Archives for posts with tag: women

By Jade

Middle-aged men.  Exactly nine of them.  The nine who comprise NKOTBSB.  They will don more sequins and rhinestones than you wore to junior prom.  Jordan Knight will look like a more handsome, fit version of your dad and sound like Frankie Valli after a hard day.  All nine will thrust their pelvises and sparks will fly. Not metaphorically.  I’m talking about actual pyrotechnics, synchronized with the motion of their taut, sexual hips.  The big screen will flash a tight shot of Donnie Wahlberg’s junk, it will be glorious, and you will screeeam.

Middle-aged women.  Thousands and thousands of them.  When they bought their first NKOTB cassettes, they wore braces and paint-splatter leggings.  Today they wear denim jackets over flowy tops, accented by wedding rings. They will squeal with delight when Joey McIntyre croons, “Girl, I’ll be your boyfriend.”  They will believe him.

Twenty-something women.  They will also wear flowy tops–but from Forever 21 and not Kohl’s–over short shorts and gladiator sandals.  They will get a little misty when Nick Carter takes the stage.  They’ll sing along to “As Long As You Love Me” and perform dramatic reenactments of the “I Want It That Way” music video.  They’ll update their Facebook status no less than three times during the concert and post a photo album the next day.

Girls who dress up.  They come in packs.  Some will wear hand-decorated T-shirts professing their love for Howie “Latin Lover” Dorough (who is mad creepy, btdubs).  Some will rock neon wigs in colors that clash with their tights and manicures–on purpose, of course.  They will be drunk.  They’ll ask you where their seats are when they’re standing right in front of them.  In a moment choreographed against the line “Am I sexual?”, they will all throw lacy thongs onto the stage.  Nick Carter will put one down the front of his white satin pants.  Yes, really.

Boyfriends.  Fourteen of them, total, in a crowd of 20,000.  They will have beers in both hands.  After the show, they will be treated to you’re-the-best-boyfriend-ever-for-coming-with-me sex.

Naughty by Nature.  Because, apparently, NKOTBSB is down with O.P.P. in New Jersey.  (No, seriously.)

Photo credit: Perez Hilton


By Sophia

You’ve got to read about the SlutWalks that have been happening across the country. Whether you like the moniker or not, it does make us, as a society, look at the ways we view women who dress and/or act provocatively and question what it really means to be a feminist and to be sexually liberated.

What I found most striking were the student dialogues in which “there’s always a but”, referring to the fact that while most people agree that no woman deserves to be raped, we should still look down on and askance at those women who dress provocatively because they are “asking for it”. The idea that there is an unspoken agreement on a line of what’s “sexy” and socially acceptable for a woman to wear and crossing that line into what’s “slutty” and garners “the wrong kind of attention”.

And the truth is I’m guilty of this too. I’ve totally looked at another female in a certain kind of dress, shoes, make up, breast exposure, ass exposure, tightness of clothing and thought to myself, “OMG, does she know what she’s doing?”  But regardless of how much of her body is exposed, how she flirts, or how drunk she gets, she still doesn’t deserve ANY of the “wrong kind of attention”. The truth is I, and plenty of other people, need to stop believing and perpetuating the idea that a woman is “inviting” bad behavior from men when she dresses or acts a certain way. Or from me. ( I need to stop whistling at the girls on their bicycles whose thongs ride up and become visible to the general population. Seriously.) I think there’s a quote in the article that aptly states “Stop telling me how to dress and start telling men not to rape.” It’s actually really that simple. The real issue at hand here, that men AND women are not addressing, is that by looking down on women who dress provocatively is perpetuating male privilege. And we’ve all heard that stuff.

  • Boys will be boys
  • He can’t help it
  • Guys think with their dicks
  • He was drunk
  • Of course a guy would do X, Y, or Z
  • He’s just saying that
  • He didn’t mean it
  • He’s a guy

This is bad! This is really bad! When we excuse this behavior we are saying two things that aren’t true and are detrimental to both the intellects of men and women:

1- Someone other than the man himself is responsible for his behavior.

2-No matter how educated or well raised a man is, his default nature is a predatory one.

And both of these things are bullshit. I think about the good men in my life and this is an insult to them. I think about the women I know and they are in no way responsible for when they’re male counter parts or significant others are assholes. An individual, regardless of their gender, orientation, or genitalia, unless psychologically impaired, is ALWAYS responsible for their own behavior. And demeaning that responsibility, or adding to it, based on the aforementioned criteria is not treating everyone as equals.

Now, I don’t want to write this and not address the the word “Slut”. Women have mixed feelings about this word. According to the article, younger women are more likely to embrace it and rework the force of the word into something to be reckoned with, and older women are not interested in reclaiming it for the purposes of activism because of its connotation. Valid points, both very respectable opinions. But let’s take the word at face value. (I can’t resist this cheeziest of essay moves…) reads:



1. a dirty, slovenly woman.
2. an immoral or dissolute woman; prostitute.
Even if a woman qualifies as all these things, if she says “No.” to someone’s sexual advances…It. Still. Means. No. And I don’t care what the failing-at-doing-your-damn-job-administrators or the frat boys at Yale think, touching a person against their will is illegal and straight up fucking wrong.
Let’s take the word in it’s more common usage, say, a person who tends to have sex with multiple people at different or simultaneous times for reasons ranging from simple enjoyment of sex to serious self esteem issues, and employs risque modes of dress and behavior with which to attract potential sexual partners. This person may be female or male. This person may or may not have strict standards for sexual partners, hell they may not have any all. They may not be practicing safe sex. They may expose themselves to dangerous people and environments, having questionable judgment. They may be a frumpily dressed English major with two student jobs in a long distance committed poly amorous relationship trying to get through her senior year at a challenging institution just looking for ways to unwind after a hard day’s work who always insists on condoms, proof of being clean from STDs, takes her birth control everyday, who asks random interesting and/or good looking guys at parties if they want to go back to her room on a regular basis on the condition that they submit to the above terms and are single or also in a sexually open relationship of some kind. For funsies. Any of these people, any combination of these people, is still allowed to tell you “No” and you better fucking listen.
Lastly, I want to address, well dress. Women have a LOT of fashion to choose from, not to mention that it’s more socially acceptable for women to don menswear than vice versa, leaving us ladies with, well, all the fashion (cue evil laugh). I can wear pants, skirts, vests, turtle necks, stockings, corsets, bow ties, neck ties, cuff links, chains, leather, lace, silk, satin, cotton, leggings, heels, slippers, oxfords, bikinis, or nothing at all in some places, and it’s all good, baby. And I can wear any of those things for any reason.
I feel gross, I haven’t showered today, jeans and sweatshirt and pull my hair back.
I feel good today, it’s sunny, it’s Friday, I’m going to wear a skirt and a v-neck tee and maybe some fun patterned Ray-bans.
I’m going out with my boyfriend, I’m going to wear a low-cut dress and strappy sandals, and line my eyes and put my lip gloss on in the car so he can watch me do seductive things with my mouth in the sun visor mirror.
I am going out with my girls tonight and we are going to be the center of attention, so I want to wear my tight short black dress, my platform pumps, gold eye shadow, the big gold hoops with my name on them, lots of mascara, and no bra.
It is laundry day and I have absolutely nothing clean to wear except this old prom dress. So I will dress it down with this grey blazer and hope people don’t think I’ve lost my marbles.
I would never deny that women, and men, are guilty of wearing things specifically because they want other people to notice them or because we’re trying to communicate things with our clothes, though sometimes what they’re trying to communicate alludes me (and I am so going to hell for that). Sometimes we do it with no intention at all. I wore short shorts the other day while I did some errands because it was really hot and I wanted some more color on my legs so I wouldn’t have to nair them again for a while. And then when I was outside walking, minding my own business I got some hollers and honking from men driving past in their cars and I was like Wha-? Oh. Right. Shorts. But regardless of what we wear and why we wear it, people can look, shout, and honk all they want, but they don’t have permission to touch your ass just because it’s in view. Besides, rapists don’t care what their victim is wearing. It doesn’t’ matter if it’s anal floss or a burqa. They care about opportunity. Even more creepy, women are most likely to be sexually assaulted by someone they know more so than by a stranger checking them out. Although “non-stranger” isn’t specifically defined. Just because I know your name, you bought me a drink, and we’re dancing together doesn’t make you a “non-stranger” to me…
The last thing I want to point out is that I, personally, sometimes want to dress very provocatively, just cause I want to. Cause I think it would be fun or cool. But I admit I’m afraid to because I’m afraid of the attention it could draw. I can deal with car horns and “Hey mama!”s. But I don’t want a guy standing abnormally close to me, breathing down my neck going “Ay, girl, you look good.” Cause that is, well, gross.
I was in Vegas for Memorial Day weekend, and, well, Vegas is actually the place I would dress like that because that style is so pervasive there that it’s ubiquitous. I consider it the place to go if I want to get my feet wet wearing a tiny dress and stilettos in public for the first time. However, I saw something that was difficult for me to watch and that was a large woman in a VERY short dress, short enough that, well, I would rather refer to the dress as a really nice shirt that she chose not to wear with pants. But even then, regardless of what I thought or felt about her choice of attire, it doesn’t make her any less of a person and it doesn’t give anyone the right to accost her or touch her. And going off that, I shouldn’t feel like I can’t wear a mini skirt unless I’m out in a group. No one should be afraid to wear what they like, makes them comfortable, or makes them feel nice about themselves because they think it will incite lascivious or derogatory proclamations from the general population.
So, if you’re still reading this what I want you to take away from this post is that no one deserves to be raped, regardless of what they’re wearing, how they’re acting, or who they’re with. Even if they are a slut.

By Brittney

How can I start this post without sounding completely scandalous….

…To hell with it. One of the greatest joys I have in life is sounding completely scandalous.

I have the most annoying habit of groping my boyfriend in public. I can’t even help it at this point. We’ve hit the six-month mark where the physical chemistry hasn’t worn off and yet we’re so comfortable with each other that it’s second nature to seek skin-to-skin contact. Throw in the fact that out of the past six months, four of them were comprised of that dreaded state of “Long Distance Dating,” wherein I lived in Illinois and he lived in Michigan and our only point of contact was via text, email or Skype, and the ability to touch him whenever I feel like it, to reassure myself that he is, in fact, here, is one that I cannot resist abusing.

I have been judged by so many passers-by, innocent bystanders until they witnessed my sexual assault of the poor young man who accompanies me. I apologize to you: Barnes & Noble shoppers, Target employees in the electronics section, TJMaxx customers, moviegoers at all theaters in the tri-county area, and especially to the owner of that used bookstore – we didn’t knock over any books and we did actually buy stuff, so I’m only sorry you had to listen to us kissing in the stacks for 15 minutes.

It’s a very good thing that my boyfriend doesn’t mind the constant petting, stroking, kissing, and occasional butt-squeeze, otherwise, I may actually have to find a new outlet for reassuring myself that he’s actually within arm’s length instead of nearly 300 miles away. Then again, if I weren’t as discreet about it as I try to be, he’d probably be more upset about it. He finds the occasions when I we get caught amusing, like the time that several clucking older ladies came out of absolutely nowhere to give me us the stinkeye when I, ahem, had my hands full.

Those women, and the multitudes of other older women who have caught me during the many shenanigans over the years with various young men, seem to be on the lookout for girls like me. During high school, I was at a store with my (gay, but I didn’t know it then) best guy friend (that I’d had a crush on for two years) and invited him into the dressing room with me to see if he liked a particular outfit (again, I didn’t know he was gay, but he certainly knew I wanted him). I heard a gasp followed by a disapproving scoff… and there was, again, several clucking older ladies giving me us the stinkeye.

"You should know better, young lady."

Sometimes, I get the impression that these ladies secretly seek out girls like me. Their attention is drawn to the outspoken, to the scandalous, to the mindless joy of the misbehaving young women of the world — not because they inherently disapprove (even though they probably do), but because they were once girls like me.

They see themselves in the ridiculous antics I get into. They see their old flames in the boys I maul for affection. Perhaps they feel a need to reprimand the wild youth they spy acting out in stores because they remember the situations they couldn’t talk themselves out of.

A part of me knows that I will do it when I’m their age, but a larger part of me refuses. I want to be that old lady with the severe hairstyle that kindly directs the rambunctious couple to the corner of the bookstore on the other side of the romance novels, to the right of fiction, out of view of the children’s section and the store cameras and tells them to carry on. I want to be the older mom strolling through the park, winking at the couple necking in public, as if to say “Good for you. There should be more love in the world.”

Though as much as I’d like to be the elder advocate of the freedom of youth, those same disapproving ladies probably said the same thing when they were 23. We’ll all end up as old, disapproving people if we’re fortunate enough — and a lot of us will envy young people. It’s a part of life.


Unless you lived your life as a young person so thoroughly that all you can do is cheer on the newbies as they discover the freedoms that come with the reckless abandonment of being young. That’s my game plan. Be so thorough in living that all I can do is look back and sigh when I see a young woman pinning her boyfriend against a wall in the back corner of Barnes & Noble for a nice, long kiss.

Of course, knowing myself, I would probably cluck loudly in disapproval just to see the fear and shock pass across their faces as they realize that they’ve been caught yet again and then laugh softly to myself….after all, growing up doesn’t mean you have to grow old.