Academic feminism ain’t the only kid on the block. Confession: the first time I identified as a feminist, I was in grad school. I was able to come to an informed conclusion after reading Beverly Guy-Sheftall’s Words of Fire and Patricia Hill Collins Black Feminist Thought. But we need to stop acting like a radical feminist is the only kind of feminist to be. I mean look, I’m radical and committed to a robust structural critique. But I appreciate the good few liberal feminists in Congress who show up and actually fight for reproductive rights that can be on the books! As Meek Mill says, there’s levels to the shit. But newsflash – everybody didn’t go to college.
So when women of color start waxing eloquent about how our grandmothers and mothers were the first feminists we knew and many of them would “never” use the term, I wonder then why we don’t understand Beyonce’s homegrown brand of feminism – one that honors female friendships, one that recognizes and calls out sexism and domination in her industry, one that celebrates the power of women. No, it ain’t well-articulated radical social justice feminism, but if you need a Ph.D. to be a feminist, then we’ve got bigger problems, folks. AND I’ll take a feminist that knows how to treat her homegirls before one who can spit the finer points of a bell hooks to me all day erry-day.
Favorite part of this essay (which is great and should be read in its entirety):
More to the point, sometimes we take ourselves too seriously. If laughing and dancing aint a part of this revolution we’re building, then you can keep it.
14 - Office Romance
Ariadne rolls her eyes when Eames tells her Arthur likes her. “He can’t stand me,” she says, ruthlessly quashing her own feelings about the dark-haired accountant down. “He hates my music and my decorations and my interpretations of the dress code, and he really hates that I don’t have my whole next quarter planned out like he does.”
Eames smiles at her and raises an eyebrow. “But he brings you coffee every morning. He’s never done that for me.”
The next day, when Arthur brings her her coffee, she holds up a bakery bag. “Scone?”
Arthur has never seen the need for more than one posthuman on a team. It just muddies the waters. Egos get in the way. Of course, he’s perfectly good at keeping his ego in check, even when he’s springing from wall to ceiling to floor like gravity has no meaning. Which it doesn’t, for him.
So he bristles a little when Cobb brings in the girl, her face alight with curiosity and a keen intellect. Because who is she, and why do they need her?
And then she folds space in on him, bending the very rules of physics he’s so used to manipulating, and Arthur swears it’s not just her power that’s making his knees go weak.
When people think Broadway is only about acting:
When people think Broadway is only about singing:
When people think Broadway is only about dancing:
When people think the only shows on Broadway are the three above:
When people make fun of people for liking Rent, Phantom, or Wicked: