August 2010 – Page 3

Power and Beauty

“Beautiful women have a lot of power. … From what I’ve seen, they get away with whatever they want.”

I overheard that during a break yesterday. A nice seeming man, late 30s or early 40s maybe, white, was chatting with the bartender in a mostly empty restaurant. That was what he said before launching into a meandering chat about the child he and his wife were expecting, and how he thought having kids kept a person feeling young. He did actually sound like a nice enough person, as much as you can tell such things about someone after only hearing them talk for a little while.

And I thought, wow, if conventionally attractive women really had as much power as he thinks they do, why aren’t they running everything? Why aren’t they the majority of CEOs? Why aren’t they the majority of officeholders?

Things will be calmer by then…

Hey there, Feministers! I’m Tyla, and the kind ladies here at Feministe have asked me to guest blog for two weeks. I’m beyond thrilled to be here, even though I’m a little late. You see, my guest blogging stint was supposed to start on Monday. When I was asked earlier this summer what weeks would be good for me, I thought, “Hey, by late August, my life will definitely have calmed down. I’ll have plenty of time to write really great, well thought out posts that everyone will love.” At that point, I was working as a temp and (I thought) very near to becoming full-time and salaried (every girl’s dream).

Since then, my life has done a total 180. Not only am I no longer in that position, let alone on a steady salary, in actuality, my job was given to someone else. I’m not complaining. The upset gave me an opportunity to follow a passion of mine, and since then, I’ve secured not one but two internships of my dreams. This week is the first week of the two internships happening simultaneously (both of them are supposed to be three days a week…but some smiling and sweet talking has helped me negotiate that situation). Also, my roommate and I are moving to a new apartment this weekend. If any of you have looked for an apartment in New York, you probably know that it is the closest to hell a New Yorker can get. Other than bedbugs. And oh yeah, we’re dealing with that this week too.

For clarity’s sake, I’m not whining. I’m having the time of my life and I couldn’t be more honored to try to squeeze guest blogging at Feministe into my all too hectic schedule this week and next. Bottom line, I’ve learned to never say “By then, life will have calmed down a bit,” because I know for me, and probably for most of you, life calming down doesn’t ever really happen. We learn to juggle. And we learn to deal. And on our good days, we smile and we’re thankful for the things that are going right. (Good thing you caught me on a good day…)

Thanks for having me!

(I just read the guest-blogging instructions and I’m supposed to tell you where I typically write. I have a blog called Learning to Live Without a Microwave. I have been slacking off there as well, see craziness of life mentioned above. I’ve been told that I may get to do some writing at my new internship at Saveur magazine, but since I just started today, I really can’t be sure about that one yet. Keep your fingers crossed for me!)

If you weren’t having babies, you (mostly) wouldn’t get cheated at work

Chamber of Commerce Senior Communications Director Brad Peck decided to commemorate the 90th anniversary of suffrage, the recognition of women’s right to vote, by suggesting last week that women who want equal pay have a “fetish for money,” and recommending that women focus our energies on “choosing the right partner at home.”

His post was titled “Equality, Suffrage and a Fetish for Money.” Instead of quoting at length, I’ll let Peck’s own comments on Twitter, in response to SEIU’s Kate Thomas, give you the shorter version in his words:

No. Point was pay is just one thing of value. To achieve your values need to pick the right job/right partner. (1/2)

Fixating on pay as the only thing of value shows a fetish for money. (2/2)

In the post itself, he approvingly quoted another writer who compared women’s interest in equal pay to the famously greedy, stingy Disney character, Scrooge McDuck.

Dispatches from Nappyville: The sensual pleasures

Originally published at What Tami Said

Right now, the back left side of my hair is strangely puffy, fuller than the rest of my head. The curls there are stretched out and winding this way and that. You may surprised to hear me say that I am NOT having a bad hair day. I am; however, in the throes of hand-in-nap disease.

From my own experience, and the stories of other women, I’ve learned that a curious thing often happens when a black woman “goes natural.” First, she is curious, but a little fearful of what lies under all those years perming or weaving or wigging. The decision to stop relaxing can be far from…relaxing. How could it be when society reinforces the idea that if curly hair is a problem, kinky hair is an abomination? It is not beautiful or professional or presentable. Fashion models don’t rock TWAs. The girl nextdoor never has dreads. CEOs don’t sport twists or BAAs. That’s what we’re told, anyway. For years, she has headed to the salon at the first sign of a wave at her roots. Girl, I need a touch up! This shit is NAPPY! Now, she is expected to believe that the same thing she has sought to hide for decades is a good thing.

So, she watches her new growth and hopes that her nappy is not too nappy. There is even a hair-typing scale to obsess over. Please, please let me be more 3A than 4C. Perhaps she spends no small amount of time looking for lotions and potions that will create curls where there are only kinks and zigzags or to give the illusion of wet, shiny tendrils. This behavior–the symptom of a mind still fettered to misguided notions about race and beauty–hopefully does not last for long.

Freedom eventually does come. She learns to stop wishing her hair was other than it is. She learns that naps–whether loose and curly or tight and kinky–can be beautiful. She experiments and discovers that her thick 4a hair makes gorgeous, plump twists; or that her 4c tresses spring into a kick-ass afro; or that her 3a curls look elegant in an up-do. She learns to “do you” as they say. And it clicks that a beauty scale that preferences appearance based on how closely it conforms to that of the majority culture is as useless as it is biased.

And then she falls in love. I did.

Folks who think only straight and silky hair is worth a loving touch are missing something delightful. Running your hand over textured hair (With the owner’s permission!) is addictive. I start at the back. First, my fingers usually find the smooth, neat curls at the nape of my neck. I pull them and they spring back into place. I wrap the strands around my fingers absentmindedly. My hands then crawl further up my head to the crown, where the texture is tighter and a little more coarse. I examine the differences in texture, touching the bumps and waves–smooth here, crinkly there. Before long I am separating my curls, pulling them apart where they have clumped together. And when that is done, when my loose hair is no longer a series of curls but a mass of brown cotton candy, I start wrapping the strands together into twists. Then I pull the twists out again. The result–usually a section of my hair is fluffier and puffier and less uniform than the rest, due to my stretching and stroking. It is relaxing and sensuous. Last night, while catching up on a season one disc of the Fox show Fringe, I discovered I had plaited my whole head.

I can’t help it. Such is “young love.” I adore the feel of my hair. I yearn to touch it. It is hard not to fondle it. And that is so much better than hating it.

Alaska’s Parental Notification Law

Yesterday, in addition to a weird and unexpected primary upset (probably) in Alaska, the state also became the 35th state to require some kind of parental notification or consent for a minor to obtain an abortion. As Alex Gutierrez reported from the state itself, this measure was controversial. The total expenditures to fight and promote the measure combined totaled more than $1 million — that’s more than $2 per registered voter in the state.

According to the Anchorage Daily News article, “Supporters won over voters with the argument that parents have the right to know if their minor daughter undergoes an abortion. It’s a potentially risky medical procedure, and parents need to be informed in case of physical complications or depression, said initiative backers.” But as Persephone wrote when she dispelled many anti-choice myths about abortion over at the Abortion Gang, The Guttmacher Institute notes that fewer than .03 percent of women end up going to the hospital due to complications of abortion. Abortion in the first trimester also has “virtually no long-term risk of such problems as infertility, ectopic pregnancy, spontaneous abortion (miscarriage) or birth defect, and little or no risk of preterm or low-birth-weight deliveries.” That makes abortion far safer than most everyday activities and plenty of medical procedures.

Guttmacher also has has a really good rundown of the state-by-state breakdown [PDF] of parental notification laws in the states. “In light of two U.S. Supreme Court rulings that prohibit parents from having absolute veto over their daughters’ decision to have an abortion, many states require the consent or notification of only one parent, usually 24 or 48 hours before the procedure,” the fact sheet says. Still, 20 of those now-35 states require parental consent. Two states, Mississippi and North Dakota, require both parents to consent to the abortion.

Parental consent and notification laws are one of those things that are politically popular among conservative — and even moderate — voters. What I find dangerous about the law is that it taps into a stereotypical parental protective instinct, sort of a mom- or dad-knows-best mentality. Fundamentally, though this simply isn’t practical or good policy.

In some instances, girls and young women seek abortions because they have been sexually abused by one of their parents. A law that requires both parents to consent could potentially put a minor in an abusive relationship in danger. Opponents of the new Alaska law fear the new law cause confusion and teens seeking an abortion might see the restriction a straight-up ban. For some teens, seeking an abortion is terrifying enough without piling on restrictions. Furthermore, Alaska is an extremely remote place — getting to another state with better abortion access might be particularly difficult and expensive.

Such laws fundamentally make a lot of assumptions about how families are structured in America. Not every family has a mom, dad, two children, and a dog. More than a quarter of American children grow up in a single-parent household. (Of those, one-quarter live in poverty.) Plenty of children have fraught or dangerous relationships with their parents. Others live in custody of their grandparents or in foster care. By making laws on the assumption of nuclear families, we’re potentially putting young people in danger.

I’m not saying that girls shouldn’t tell their parents if they’re having an abortion. Oftentimes moms or dads can be really supportive in helping their children through difficult decisions. When I went to my first abortion speak out earlier this year, several of the women talked about how their mothers took them to the clinic and sat with them through the procedure. But mandating such an interaction by law isn’t taking into account the diversity of America. We can’t make laws assuming that children are growing up in fundamentally safe, cookie cutter families.

The Things We Carry

About four months ago I decided to move from my sunny apartment in San Francisco back to my seaside Maine homeland.

Over the course of a month I packed up a life I’d created for myself and shipped it to the other side of the continent. During the packing process I went through a major cleanse. I donated 12 bags of clothes to Goodwill, I sold furniture and I left furniture on the street (fun fact: If you put anything on the street in San Francisco it will disappear before you turn around. It’s like magic).

The end result was 18 medium sized boxes of items I thought I could not live without. 18 boxes of clothes and dishes and memories that seemed essentially to me being me; my life in 18 boxes.

In the three months since, I’ve left those boxes packed. I’ve lived out of two suitcases and it’s been fine. Are my clothing choices slightly more limited? Yes. Does it really matter? No.

Next week, when I move into my new apartment, I’ll be reunited with those 18 boxes. In the time that’s passed, I’ve forgotten what they contain (except for my ruby red Kitchen Aid and my tea cups. I have vivid dreams about being reunited with my tea cups and food processor).

Part of me wants to leave those boxes locked away in my parents’ garage for a little bit longer. I’m tempted to start over with fewer things and just see what happens. I want to leave those 18 boxes tucked away and go back to them in a few years and review what they contain (this would also satisfy my childhood dreams of becoming an archeologist). I probably won’t end up doing this (mainly because my dad is pretty eager to get his garage back) and next week I may write you a post all about how wonderful it is to be reunited with what you’ve (temporarily) lost.

I know I should use this time with you gorgeous feministe readers to talk about gender and sexuality and, well, feminism. But today my contribution is a question about stuff. And what we think we need versus what are just items we’ve collected. Perhaps we all need to be prompted to get rid of the things that don’t actually matter and just see what happens.

Except your ruby red Kitchen Aids. Never part with those.

Fifteen-Year-Old Me

In an interview with the NYTimes, Katy Perry elaborates on what she imagines her gospel-aspiring, squeaky fifteen-year-old self would say to her camp persona today:

“I think the 15-year-old me would be excited and flabbergasted,” Ms. Perry said, “and also say, ‘Put on some clothes.’ ”

I think my fifteen-year-old self would look at me now and be horrified that I look exactly like my sisters (which isn’t a bad thing, IMO) and wonder how I can stomach making out with a guy with a beard (a guy who also happens to be the guy I dated when I was fifteen, long story, eat it, mom).

Thirty-year-old me would tell her that the baby barrettes and flannel look kind of gauche.

(via)

Again With the Demonizing of Women’s Sexuality

Hi all, sorry for the late start over here, but I’m Monica from The American Prospect and PostBourgie. I was happy to get an invite to blog for a couple of weeks, and will work really hard to squeeze in time between my work at Tapped and PB.

I wanted to kick it off by bringing up a minor annoyance of mine: the assumption that the sexual exploration of a pre-teen always necessarily means she was sexually abused. That’s the discussion over at Slate, in the comments section, about the latest episode of MadMen. In a pivotal scene, Sally’s friend’s mom catches her masturbating on the couch, and rushes Sally home to complain to Betty. Some commenters wonder whether this brings up uncomfortable possibilities about Grandpa Gene’s closeness with his granddaughter. His death, Betty points out to the psychiatrist Sally is taken to see after the episode, precipitated Sally’s misbehavior.

Child abuse is a serious issue and, truthfully, is most often perpetrated by family members and friends. It’s not impossible Gene was an abuser, and maybe that’s where the show’s producers are taking it. But honestly, a ten-year-old boy masturbating wouldn’t arouse the same suspicions, and it’s not crazy that a ten-year-old would start exploring his or her sexuality. We have a tendency to think of the middle part of the last century as this pristine era, right before the sexplosion of the 60s, in which girls wouldn’t have known how to do those things. But think about it: did anyone have to tell you what to do? We certainly don’t talk much about masturbation now, and lots of girls do it.

So, while the commenters have pointed to a lot of creepy-in-retrospect scenes from last season, I’m not convinced. I don’t remember anything seeming weird or untoward, but, chances are, if I viewed them with a suspicious lens, I would now. It doesn’t mean that’s not where the show is taking the Sally storyline. It just means I’ll be disappointed if it is.

What winning means

Today we called a client to tell him that 15 years after he was convicted, the state appellate court overturned his conviction and ordered a new trial “in the interest of justice.” It was an exciting moment. A crowd of people packed into the room and hovered around the phone–our clinic had had the case for 11 years and over 22 students had worked on it.

Nonetheless, while the excitement of the moment prevailed, the reality of what the decision meant was bittersweet. “So, they’re going to try me again?” the client asked. Possibly. Despite the fact that someone else has confessed to our client’s crime, the State can still choose to pursue convicting him again. On top of that, they can still appeal to our state’s supreme court, and have the reversal thrown out. So while it feels like a win, it’s really only a step. A powerful, meaningful step–but the end result is still out of our hands.

In the meantime, even though the court has thrown out his conviction, the client will probably have to stay in prison pending the State’s appeal. We’ll ask for him to be let out, of course, but unless they allow him out on his signature (where they accept his promise not to flee), he has no money to post bond. As our client said, “15 cents an hour isn’t worth much. And items in the canteen are expensive.“

And so here we are. Gathered around a phone to tell Mr. Client that a court agrees with him–they believe that it is likely that he is innocent, and that his conviction was unfair. But other than that acknowledgment, our client’s not gaining much. He’s still going to be in prison for an indefinite period: he’s still going to have to do what he is told, no questions asked; he’ll still have to wake up at 4am for breakfast and eat his lunch at 9am; and he’s still going to be unable to do so much as walk outside to look at the stars at night, if that’s what he wanted to do. But none of this is because he is guilty. Instead, his current crime is that he’s too poor. And nothing we can do as attorneys can change that.

So we’ll wait–us in our offices, our client in his cell– and for the next who-knows-how-long, nothing will change. But we’ll still call it a win.

Welcome to the world, Layla Sorella

So many congratulations to Jessica Valenti and Andrew Golis for the birth of their first baby, Layla Sorella Valenti-Golis (how beautiful is that name?). Little Layla was born early, at 29 weeks, after Jessica was diagnosed with severe preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome. But Layla is reportedly a strong and feisty little thing — just like her mom — and is doing well. Both Jessica and Layla are still recovering, so send them your good wishes and positive thoughts.

Congrats again, Jess and Andrew. Layla is so lucky to have parents as wonderful as the two of you. Sending so much love to your family.