On May 15th, my first book will be published. This fact is not a result of some pretentious belief that at 19, my writing skills have been so carefully honed to the point that my work must be shared with the world. It was not some ploy to get into college. Contrarily, writing this book was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, and something I almost didn’t do. But it was also an experience that completely transformed me, and for which I will forever be thankful.

After a year of running the FBomb, I was approached to write a book about the next generation of feminism. I tried to explain that the FBomb was always meant to be a community – a place I may have started, but a place accessible to everybody, and composed of a diverse array of voices, not just my own. I didn’t view myself as a leader so much as an organizer and perhaps a creator. Who the hell was I to impose my beliefs on the world?

But then I realized I had to ask myself: is this reluctance to write a book based on my belief that feminism should be a collective effort rather than driven by singled-out leaders, or is it based on fear? Am I so scared of doing something I know virtually nothing about, of putting my voice out into the world in one of the most definitive ways possible and of the criticism that will inevitably follow that I’m going to turn down an opportunity that is not only personally valuable, but from which others very well might gain something?

The answer, I found, was both, and while I respected and still do respect the former, the latter was simply unacceptable. I had always considered myself to be a strong, independent woman – I identified as a feminist in high school in Ohio for God’s sake: I clearly wasn’t afraid of at least some criticism thrown my way — and yet here I was, frankly terrified of positioning myself as a leader. My feelings had clearly surpassed modesty and had entered the clear terrain of self-doubt and lack of confidence. It was then that I knew that writing this book was something I had to do in order to be the woman that I wanted to be and knew I could be. So I agreed to write the book. Specifically, I agreed to write it my way, and figuring out what that actually meant turned out to be the most transformative experience of my life.

From the first second I agreed to write the book, I constantly had to make Big Decisions. Previously, the biggest decisions I’d had to make was whether or not it was appropriate to still go trick or treating in high school (and that didn’t even turn out to be a hard decision – free candy is free candy whether its given to you with a smile or a disgusted scowl). Since I had no plans to delay school to write the book, I first had to decide whether or not to write it with a ghostwriter. I immediately shut down that idea. I knew if I was going to write a book, I was going to write every single damn word.

I also had to make the decision of whether or not to express the feminist beliefs that I knew were technically “correct” – the ones that were mainstream, the ones the fewest number of people would disagree with – or whether to express the feminist movement in which I believe. I believe that feminism for my generation is different than any other previous generation’s feminism. Our activism is online, the issues we deal with are subtler and require more dialogue and support to tackle. I strongly believe that while we must take feminist issues like violence against women and double standards (just to name a couple) seriously, we don’t have to take ourselves too seriously – that there’s more than enough room for love and laughter in this movement and that, in fact, feminism thrives on humor and support. I decided to write what I believe and what I know to be true, and to write it in my own voice (not some scholarly, posturing voice of what I thought a “writer” should sound like). I know full well that there will inevitably be feminists who disagree with me. But then again, I’ve found that there will always be people, feminist or not, who disagree with everything/anything I say and/or believe, and that pandering to them is pointless.

I had to make decisions after the book itself was written. During the editorial process I had to fight the urge to simply agree with every change my editors made – which I’d always done before, ever the good student – and fight for my words and beliefs to make the cut. I had to decide on a cover, opting away from images that ranged from weirdly sexual to bubble-gum girly, ultimately deciding on one that felt right to me.

All of these decisions seemed so daunting, so life-threateningly serious while I was making them. But ultimately, they ended up being simple. Whereas I started the process in a place of self-doubt, I ended it knowing exactly what I wanted to say, exactly what I had to do. As it turns out, I always had a strong sense of self, a definitive sense of my personal limitations and definitions of what’s right and wrong for me. I just had to learn how to listen to myself and how to express it. I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to figure that out had I not written this book, which is why, even if this book only sells 15 copies to my family and high school frenemies (who are really only interested in hate-reading it to more effectively hone their animosity towards me), I will always be proud of this book and will always be thankful for the experience it gave me.

This week, weighing in at about 8 ounces, and after years of labor (seriously, I feel like the age at which I will have an actual child just got pushed back 5 years after this experience), I am proud to (officially) welcome A Little F’d Up: Why Feminism Is Not A Dirty Word into the world. I am in love with it. I hope you will be, too.

A Little F’d Up is now available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other independent book sellers on May 15th.

April Smith

“I was the surprise,” says April Smith, the bonus baby her parents won late and whose moxie and dash astounded everyone she met. Today, she remains a welcome bolt: a loose-lipped, cocked-hip gal whose music and mien could buoy the Titanic.

As she took her place in the family, April developed a muscular, mellifluous voice and high-flying showmanship. Her mom adored Queen (”If you didn’t know a Brian May solo in the first few notes, you weren’t her child”) and her dad gave her his old 8-track tape player, letting her buy Elvis and Led Zeppelin tapes at yard sales. During summer vacations with Aunt Cricket and Uncle Fred, April discovered songwriters like Tom Waits and Kinky Friedman, stealing Fred’s cassettes and absorbing observational story-songs in a backyard tent. Waits so impressed April that she felt compelled to dress up – using Fred’s hat, pipe and Junior Mints (she placed them on her teeth) each time she played his music.

When she began to write songs, she incorporated elements musical and otherwise, some contradictory in theme or vibe – to anyone but April. Because she’d been so diversely inspired, it was a cinch to stitch together Queen’s majesty, big band’s sunny optimism, the terror and despair of horror flicks and Edgar Allan Poe writings, and the cottonmouthed wit and poignancy of Wes Anderson films. From this influential primordial stew came April’s new album Songs for a Sinking Ship.

The album’s sound was informed by the ’30s and ’40s, juke joints and cabaret, the Andrews Sisters and, of course, Waits. Smith covers a wide range as a singer and songwriter, from the heartbroken ballad “Beloved” to the cheeky tell-off “Stop Wondering” and the sexy swagger of “Wow and Flutter.” Her voice swoons and seduces, and then escalates to breathtaking peaks, backed by piano, upright bass, drums, guitar, horns, ukulele, accordion and even, when the occasion warrants, a suitcase used as a bass drum.

Her songs and her playful, confident performances – in which she’ll wear a tutu and impishly tease her band, The Great Picture Show – now win her fans everywhere. 

via April Smith Music

Colors

Movie Loves A Screen

April Smith and the Great Picture Show on iTunes

a still from the video

I would be lying if I said that while watching the recent viral video “Hot Problems” (or, to be accurate, about 45 seconds of “Hot Problems” before I gave up), I didn’t blankly stare in disbelief, then roll my eyes and feel more than a little bit disheartened. And yet, despite comments made by YouTube viewers as well as the mainstream media, the depression I felt after watching the musical attempts of 17-year-olds Drew Garrett and Lauren Willey was not based on the concept of this video representing a generation of conceited, vapid young women. As a teen myself, it’s blatantly apparent that there’s a much more concerning problem at the heart of this video, and, more specifically, the vitriolic response to it.

We live in a society that relentlessly targets young women and indoctrinates them into believing that, above all, their appearance should be their priority, the defining element of their identity. Young women are bombarded with images that glorify unattainable standards of beauty—in fact, by the age of 17 the average woman has received more than 250,000 commercial messages through the media, many featuring photoshopped, idealized and otherwise manipulated images of female beauty. Our televisions stream a version of “reality” in which young women are more preoccupied with their appearance and attracting men than with actually making any kind of substantive contribution to the world. In fact, thanks to this reality TV culture, one in four teen girls now expects to become famous; not famous for doing something, mind you, but famous for being. Being what? I’d bet all my money that such young women expect to be famous for being “hot”—for being a face on the cover of magazines, a body club promoters pay to show up at their clubs.

This is the standard we have set for young women. And yet when young women, like the stars of “Hot Problems,” consume this message and dare to throw it back to us, dare to call themselves hot, we destroy them. The media gleefully snatched the opportunity to tear these two apart. Comments on the YouTube video itself almost unanimously declare that the pair is ugly. Even supposedly reputable media sources like the Huffington Post more subtly questioned the girls’ attractiveness; the article’s title declared that the girls couldn’t get dates to prom, and the first line snidely stated, “These ‘hot’ girls’ problems are now everyone’s problems.” In an appearance on “Good Morning America,” the girls were asked to evaluate their own looks on national television, coaxed to clarify to the world that “we don’t think we’re that hot.”

Yes, I certainly find a video of two of my peers singing about how “hot” they are to be incredibly problematic for many reasons. I may have had a strong urge to futilely yell, “READ A BOOK” at my computer screen after being subjected to their admittedly painfully constructed lyrics. But what I find most problematic about this video is not what many sources seem to have identified as a conceited, over-confident representation of my generation; what I find most problematic is the response. I find it horrifying that we live in a society that can gleefully tear them down, not just effectively enforcing the idea that “hotness” is unattainable—that we’re doomed forever to a cycle of hating ourselves because our desired outcome is impossible—but more broadly that there doesn’t seem to be a way in which young women can win within this societal structure.

Now, before launching into this, let me make one thing clear: I love the TV show Bones and have for a long time. I also kind of like Rizzoli & Isles, but there’s one thing that’s been irking me about these two series, even though they feature women in the leading roles and (especially in the case of Bones) have diverse casts. My problem is the fact that while both Temperance Brennan of Bones and Maura Isles of Rizzoli & Isles are portrayed as unusually smart and gifted females, they are also portrayed as socially awkward to a point that borders on a psychological disorder.

As anyone who has read The Yellow Wallpaper might know, there’s been a long standing tradition of portraying women as crazy and in need of psychiatric assistance in order to undermine their intelligence (or, as the folks at Jezebel recently pointed out, just to undermine them in general).By portraying both Temperance and Maura as gifted-but-mentally-challenged individuals this old stereotype is reinforced.

But there’s more to it. Think about all the police procedural dramas out there that have especially smart male characters (Gill Grissom of CSI is one example that comes to mind). While these male characters are sometimes portrayed as a bit goofy, there’s never the same social inhibition or hints at disorders as with Temperance and Miranda. In male characters, being smart is astonishing and awe-inspiring, but is rarely seen as being “crazy.” The only reason I can see for this is gender. I mean, wouldn’t Temperance’s social blunders be just as fun if she was a man? Or in the case of Miranda: would it detract from the show if she was socially well-adjusted? I really don’t thinks. After all, is it so much to ask of the writers of these shows to create opportunities for tension and/or humor without making a smart woman look like she should see a shrink?

Of course, there are smart female characters that are able to be smart without being portrayed as “crazy”: Catherine Willows in CSI, Stella Bonasera in CSI:NY or Angela Montenegro in Bones are all good examples. But it’s still revealing to see that women that are not only smart, but specifically exceptionally talented in male-dominated fields (forensic anthropology in Bones and medical examiner in Rizzoli & Isles) are portrayed as slightly crazy. The idea that too much knowledge is just not good for women, and that women can’t actually be as good (let alone better than) men in traditionally male-dominated fields still seems to linger in some people’s minds, which in turn leads to the perpetuation of this harmful stereotype. And here we are, still wondering why there aren’t more women in the so-called hard-sciences. When women who are in those fields on TV are portrayed as “crazy” is it such a stretch to understand why female viewers might shy away from those fields?

Polly Scattergood

Polly Scattergood (born 1987, Colchester, Essex, England), is a British singer-songwriter. She has been described as ethereal, dark, intense and quirky, while her musical style has been described as “early 21st century electro-dance-pop of London proper”. Scattergood’s debut album, self-titled, was released in spring 2009 in the United Kingdom and United States. Scattergood attended the Brit School where she wrote 800 songs. After graduation she caught the attention of music industry executive Neil Ferris who took on her management. Ferris then introduced Scattergood to Daniel Miller head of Mute Records. He led her to her current producer Simon Fisher Turner. Scattergood describes herself as a storyteller. “I write about emotions and moments, not all are biographical.”

via Wikipedia

Please Don’t Touch

I Hate The Way

Polly Scattergood on iTunes:

courtesy of hollaback, which everybody should check out: http://www.ihollaback.org/

Dear leering men on street corners and subway cars staring and grabbing your crotches:

It’s me…the eighteen-year-old girl who is probably just one of many you all have directed your attentions to over the past seven years. Anyhoo, I’m just writing to express my sincere thanks for your behavior.

In my opinion there is nothing more attractive than a man who makes me scared to walk down the street—and that whole grabbing your crotch and licking your lips bit? I think it’s so sexy how you make it known what you want, regardless of my consent.

Sure, I’ve yelled back a couple of times, but you were right when you called me a bitch for doing that or told your friend that I wanted you. When I yelled “f**ck off” I really meant “do you want to go out sometime?” When I ignored your “hey, beautiful”s, it was probably just me playing hard to get. And don’t let my fast-paced walking after you yell at me deter you—I’m running away because I like you.

So basically, I just wanted to say that yes, your tactics are working. The creative names you call me on streets all over the world are ever so endearing, and that time you tried to follow me into my house after school was so cute. Keep up the lip-licking, cat-calling, whistling, and staring…it’s getting you really far with all those girls you’re chasing.

Sincerely,

A Veteran of the Sidewalk

Fiona writes for Rachel Simmons’ blog and Barbara’s Angels

Over the past few weeks, there has been an influx of accepted students on Barnard’s campus. I’ve tried to talk to as many as possible, successfully resisting the urge to desperately grab them and urge them to get as much sleep as possible before Fall, and instead asking them if they have any questions about what it’s like to go to Barnard. Time and time again, these prospective students mentioned their trepidation about the idea of attending a women’s college — which is something I totally understand.

When I initially began the college application process, I had absolutely no interest in attending a single sex institution. In fact, I knew exactly what I wanted in a school. I wanted to go to a small liberal arts school in New York City that was full of intelligent, impassioned and driven students, dedicated professors who would take a personal interest in their students rather than put them on the backburner in favor of their own research or hand them over to T.A.’s, an amazing alumni network with plentiful internship opportunities, an excellent women’s studies department and an emphasis on writing across the board. And that school is Barnard College – a school that also happens to be single sex.

Now there have always been those who like to defame women’s colleges as sexist, outdated institutions – especially some vocal ones in the recent past. Much like feminism itself, most people seem to believe that we currently live in a society of complete equality and that the idea of a college just for women is simply unnecessary and unneeded. In fact, before I started applying to schools, I was one, to some extent. But now that I have a full year of a women’s college education under my belt, I have to say I’d be willing to defend my experience against the staunchest of opponents.

In fact, to be fair, I actually understand where some people are coming from when they say women’s colleges are sexist. It does seem at least a little hypocritical for women to denounce all-male institutions and demand they become co-ed (like we did with Ivy League schools, for example) and yet insist on maintaining women’s colleges. But here’s the thing: despite many an ardent attempt on the part of some to convince the world we are post-feminism, we still live in a society that is overwhelmingly patriarchal and male-favoring. And while men are still in control, while only 12 Fortune 500 Companies are currently run by women, and women make up only about 17% of the United States Congress, it’s clear that we need to do something to counteract this reality and work towards a world of gender equality.

This is where women’s colleges come in. Women’s colleges prioritize the education of strong, motivated women and encourage them to be the leaders of tomorrow. While it’s true that successful, powerful women do (obviously) graduate from co-ed universities as well, that goal is not prioritized or promoted in the same way at those institutions. And sometimes, female students have the potential to be leaders, to achieve great things, but need an extra push. The effect of attending a school that constantly holds up this standard for its students should not be underestimated – in fact, it’s effectiveness is reflected in the statistics of women’s college graduates.

But beyond the debate over whether a single-sex education is sexist, many of my high school friends were more preoccupied with the idea of me isolating myself from men. Wouldn’t I get sick of girls? Didn’t I want a boyfriend? Or was I actually just a closeted lesbian, hoping to explore my sexuality (one of the many women’s college stereotypes)? And besides, they figured, the world is co-ed: how was separating myself from men helping me?

The truth is, I have met plenty of guys at both Columbia and NYU and live in a city that is full of guys – and Barnard is not the only women’s college near other co-ed colleges. In my opinion, the women’s college experience isn’t about isolating yourself from men as much as it is about really working on female relationships and women-based communities– something I think we could use a lot more of in this society. Young women today are encouraged to completely tear apart other girls. We’re told we must compare ourselves to other girls constantly and compete with them – the effects of which are none too healthy. But at a women’s college, that sense of competition is slowly stripped away. Female friendships are more authentic and we’re free to be ourselves and explore who we really are, the effects of which last a lifetime, even when we’re back in a co-ed world. As for the sexuality point, my sexuality did not factor into my decision to attend a women’s college in any way (nor did it for any of my friends here, as far as I know). I attend school with women who are straight, gay, bisexual and undecided. But I’m pretty sure that’s the case at any college in this country.

I totally recognize that a single-sex education is probably not right for everybody. It’s a very specific experience, and one that should be chosen with careful consideration. But the fact is that on an individual level, attending a women’s college was one of the best decisions I’ve made for myself as a student and as a woman, and it’s something I’ll always be happy to defend.

Originally posted on The Frisky