past. 

For those not in the know, the dad bod has been described succinctly by Mackenzie Pearson: "The dad bod says, 'I go to the gym occasionally, but I also drink heavily on the weekends and enjoy eating eight slices of pizza at a time.' It's not an overweight guy, but it isn't one with washboard abs, either."

Don't get me wrong: I think the spirit of the "dad bod" is great. Men should celebrate their bodies in whatever shape and size they come in. Bodies are wonderful, and they deserve to be treated with respect. Absolutely no argument there.

The problem is that the dad bod isn't body acceptance. The dad bod is a category of its own: a weird mixture of fetishization of the male body and female acceptance of the self. As a social construct, it's fascinating. As a movement, it's baffling. 

Many of the men who claim to have a dad bod have weighed in (pardon the pun). Take this Washington Post writer, for example, who links his dad bod to his success with women in long-term relationships. While he seems to be using the correlation for humor (in my opinion; read his linked article for your own interpretation), the idea is still present: that a man's body type exists for a woman's desire. This kind of objectification goes beyond mere preference into a strange degree of ownership, and as a reminder: having a body type for a significant other is a personal choice, but it is not the heart of body acceptance. 

Another problem with the dad bod is that it highlights an incredible double-standard of our society. 

The fact that men are being celebrated and fetishized for having average-shaped bodies while women are demonized for having average-shaped bodies is alarming. In the aisles of every grocery store are gossip magazines that tout headlines and blurry photos with horrible headlines like Ten Celebrities with Not-So-Fab Bikini Abs (I wish I was joking about that one). There's usually a token Celebrity Man thrown into the photo spread, but the word "bikini" in the headline already indicates what gender the magazine will be analyzing, and a hint: it's not usually men who wear bikinis.

Billion dollar industries are built upon making women feel like they need to do more and be more in order to be good or desirable -- men, apparently, need only to drink beer.

Luckily, the women and men who see the issue fight back with the mom bod. The mom bod is less about fetishization (it is a response to the dad bod and not a serious movement in itself) and more about drawing attention to the double standard of a society which celebrates men who eat pizza and drink beer but demand that its women stay fit and beautiful. It also celebrates the fact that the female body can literally grow humans. 

This is not about one sex's superiority; it's about equal-opportunity body acceptance.

I love beer and pizza; if I'm going to partake in those gifts from God with my male and female friends, I'm just hoping we can all like each other afterwards, despite what it does to our bodies. 

The Voldemort of Women's Health

Photo courtesy of  FlickrHiveMind

We've got a problem in this country, and no one's talking about it. In fact, we're pointedly not talking about it. Discussing it means over-sharing, making people uncomfortable, or, -- dare I say it? -- publicly showing emotion.
Let's get serious for a moment and talk about facts: between one fifth and one third of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. 

I know. I should have warned you that this would be sad. But the truth is, I have some questions, and someone's got to hear them -- someone's got to listen to these women.
Let's start with this: where is the public support for the women and their partners who are suffering the effects of this trauma? Why isn't it okay to tell people you or your partner miscarried when they ask you what's wrong? Why is it more socially acceptable to tell them your aunt passed away, or your grandfather has cancer? 

What are we so afraid of?

Defined by the brave and brilliant Laura Benanti as "the Voldemort of women's issues" in an article for Huffington Post, miscarriage is perhaps the most taboo of women's health issues. Truthfully, no one wants to discuss women's health at all: it's easy to make big claims about it (looking at you, Jeb Bush, who thinks $3 per person seems like too much money to keep all us pesky women safe and healthy!), but harder to actually confront. And it's true: no discussion of health care is easy because being sick is messy business.
But this is not about the state of privatized health care in the United States, or even the attacks on women's health care services (which is an enormous enough topic to deserve its own post). It is about the uneasiness and stigma surrounding miscarriage.

Think of the mothers you know. Of every ten you can name (and I'm sure you know three times that many), anywhere between one and two have miscarried. According to some statistics, 10-25% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. That's a huge percentage; why aren't we talking about it?

Is it our uneasiness when it comes to women's health care? Is it because we're afraid of hurting those women who have miscarried by bringing up a sore subject? Is it because we don't know what to say?

With this many women standing in solidarity over this common experience, maybe it's time to figure it out.

For one thing, we can no longer pretend this doesn't happen. Erasing the stigma is the first step, and the only way to do this is to be vocal. When we have conversations, topics are normalized. When topics are normalized, they become socially acceptable. When they become socially acceptable, women and their partners do not have to hide their grief over their lost pregnancies.

That's not to say that every couple wants to talk about their grief; it just means that those who do want to should not feel forced to avoid sharing the reason for their sadness in fear that it will be met with an inevitable cringe or awkward pity.
An easy claim, sure, but realistically, what should we say to these people?
Try beginning with, "I'm so sorry."
Or, "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Or, "My sister miscarried last year, and it hurts your whole heart, doesn't it?
Any one of these lines may work, or they may not. Ask any woman in your life what she would have liked to hear after she miscarried (remember that one-fifth of them did). But the cycle of silence must end if we ever want to create a world in which these women and their partners can openly feel their emotions. The problem is too big to ignore any longer, and these couples deserve our attention. They deserve our sympathy, and they deserve our care.

In the words of Albus Dumbledore, fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself
.

Barbie and Representation of Black Women

Limited edition Zendaya doll
Photo courtesy of Misee Harris

When I was a child, I loved Barbies. My sister and I were fortunate, and our collection amounted to about twenty. We created worlds for our blonde Barbies, our brunette Theresas, our lone Ken (who was, depending on the game, the father, the boyfriend, the brother, or the murderer in our games). What we didn't own was a black Barbie.

That's not to say Barbie is inherently racist; I mean, she has a black friend! Christie, Barbie's primary friend for many years, was introduced in the late 1960s (although she's gone through some changes through the years; her original face design was discontinued almost immediately for being an offensive stereotype of black women). She was discontinued in 2004 to make room for Theresa, who is ethnically ambiguous enough to pass for either Latina, Italian, or white.
So what about all the black little girls who are discouraged by toy store aisles filled with pink and white? 

This week, the Mattel corporation (which produces Barbie and her friends) announced that they will be creating a limited-edition doll based on actress Zendaya, a popular face in children and young-adult television in an act of media convergence. This is huge news for young black girls; they will finally see a doll that looks like them, and indeed, one that looks like a woman they admire! Perhaps the positive publicity about this doll, and demand for diversity, will compel Mattel to pull Christie out of retirement. 

It's easy to dismiss this as trivial nonsense, but that's a privileged opinion. Representation matters. If you can't relate to Barbies, maybe you can relate to science fiction. Nichelle Nichols was the first black actress to appear in a non-stereotypical role on television when she signed on to Star Trek in the 1960s. When confronted by racist producers and crew members, she considered quitting the show, but was urged by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. himself to stay on the show because, "[Nichols is] an image for black America. We look on that screen and we know where we're going." She inspired Americans and her presence demanded attention, letting everyone know where the world was going: toward equality. In particular, she inspired black women: the first black woman in space, Sally Ride, was chosen because of Nichols's work to diversify NASA. 

I am delighted by the news of the Zendaya doll, even though I am now too old for Barbies, because of what she will represent. Black little girls are finally being given a chance in their own corporate market, sure, but mostly, I am delighted for the future  these girls will inhabit. Will a Barbie doll tangibly change their futures? No, of course not. What can change their futures are the ideas she inspires. A little girl seeing a doll on shelves that looks like her teaches her that people who look like her can achieve the same things that other people can -- people who have been up on those shelves for decades.

(To dismiss an obvious counter-claim: I have very little concern about the objectification of women by making them into Barbie dolls. These dolls are representative and not objectifying -- they are modes of imagination rather than simple plastic bodies.)

An Introduction

Photo courtesy of Pintrest

Feminism has always been a part of me, even before I knew what to call it. Can you blame me? I'm the product of a strong, matriarchal family, of teen movies, of the Harry Potter generation (Hermione Granger taught me more about myself than any school ever could, and that's saying something, because I've always loved school.)
This blog is an exploration into my feminism: me, a feminine white woman, navigating a world in which women and men are not yet equal. It's not about rejecting femininity, but about rejecting harmful stereotypes that keep women down. I will be blogging about women (and women of color, who are further disadvantaged), real-world moments of feminist issues and empowerment, and representation of women in film and culture. Most importantly, this blog is about me discovering what it means to be a woman.
So no, I don't want to burn my bra; I want to be treated equally despite its existence.
My lipstick doesn't box me in; my lipstick sets me free.
Happy reading.