If you’re unacquainted with Judith Butler, you’re in for a real treat. Judith Butler “is an American philosopher and gender studies scholar whose work has influenced political philosophy, ethics, and the fields of third-wave feminism, queer theory, and literary theory.” If you don’t agree with her ideas about gender, you are a fascist.

Her latest pronoun of choice is they, but I will refer to her as she because (1.) she is a single, and not plural, unit and (2.) I  just feel like it. She is a professor at Berkeley and has received 14 honorary degrees. In other words, she is a big deal. According to many, she is among the most influential intellectuals alive today.

Let’s start with this: In her book Gender Trouble, Butler claims that biological sex, like gender, is socially constructed, with its physical manifestations mattering only to the degree society assigns them meaning. Well, no. I would say nice try, but no.  Gender critical feminists (i.e. feminists who aren’t on board with her ideas) come in for some of her most scathing attacks. They are the victims of “phantasmatic” anxieties and also are big stupid liars whom she compares to Richard Nixon, of all people.

Personally, I don’t give a shit about gender, or not enough of a shit to ponder its meaning. I came across Butler in a critique of her assertion that the events of Oct. 7 constitute “resistance.”  Reading her put forth this idea, I thought, “Who is this pretentious idiot?”

I was delighted to find that she had won first prize in the annual Bad Writing Contest sponsored by the journal Philosophy and Literature – a prize given to “the ugliest, most stylistically awful” sentence submitted by its readers . Here is her winning sentence:

The move from a structuralist account in which capital is understood to structure social relations in relatively homologous ways to a view of hegemony in which power relations are subject to repetition, convergence, and rearticulation brought the question of temporality into the thinking of structure, and marked a shift from a form of Althusserian theory that takes structural totalities as theoretical objects to one in which the insights into the contingent possibility of structure inaugurate a renewed conception of hegemony as bound up with the contingent sites and strategies of the rearticulation of power.

You have to love her, right? I mean, she gave us the concept of gender performativity!Wikipedia notes that

Butler also explores how gender can be understood not only as a performance, but also as a “constitutive constraint,” or constructed character. They ask how this conceptualization of an individual’s gender contributes to notions of bodily intelligibility, or comprehension, by other individuals. Butler continues to discuss bodily intelligibility by means of sex as a “materialized” entity, upon which cultural, collective ideals of gender can be built. From this angle, Butler interrogates value conscription upon various bodies as determined theories and practices of heterosexual predominance.

Whatever. I suggest that you don’t waste your brain cells trying to decipher this gibberish, just be aware that you’re not allowed to object to any of it. If you’re a woman (a human born with a reproductive system that produces eggs) or a non-man, as some gender identity theorists might say, you are a TERF  for taking issue with Judith Butler. If you’re a man, I don’t know what happens. Probably you’re just a homophobic colonialist defender of the patriarchy.

Please do your own research on Judith Butler, I promise you it is more fun and rewarding than anything you can do online besides getting into arguments on Instagram. Also, note that I didn’t title this “Judith Butler: What a fucking cunt!” She’s more of an irritant, albeit a uniquely flagrant one. And I realize she is low-hanging fruit, but try to resist taking a whack at her!

Amid all the rage and dread, my friend Dr. LaRue relayed the news that Pantone has come out with a new color called Period! Not as in punctuation but as in menstrual period…”an original shade of red that represents a steady flow during menstruation.”

How empowering, right ladies?

I’m going to say that this red, described by Pantone as “an active and adventurous red hue,” is not the color I associate with menstruation. Maybe the first day? You tell me.

Pantone goes on to say that

‘period’ emboldens people who menstruate* to feel proud of who they are. To own their period with self-assurance; to stand up and passionately celebrate the exciting and powerful life force they are born with; to urge everyone regardless of gender to feel comfortable to talk spontaneously and openly about this pure and natural bodily function.”

Well, good! I know that I personally was proud to menstruate, and enjoyed clearing a room of men simply by bringing up the subject. I liked brandishing a tampon instead of hiding it discreetly. I almost threw one at a bad opening act at the Palladium or somewhere, hoping to hit the lead singer in the face, to register my displeasure. Doubting my aim, I changed my mind at the last moment.

Years ago I wrote about menstruation here, and I recall the incredible sense of female community that arose from the discussion! It was really wonderful. (Go read the comments if you’re a *Person Who Menstruates, or was one formerly.)

As an old bag, I miss my periods. I loved everything about them. Now, it seems crazy that in 2020, women and girls sill need prodding to feel okay with menstruation. If men had periods…well, you know what Gloria Steinem said! Periods are great but not as art, imo. I’m thinking of icky feminist “art” centered on used Tampax or whatever. They are great, but you don’t deserve a medal for having them. Let’s stop at the new Pantone color.

Will Pantone develop a color for menopause?? I want them to. What would that look like, do you think? The color of autumn leaves mixed with the steel grey of Accidental Icon’s hair? What color is estrogen, anyway?

As we ponder Period red, lets list all the reds we can think of, quick!

Scarlet, ruby, rose, brick, cardinal, blood (not menstrual), vermilion, garnet, and cherry! Somehow I doubt that Crayola will give us a period red. As we lean into our female power, I think we’ll be okay without it.

What the hell is wrong with people? Even the New York Times is applauding the Superbowl half-time show as “empowering” for women! Some crap about proving that age is just a number, because look how hot J. Lo is at fifty years old!

PLEASE tell me that you agree with me, that the show was as disempowering to women as if they’d been scrubbing dishes on their hands and knees.

What is empowering about women having to wear stripper outfits and shake their asses? What is empowering about the hours spent getting hair extensions and spray tans and investing in personal trainers? I see it’s empowering for the people who provide the services and for the cosmetic surgery industry but for women?? Bitch please.

It’s not empowering to feel you must look like you’re in your twenties when you’re fifty. It seems sad to me. Even Brad Pitt is allowed to look weathered. It seems like oppression. Maybe in the age of Trump, oppression is empowering?

Shakira is gorgeous and I have to say she’s a really good dancer. She looks like a fit 43 year old. Not a miracle of make-up and hair professionals, but a genuine babe, you know? Good for her.

But most of the accolades are going to Jennifer Lopez, who makes it look SO HARD, with every step and ass-wiggle seeming to visibly cause her anxiety. When is desperation empowering? When she sang something about “I’m still Jenny from the block” my husband and I both laughed out loud.

Jesus Christ, empowering my flat ass.

As for Demi Lovato singing the National Anthem, I’m relieved for her that she lived through it but what about just taking a knee??

And no, I didn’t watch the whole show or any of the actual game, so don’t start with me.

While I’m here, let me quote a recent message from a reader:

Damn, you’ve got some serious self-loathing going on. Someone in standard issue old-lady-red lipstick should maybe throttle back the ageist bullshit.

Haha, not a chance of throttling back anything! I’m just trying to make America great again.

I’ve been thinking how stupid it is to have an International Women’s Day, but I didn’t know how to approach my feelings without seeming reflexively contrarian. Women are great, but no greater than non-women.

International women are great but so are local women. Women have supported me but woman have also been mean to me, and I mean mean. Woman make up half of the world’s population, so a single day of recognition seems absurd. All the jargon of fourth-wave feminism is repellent to me. I want equal pay for equal work and equal treatment under the law, but that’s where my interest ends. I know, I know.

I once believed that women wanted three things: Oral sex, ice cream, and a nice handbag. Now I feel I was way too hasty. We don’t want the handbag anymore. It’s no longer a big deal, right ladies? So I don’t know what that third thing is. Maybe my readers can suggest something.

I do know what women don’t want. We don’t want to be raped or assaulted. We don’t want mansplaining, pantyhose, clitorectomy, burkas, menstruation-shaming, honor killings, forced marriage, cellulite, and we don’t want men to push on our heads when we’re servicing them, alright? We want to breathe!

Luckily, I’ve just discovered the word “canceled” even though I’m late to the concept. Canceled refers to total disinvestment in something (or someone). It can come swiftly with one stupid tweet, or any instance of pissing people off. Jussie Smolett has been canceled, obviously, and so has Kanye. But not all cancellations are the result of a transgression; you can be canceled for no reason. We must all live in fear of being canceled, especially if we’re heavy users of social media.

“It’s a cultural boycott,” said Lisa Nakamura, a professor at the University of Michigan who studies the intersection of digital media and race, gender and sexuality. “It’s an agreement not to amplify, signal boost, give money to. People talk about the attention economy — when you deprive someone of your attention, you’re depriving them of a livelihood.”

If you announce that someone is canceled, they’re canceled. But the cancellation may not be universal. Or people can forget you’ve been cancelled, as in the case of Kanye or Taylor Swift. Under certain circumstances, the canceled may be uncanceled.

I’m canceling myself before someone else does it. But first I’m canceling International Women’s Day. Because once you’ve been canceled, you probably lose the power to cancel.

Wait! Now that I’m canceled, and stripped of relevance, can I conscript people into canceling shit for me? Will someone cancel Ivanka Trump? And Tucker Carlson? Also, Halsey? Let me know!

The best example of cancel culture is a Kosoko Jackson, a writer whose young-adult novel was pulled before publication due to a frenzied twitter backlash. Jackson, who is not only black and gay but also a “sensitivity reader for a major publishing house,” had the temerity to include an Albanian Muslim character in his novel and MAKE HIM A VILLAIN!!! Ha. Bastard. I hope he’s learned his lesson.

Slut Hope Hicks and some Nazis.

If Hope Hicks were a man, in her same position at the White House, we could openly accuse him of being a scumbag who can’t keep his dick in his pants. We’d go, “Wow, he’s already fucked two of Trump’s aides?!”

But since Hope is female, we must tread lightly. It’s all #MeToo. Don’t pick on her, she’s a woman. Women are oppressed victims. Time’s Up. We’re tired of being harassed for sex.

Me, I’m tired of Hope Hicks. What’s wrong with her? By all accounts, she is Trump’s closest confidante and handmaiden. She carries a steamer so she can steam his wrinkled suits on Air Force One. She is basically his work wife, and also a substitute for her mentor, Ivanka. She is rumored to be having an affair with Donald, even though she’s not blonde.

But why has she had affairs with Corey Lewandowski and Rob Porter, both thugs that Trump drooled over before throwing overboard? Lewandowski is not only married, but has been accused of sexual assault in a separate event from the battery charge during the campaign.

Porter, who is 6’5”, likes to punch and choke his wives and girlfriends. Fair enough if you work in Trump’s orbit. Locker room stuff.

But Hope? Keep your legs together, girl! Isn’t is degrading enough to be Donald’s go-to assistant and fluffer?

I want to break the silence around Hope. Let’s drag her into this if the men’s behavior can be scrutinized so publicly. If women are truly equal to men, they need to share the blame for stupid indiscretions.

Maybe Hope needs to go to those meetings for Sex and Love Addicts. The first step is admitting that’s she’s powerless over her behavior. Then she can make a decision to turn her will and her life over to the care of God as she understands Him.

I don’t know if they have God over at the White House. I haven’t seen any suggestion of that. Does Hope have a mom? Can Mom remind her what they taught in prep school, where she played lacrosse? Or do they teach you to seek out rough trade in the workplace? Listen, I have no clue, okay? I skipped high school.

The other morning, a male person in my life was raising his voice to me and I said that I didn’t want to be talked to like that. When he seemed perplexed, I explained, “BECAUSE I’M NOT HOPE HICKS!”

I hope this retort can become part of our national lexicon. This would be a win all around.

Thoughts, critiques, or insults?

If you’ve always felt uneasy about disliking Lena Dunham, today she has given you license to go ahead and find her repugnant.

You don’t have to struggle with your looks-ism or whatever else was holding you back.

She’s an annoying self-obsessed idiot. She’s not gonna guilt-trip me into giving her a pass.

I can’t stand her. (Say it along with me if you want.)

Her newsletter Lenny is a primer on everything bad about millennial feminism, and her writing in Lenny is an excruciating mix of baby talk and pseudo-academic gibberish.

Be that as it may, today she published a chatty interview with one of her many best BFF’s, Amy Schumer.  I won’t speak ill of Amy Schumer, because duh, we lover her.

They are discussing their mutual disappointment with the Met Gala, where they sat at the same table and felt out of place, being too hip for the room etc. :

AS: I left so early. When did you leave?

LD: I attempted to grind my ass on Michael B. Jordan for an additional twenty minutes and then left right after you.

I was sitting next to Odell Beckham Jr., and it was so amazing because it was like he looked at me and he determined I was not the shape of a woman by his standards. He was like, “That’s a marshmallow. That’s a child. That’s a dog.” It wasn’t mean — he just seemed confused.

The vibe was very much like, “Do I want to fuck it? Is it wearing a … yep, it’s wearing a tuxedo. I’m going to go back to my cell phone.” It was like we were forced to be together, and he literally was scrolling Instagram rather than have to look at a woman in a bow tie. I was like, “This should be called the Metropolitan Museum of Getting Rejected by Athletes.”

I don’t know who Michael B. Jordan or Odell Beckham Jr are, but they have my support and sympathy.

I gather that they are black, and that they have broken some law by not wanting to hook up with Lena Dunham.

On the one hand, she doesn’t want women to be objectified but on the other hand, she’s mad if they’re not. Men are objects so that’s fine.

On the one hand, she like to show up at red carpet events looking as aggressively unattractive as humanly possible – horrible dresses that wouldn’t look good on Miss Universe, barrettes in her hair like a 6  year old – but on the other hand, you’re a fucker if you’re not smitten.

I know it’s overkill but let me cite this exchange for emphasis:

LD: The other thing that I get really crazy about is this new world in which women aren’t just supposed to be protected from actions, they’re supposed to be protected from language. Women are so strong. My ovary has basically exploded in my stomach twice, and I was pretty chill about it. You think I can’t listen to some short comedy loser say something dumb about rape?

AS: Right.

LD: I’m not going to cry, I’m a fucking queen.

NO YOU AREN’T!

Shut up already and leave everybody alone! You’re just not helping.

Thoughts?

Save

Oh god, political correctness. Now, They want us to ban the word ‘bossy’ because it inhibits girls from ‘leaning in.’ I would much rather ban ‘lean in’ if I were Minister of Language.

The new Ban Bossy campaign is predictably strident, sanctimonious and victimmy. Its stated aim is to encourage girls to become leaders. But how can they become leaders if they’re not bossy? Should they lead by manipulation instead?

‘Ban Bossy’ is brought to you by Lean In, the organization founded by Sheryl Sandberg, Facebook COO and author of the bossy best-seller that made ‘lean in’ a trendy and divisive concept for the media to feed on.

Lean In has managed to get the Girl Scouts in on the ‘Ban Bossy’ campaign, as well as bossy women like Condi Rice and Beyonce.  You can go to the website and take the pledge to stop using the word ‘bossy.’

Or you can use whatever words you want. I want to lean out or at the very least, lean back. I don’t want to be treated like an idiot by some pseudo-feminist figureheads and business groups.

I wish I had been a lot more bossy when I was younger. I’m making up for it now, though. Tell me what you think. And that’s an order.

Luz Del Fuego was a fascinating woman who founded the first “naturist” club in Brazil in 1955, on the island of Tapuama. She was a dancer, activist and an icon of feminism.  Her murder in 1967 is still surrounded by controversy.

Pictures of Luz do not do her justice. This video has reawakened my interest in her. Don’t watch it if you have a thing about snakes.

When I’m not thinking about death, I’m thinking about my fat thighs. My brain bounces between the two subjects like a ping-pong ball. I hate these preoccupations but I feel helpless against the tyranny of my depression. Obviously, I am looking for a new medication.

Fat thighs have always been one of my deepest, most elemental dreads. Fat thighs are loaded with significance for me, all negative. They represent weakness of the worst sort, a moral and aesthetic crime. It means being Female, in the most self-loathing and sexist definition of the word. God knows how this started, but my father hated fat and he hated women, so we might not need Einstein to figure it out. Years ago, I would cringe at the line from Master Song by Leonard Cohen:

and your thighs are a ruin, you want too much
let’s say you came back some time too soon

Leonard Cohen may have been talking about Mary Magdalene but I still take it personally.

How many women hate their thighs? I know the number is vast and most of you didn’t know my father. If you hate your thighs, can you recall the genesis of the hatred?

When I sit down, I see my thighs spread outward like a sea of blubber. I whine and complain and apologize to my husband for my fat thighs. He has demonstrated again and again his reverence for my thighs, but I feel they are a blight verging on deformity.

Out in the Fact-based Community, my thighs are probably slimmer than average but that has no bearing on my problem.  Fat Thighs are a state of mind, a state of being, a Feminist Issue, and a way to externalize anxiety and shame.

Plus, I can’t go out wearing shorts, even though it’s been a trillion degrees all summer and my house has become an Indian sweat lodge.

Thoughts, advice, insults, anyone?

Looking for photos by Serge Lutens, I came across a beautiful blog, Strawberige.   It’s a wonderland of lovely images.   No blogger crap, just pleasure.

Then, I ended up at a blog called Fashion Heroines, by someone who says she loves being a woman and hates feminism. Hmm. The photos are arresting, like the ones of Liu Wen below:

Feminism sheminism. If it transports me from the hell of Sarah Palin and sentences that begin with “Umm,” I am grateful.