In defense of the sanctimonious women's studies set || First feminist blog on the internet

Month: July 2012

Never let it be said that the Kardashians don’t recognize an opportunity

I have been fortunate enough not to have actually seen an episode of one of the many Kardashian-related reality TV shows in existence. Yet I am unfortunate enough to still know who these people are.

That said, I have to commend (kommend?) the Kardashian sisters for recognizing that plus-size women need clothes and will spend real actual money to purchase them.

But, we’ll admit: the launch of their plus-size denim line, Kardashian Kurves, actually seems pretty kool. Sorry, cool.

The line will be sold in Sears, and in an effort to drum up some extra excitement there is an official contest, where one winner will pose with the Kardashian sisters on an official ad campaign. To enter on Facebook, submit a full-length photo of yourself “along with what being ‘kurvy’ and ‘konfident’ means to you.”

Do I hate that the name of the line is Kardashian Kurves? Yes. Does it irritate me that they are asking for models to show them how “konfident” they are with their “kurves”? You betcha. But I am going to give the sisters props for seeking out a market that so many other retailers are embarrassed to admit exists, even when they can (and often do, on the sly) make a lot of money selling to that market.

I give them credit for not being afraid to associate themselves with a plus-size line, for taking the measure (so to speak) of the clothing market and realizing that there’s a lot less competition for eyeballs and dollars in the plus department than there is in the junior department. I also give them credit for launching the line at Sears, which is accessible to a lot of the people who really could stand more choices in clothing.

Can’t say I’d wear it myself, but you never know.

Latch On, NYC–OR ELSE (Updated 8/1)

Starting September 3, baby formula will be a controlled substance at some New York City hospitals. Under the health department’s voluntary Latch On NYC program, 27 hospitals are literally hiding the baby formula under lock and key, tucking it away in distant storerooms and locked dispensaries like legitimate medications that need to be tracked. [See update. -C] Nurses will be expected to document a medical reason for every bottle a newborn receives, and mothers will get a breastfeeding lecture every time they ask for a bottle of formula.

(Now with 100 percent more updates!)

Okay, seriously.

Come on, Peter Jackson. You’re the guy who condensed a thousand-plus-page epic into three briskly-paced films, and now you’re stretching The freakin’ HOBBIT into three movies?

Blahblah Erebor blahblah Dol Guldur blahblah Necromancer.

Dude. The Hobbit is a simple story, a kids’ story, really. Three hundred pages. If you want complex, make a film of The Silmarilion.

There better be a fuckload of Smokin’ Hot Thorin Oakenshield in these films, is what I’m sayin’.

I am an athlete.

If you have read any of my writing before, you’ve probably picked up on the fact that I am fat. I’m not as fat as I was when I started writing for Feministe, but I’m fatter than I was this time last year (yay, pre-menopause! That was a fun birthday present). So, still fat.

I am also an athlete.

It’s taken me quite some time to be able to say that without qualification. Without minimizing my accomplishments. Without making exceptions or excuses for why I’m not an athlete.

Because I’m fat. So I can’t be an athlete, because athletes are thin and cut, right? When the strongest woman in America can’t get sponsorships because she doesn’t look like Lolo Jones, and the second-strongest woman in America makes defensive jokes about her body (and when every article about her mentions her weight more prominently than how much weight she can lift — which may be more than her professional-football-player brother can — and idiots make jokes about her size), is it any wonder a fat, middle-aged woman might have a hard time claiming the name?

I am currently training for the NYC Marathon in November. I’m slow. I don’t expect to finish in much less than five and a half hours. But I can run (or, rather, run/walk) 12 miles. I did that last week. Next week, I’ll do 14. I’d be doing more, but I had to take a couple weeks off for a fractured pinky toe.

I’ve had two conversations in the past year or so where I was brought up short and forced to confront my non-acceptance of the title “athlete.” The first was a little over a year ago, when I was being prepped for surgery. I’d been training for a half marathon at the time, and had gotten dehydrated on my 11-mile run (hello, new dry climate!). That pushed a latent bile-stone condition into being symptomatic, and I had to have emergency surgery. As I was lying on the table, the anesthesiologist was taking my vitals. Suddenly, she asked me, “Are you an athlete? Your heart rate is very low!” I was a bit startled and demurred. But, dammit, the whole reason I was there was that I was able to get myself dehydrated on an 11-mile run. A non-athlete doesn’t do that unless they’re being chased by tigers.

Then, a few weeks ago, I met with a Chi Running* coach who’s an ultramarathoner. It’s hard not to feel lazy next to someone who can and will run 50 to 100 miles at a stretch. I made some comment about not being very fit, and she said sternly, “You’re fit. You just did 9 miles.”

After that, I decided I’m going to think of myself as an athlete. I’m going to claim my athleticism. I’m fat, and I’m over 40, and I’m female, and I’m slow, but god dammit, I am a fucking athlete.

Also, I don’t think I’d be rolling this stuff onto my ass crack if I weren’t an athlete.

This stuff is the bomb.
For all your friction-reduction needs.

_____________
* Seriously the best thing ever.

Halloo!

I’m baaaack! Here for the next two weeks.

Someone who hasn't been here for a while.
Miss Junebug says hello.

How The Music and Media Presence of TLC Shaped My Womanism (Part 1)

As a painfully awkward tween and teen, I often preferred the company of books and the radio to that of my peers. In a somewhat restrictive (evangelical Christians, where y’all at?) environment, secular music was an almost forbidden indulgence for my younger sisters and me. Of course, we were allowed the squeaky clean offerings of The New Mickey Mouse Club and Kids, Incorporated. But when I tuned into BET’s Video Soul or Yo! MTV Raps, I was transported. I was part of a world where Blackness — where people who looked and maybe even talked like I did — were the norm, not the exception or the token. I found myself in music, in spaces where my perfect spelling tests and proclivity toward writing were seemingly rewarded.

The music that most impacted me from age 11 on was R&B, specifically the new jack swing genre and the music that followed it. A direct result of the joining of still-expanding Hip Hop music and post-synthesizer R&B music of the early-to-mid 1980’s, new jack swing fueled my most vibrant memories of summer camp, dancing until I sweated profusely, and (I can’t believe I’m admitting this) having a Jheri curl that was not properly moisturized. I sang along with Bobby Brown’s “Roni,” tried to master the dance moves from BBD’s “Poison” video, and made all kinds of inquisitions as to why Aaron Hall’s “Don’t Be Afraid” seemed so damn rapey. (Because it’s a Rape Carol, that’s why.)

In 1991, a song called “Ain’t 2 Proud 2 Beg” hit BET, and my world was forever changed by three young Black women known as TLC. Initially, I (of course, as a super sheltered tween) had zero idea what “two inches or a yard/ rock hard or if it’s saggin'” even meant. But, once I learned, I was simultaneously scandalized and excited. These were Black women talking frankly about sex, and not just singing, but rapping as well. Black women who were not Whitney or Janet (her janet. album had yet to drop!) talking about being in control of their pleasure and the kind(s) of partner(s) they wanted. And they wore condoms on their not-tight-at-all clothes. They were dressed more like Another Bad Creation than they were The Good Girls. TLC hit me like only a true pop phenomenon could: hard as hell, with deep-reaching influence to boot. But there were “problems” with them, of course, if you asked some folks.

I didn’t understand the controversy. T-Boz, Left Eye, and Chilli were grown (21 could have been a lifetime away for me) women who talked about the issues relevant to them. Ooooooohhh… On the TLC Tip was the point where I learned about Tawana Brawley, and what it means to believe the victim. (See the aforementioned album, track 8, “His Story”) TLC’s choice to wear condoms on their clothes and talk about their pleasure was the kind of thing I needed to combat the programming I got in my Christian day school. A song like “Hat 2 Da Back” blew my mind. Left Eye’s rhymes about a dude policing her femininity combined with the hook ending, “That’s the kinda girl I am” affirmed me in all my awkwardness. I had to be myself, right? That wasn’t exactly the prevalent message in mainstream media or media focused specifically on Black folks.

And though I had no clue what “Baby-Baby-Baby” was actually about, I loved the video. I found myself singing along quite often, and when I finally realized what the line “I like plenty conversation with my sex” actually meant…? Ooh, wee. I further recognized the awesomeness of the song. How often can we say there are mainstream (read: via a major record label and/ or one of its imprints) songs discussing sex in a direct way from the perspective of a young woman of color? With some kink thrown in, too? Exactly my point. Amaaaaaazing! I learned from TLC’s most popular singles that I could choose for myself exactly the kind(s) of sexual encounters I wanted to have, create healthy boundaries for myself, and be fly without compromising my intergrity. As I sit here going through the TLC Vevo channel, I am reminded that there’s nothing quite like listening to the whole album from front to back — even the songs I currently can’t believe I liked.

I won’t ruin these jams (or is that jamz?) with too much lyrical analysis. Go to Spotify or Rdio and listen to these albums to get an idea of what I’m talking about. Stay tuned for part 2, about TLC’s second album, CrazySexyCool