We’ve read the stories and seen the figures. We know that women are still underrepresented at the decision making table. We know women across professional fields get paid less than their male peers for doing the same job. We know about the #MeToo movement. Yet, those who call for structural reforms are still often dismissed as whiners or unreasonably demanding.
Seventy-four percent of American vegans are female, but is there any link between veganism and feminism? Superficially, one could look at decades of mass marketing meat, grills and other fire-and-flesh fueled products to men, infusing these inanimate culinary products with gender—but, speaking as a woman who loves steak (eating it, cooking it, all of it) and as a person with common sense, foods in and of themselves should not appeal to one gender identity or another. One could point to the surge of female-led steakhouses and butcher shops—like New York’s White Gold Butchers—as exemplary evidence that women of all kinds love meat, but veganism (for many) isn’t necessarily about a like or dislike of animal products. So why are three out of every four vegans female?
“Does The Wonderful Wizard of Oz Have a Hidden Meaning?” That’s the title of a TED-Ed video from last year. Since I had written, years ago, a couple essays on Oz and American culture, the TED folks asked me to write a script for the video. I started with Henry Littlefield, a high school history teacher who, in 1963, used L. Frank Baum’s story to teach some of the difficult (and, for many students, boring) issues of the Gilded Age. Littlefield suggested that the Tin Woodman (no heart) represented the dehumanized industrial worker and the Scarecrow (no brain) stood for the wise but naÃ¯ve midwestern farmer. The Cowardly Lion (no courage) was William Jennings Bryan, presidential candidate in 1896 who “roared” for the common folk but was afraid to endorse the economic programs that might have helped them. The Wicked Witch of the East was the eastern bankers and businessmen who controlled the common people (the Munchkins). The Yellow Brick Road was the gold standard, and Dorothy’s silver slippers (the 1939 MGM movie made them ruby red) stood for the coinage of silver, a big issue in the late nineteenth century.
“I am here because I heard my town call me, and ask me to maintain my honor.” Fifty-seven-year-old Um Khalid Abu Mosa spoke in a strong, gravelly voice as she sat on the desert sand, a white tent protecting her from the blazing sun. “The land,” she says with determination, “is honor and dignity.”
HLN's S.E. Cupp made it clear Monday that she's had enough of White House press secretary Sarah Sanders' claims to be a defender of women.
In April 2018, the Our Bodies, Ourselves collective, the group responsible for publishing the book of the same name, decided to stop offering new editions of its groundbreaking text.
Lili Bernard, one of the many women who has accused Bill Cosby of sexual assault and rape, struggled to express her overwhelming emotions through tears of relief Thursday after the former sitcom star was pronounced guilty on three counts of aggravated indecent assault.
In the days following the upset victory of Democratic candidate Conor Lamb in Pennsylvania’s 18th Congressional District, journalists and pundits searched for reasons why his GOP opponent, Rick Saccone, lost in a cluster of southwestern counties that Donald Trump had carried by 20 points. While many saw the race as a bellwether of Trump’s waning popularity, others zeroed in on the personal qualities and positions of the two men, and some pointed to the role of labor unions in a heavily working-class region. For these latter analysts, union support was more or less synonymous with the grassroots, but what was missing in this equation was the impact of newly-formed women’s networks in the Pittsburgh suburbs whose members fanned out not only in their own neighborhoods but in the rural areas where support for Trump had once been strongest. As one GOP voter told The New York Times, “if it wasn’t Lamb yard signs, it was his supporters knocking on doors.” Many of the doorknockers belonged to those networks of women.
If American history has taught us one important lesson, it’s that sex scandals — in all their forms — can be more powerful than whispers of corruption when it comes to pushing a politician out of office.
This month marks the 10th anniversary of Rebecca Solnit’s groundbreaking essay, “Men Explain Things to Me.” In 2008, Solnit wrote, “Men explain things to me, and other women, whether or not they know what they’re talking about. … Every woman knows what I’m talking about. It’s the presumption that makes it hard, at times, for any woman in any field; that keeps women from speaking up and from being heard when they dare; that crushes young women into silence by indicating, the way harassment on the street does, that this is not their world. It trains us in self-doubt and self-limitation just as it exercises men’s unsupported overconfidence.” The essay has also been credited with launching the term “mansplaining,” though Rebecca Solnit did not coin the phrase.
The thought of staring at myself in the mirror for an hour in a workout class where I’m not wearing makeup makes my stomach turn. Aside from the occasional hiking trip, I haven’t gone a day without makeup in years. Until today.