I found myself spending the few days over the New Year period in a community deep in the UK countryside. Apart from sharing domestic chores, much of the time could be spent…
The Personal is Political
The following contains edited excerpts from and expands upon a panel I participated in called: “Creating Alternative Platforms for Feminist Analysis,” organized by Vancouver Rape Relief & Women’s Shelter as part of…
The Mirror headline reads, “Woman aged 91 suffocated during sex game with married neighbour.” The woman’s killer left her with bruising on the face, what the article describes as, “extensive genital injuries,”…
Dear john, You may not remember me but I remember you. As part of a research project on prostitution more than a decade ago, I stood on the corner of two London,…
Today is my bday and, as I am very wise beyond my years and whatnot (also v generous), I am offering you a gift. There are endless lists telling women of various…
I’m about to admit something that, in a patriarchy, is tantamount to a cardinal sin: I’m letting myself go. Letting myself go. I choose that phrase intentionally — a phrase designed to…
Phillip Michael Peck was a gay boy and my best friend in high school. We met over Whoopie Goldberg in the back of the science room. We hadn’t ever spoken before and…
A year and a half ago I wrote that the internet was magic. “I can’t stand the luddites who romanticize the days where people talked. Face to face. Or called each other,”…
The house I grew up in has two bedrooms on one side of the house, a long hall, and then a master bedroom. I remember the living room as a sterile space…
When I was nine years old, I found nothing more amusing than watching people react in horror to my soft and innocent little leg hairs. Teenage girls who I looked up to…
When they find out, people ask me incredulously if I regret not attending my father’s funeral. I had no relationship with my father for all of my adult life. I lived a…
I’m going to tell you a story that is so common and so troubling it is effectively split off from the emotional lives of young women, tucked away into whatever neural recesses…
A letter no one ever wrote me, but I kind of wish they had. To a feminist in my life who might not know that I am listening: Dear feminist, You…
There’s something awkward about being a feminist and dealing with heartbreak. I know, of course, that we all do get our hearts broken from time to time; that our politics can hardly…