It was a Tuesday afternoon and I was on my therapist’s couch. I described for her an incident over the weekend when I felt sad, deeply sad, for seemingly no reason at all. I had felt reclusive and shy and wanted to stay in my bed; when my husband encouraged me to go to a birthday party that night that I actually wanted to go to, I had started crying. I’m a sensitive person, sure, but even while I was crying I knew my tears didn’t make much sense.
I shared some other strange behavior changes lately. I’ve been more hungry than usual, more often and ravenously so. I get snappish when I can’t eat immediately (hangry, I believe, is the technical term). I’m usually pretty easygoing, but lately I’d been having random mood swings. I was beginning to feel embarrassed about my behavior.
“You’re emotional … your appetite has changed …,” she paused. “Have you considered that you might be pregnant?” Keep reading »
I expected the worst when I heard that that New York magazine would be writing an article about “The Retro Wife,” about how some liberal feminists are embracing retro lifestyles by staying-at-home. Well, I didn’t expect the worst. But I expected your typical scoopfuls of women-don’t-need-or-want-feminism-anymore BS, which, as Anna North at BuzzFeed Shift notes, are all too common in lifestyle articles about work/life balance in women’s lives.
Instead, I found “The Retro Wife,” by Lisa Miller — while light on factual analysis and more reliant on anecodtes — spoke to me. Keep reading »
Like everyone else in the country with excellent taste and a belly full of adult beverages, I very much enjoyed Beyoncé’s half-time performance at the Super Bowl on Sunday. I loved her all-woman band, particularly Bibi McGill’s spark-shooting axe. I loved the Destiny’s Child reunion. I loved that my Beyoncé half-time BINGO card included a square for “killing it,” which I ticked off within seconds of the show’s start.
And yet, my reaction to her post-halftime announcement of the upcoming “Mrs. Carter Show” tour was not to cheer her on in a post-feminist choose-your-choice fist-pump, but to huff: “Call me when Jay-Z goes on a Mr. Knowles tour.”
Why does the most powerful woman pop star in the world want, or need, to remind everyone she’s married? What does a Mrs. moniker have with her ability to sing, dance and write songs? And no, the name issue isn’t what gets me. I’m not raising a figurative eyebrow at “Carter,” I’m raising a figurative eyebrow at “Mrs.” Keep reading »
My relationship with Anthropologie is love-hate. I love the company’s handpicked, one-of-a-kind eclectic look. I hate the fact that my loving this stuff only underscores the fact that I am in no way unique and that I have been corporate-brainwashed just like the rest of you ladies who just can’t get enough pencil skirts, ruffled tops and bird motifs. Of course I can’t afford to shop there until something goes on sale — at which point all its “whimsical charm” has worn off and the item somehow returns to looking like the junk it was modeled after.
After my latest visit, however, I think my love-hate has officially turned to hate-hate when I left even more offended than the time I saw an Ikea sticker on an item involved in a window display (proving that even Anthropologie is not stupid enough to shop at Anthropologie). There, next to the register, was a sign announcing that the retailer is currently hiring interns. Keep reading »
Linkbait — (noun), an article written online for the sole purpose of trying to draw traffic.
You’ve heard of stay-at-home-moms — now it’s time to meet a “stay-at-home-girlfriend.” Writing on the Brooklyn-based blog Brokelyn, blogger Quiana Stokes described how she recently lost her job and is now a “stay-at-home-girlfriend” in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, playing house and having the roast ready for her boyfriend when he comes home. Feminist bloggers are abuzz with Quiana’s “stereotypically Stepfordish rules,” like picking up after her boyfriend when he gets dressed in the morning, cooking dinner every night, keeping up her hair and nails, and fixing his favorite cocktails when he comes home from a hard day’s work.
Now, I’m going to say something that might surprise you about this proto-Betty Draper: frankly, I don’t think the article is that offensive. Keep reading »