Last night I got on the subway and there was a woman sitting down and taking up two seats. She had her shopping bags on the seat next to her so I said “excuse me” and she took the bags down. I looked across the way and there was a couple there grinning, like they had been annoyed she hadn’t taken her bags down ages ago. I sat and was happy.
A few stops later I looked up because there was another young woman leaning over us who nearly fell. She had been looking at the paper that my seat mate was writing on.
This stranger was trying to help the woman next to me work out her math homework.
I offered her my seat and when I looked back at them a few stops later this manicured blonde was giving this woman private math tutoring.
It was such a beautiful sight, this young beautiful woman explain the finer points of fractions to this older stranger.
In a world full of bad, there is still good. Come to New York and see.
Today at work a lovely woman I sometimes see was talking about her upcoming wedding plans. One of the guys remarked that when he was studying psychology in school he was advised, “before you marry, spend time with your fiance’s parents. The way you react to her mom, take note of that.”
“Oh, no!” my engaged friend remarked. “That can’t be. He’s nothing like his dad. His dad makes me nuts. And I’m nothing like my mom.”
People my age brag about this all the time. I’m nothing like my mother. Meanwhile I’m hearing my mothers voice flying out of my mouth every minute of every day. I look down at my hand grabbing something and see hers at the end of my arm.
A few years ago I asked a friend
How many times a day do you think I’m becoming my mother to yourself?
About once a week.
ONLY ONCE A WEEK?!
I’m heartened by the fact that people tell me I sound more like my grandmother (who died before I could talk) than my mother. Which means that I’m the embodiment of best qualities of the two.
It doesn’t scare me, turning into my mother.
Or shall I say, the new and improved version of my maternal lineage.
Now stop bragging mom. I know you’re reading this.
I don’t really consider myself a Misandrist within the Feminist community. Men can be useful and pretty and even occasionally think of something smart. I’ve even loved them. Heresy, I know.
But there is one image that makes me want to put on a bunch of Misandry Jewelry and run around screaming and throwing red paint on men.
Oh, it just feels so good.
On Wednesday I posted this beautiful comic.
I didn’t talk about the mom though. Check out how satisfied she is. I love images of people who are invested in bringing out self-love in others.
I have… high self-confidence. Verbally.
You: Nice to meet you.
Me: I’m nice to meet.
And I catch a lot of heat for it. People think I’m stuck up, but let me ask you this, how could I be a narcissist when I don’t even know how to spell it?
But the truth is (I like to think) that the longer you spend around me doing that the more it rubs off on you. I can be proof that loving yourself doesn’t always have to be a struggle. And it can be practiced quickly and painlessly every day. This summer I’ve shown myself love by making iced tea and ice pops. And also by telling everyone around me how amazing I am.
I don’t know when it came out but I just saw the video for Bad Blood by Taylor Swift, featuring Kendrick Lamar.
And the person that she’s got bad blood with…
IS A WOMAN!
Yes Bechdel! Yes, not all Swift’s songs have to be about a boy!
The video does look a lot like Sucker Punch with it’s lineup of oversexed, underdressed heroine’s in bralettes and stilettos.
But let’s momentarily overlook that to notice all the butt-kicking women in it.
Lily Aldridge, Zendaya, Hayley Williams, Gigi Hadid, Ellie Goulding, Hailee Steinfeld, Lena Dunham, Karlie Kloss, Serayah, Jessica Alba, Martha Hunt, Ellen Pompeo, Mariska Hargitay, Cara Delevingne, Cindy Crawford, Selena Gomez.
That’s a pretty impressive list.
In my head each of the women was approached and asked what kind of hero, what kind of look and power they’d like to have.
Who knows if that actually happened of course, but a feminist can dream, can’t she?
It isn’t perfect but it was a great surprise considering I was expecting to see Swift in a field crying in a white dress with occasional flashbacks to kissing a tall white boy with great hair. And who needs that really?