In defense of Sansa Stark

The final season of the series, Game of Thrones, began last weekend. Naturally, this has sparked passionate discussion with friends and family over character romances, tinfoily fan theories, and most importantly, who will end up on the iron throne. One character’s cause that I’ve been particularly committed to lately is that of Sansa Stark.

At the beginning of the series, Sansa is a 13-year-old girl who enjoys embroidery and daydreams about marrying a prince. She aspires to be a proper royal lady, upholding tradition, which causes tension with her tomboyish younger sister, Arya. Initially, many viewers (including me) were put off by Sansa’s snobby demeanor, materialistic nature and naïve obsession with living a fairytale life. However, through the course of the show, Sansa endures a series of traumatic experiences which transform her from a callow child to an intelligent and resilient woman.

First, Sansa leaves her home and is betrothed to a destructive young prince, who soon orders her father killed (and makes her watch). Living with his family, she must conceal her grief and act agreeable, or risk her own life and the lives of the rest of her family. During her time living essentially as a prisoner, Sansa learns from others how to survive in such an environment. She meets other women who advise her to use her sexuality and charm to persuade men to do what she wants. In femininity, they find strength.

She later escapes this place with a quasi-family friend, Petyr Baelish, who is known throughout the kingdom for his manipulative and conniving ways. Nevertheless, she initially trusts that he has her best interests in mind. They take refuge with Sansa’s aunt, whom Baelish convinces to marry him so that he can gain control of her stronghold. Sansa then watches as he murders her aunt and frames another person, discovering that this is a trick he has pulled before.

Still, Sansa does not foresee Baelish’s next betrayal. He hands her off to be married to a sadistic man who has taken over Sansa’s home, and leaves. Her new husband brutally rapes her, beats her, and threatens her with violence. Eventually, she manages to stage another elaborate escape and sets off to find her brother.

Having endured years of physical, sexual and emotional abuse, Sansa displays extraordinary strength and grace. When she reunites with her brother, she immediately takes the lead on reclaiming their home, negotiating alliances and working toward unifying her family. She is no longer trapped in her prior passive role of being tossed from man to man.

The seventh season satisfyingly highlights the progress she has made. Aforementioned Baelish is back, and spends the season sowing seeds of discord between the Stark sisters. His interactions with Sansa echo those of prior seasons, particularly during the time when he “rescued” her from one dangerous situation only to throw her into another. Feigning concern for her safety, he tries to convince her that her sister is scheming against her.

In the final episode, it is revealed that Sansa had been pretending to believe him the entire time. She puts Baelish on trial for treason and sentences him to death. Before ordering his execution, she utters her iconic line, “I’m a slow learner, it’s true. But I learn.” Though he had dismissed her as gullible, Sansa was able to outwit a man not only famous for his insidious cleverness, but who had previously taken advantage of her. Her measured temperament, thoughtfulness and careful calculation brought her justice.

Despite this radical growth, many have not come around to the Sansa train. Perhaps it is true that “no character can ignite a fandom’s ugliest instincts more than a flawed teen girl doing her best.” I’ve had conversations about this with women who identify as feminists, and who continue to hate her character. They cite her prissy attitude at the beginning of the series and the fact that she is not aggressive enough in war (never mind her diplomacy).

Last week, a friend said that she would never like Sansa because she made a certain military maneuver once. In this case, Sansa’s brother, Jon, had refused to take her advice, so she negotiated an alliance on her own and saved their army from certain defeat. This strategy was a success, but my friend insisted that Sansa put her brothers at risk by not sending the allies in even sooner. This argument seems to imply that Sansa should have just worried about taking care of her family rather than thinking about the bigger picture, relegating her to the private sphere and a caretaking role.

Men in the series have made much riskier military endeavors resulting in tragedy. For example, in that very battle, Jon is provoked into charging too soon after the rival leader kills his brother (without Sansa’s secret plan they would have lost). His emotions overcome him and he falls into an obvious trap, yet I have never heard anyone suggest that he should have had more concern for his family or is too emotional to be a leader. Dismissed for her “feminine” qualities and criticized as heartless when she is strategic, Sansa is tied up in double standards.

Unlike other, more popular female characters (e.g., Arya and Daenerys), Sansa did not have the luxury of impulsively using violence to get her way. She could not rebel overtly against the people who held her captive, lest she be killed. So, like many women in the real world, she relied on her wit and negotiation skills to stay alive and attain her goals in a patriarchal society.

Women are often put in positions where lashing out is not a permissible response, and we cope with our emotions in other ways. This approach should not be devalued just because aggression and anger are the more accepted (masculine) way of accomplishing something. Stoicism should not be mistaken for weakness, nor rage for strength.

What even is a nipple?

My partner and I were getting ready for bed one night. As she was getting out of that day's clothes, she pulls up her shirt and starts yelling, "I want my Jerry beads!" We both thought it was hilarious. Between the laughing, I told her that, as a child, I thought it was so cool that womyn would show their breasts on T.V. for some beads. I even wanted to go on the Jerry Springer Show and get myself some beads! And my partner expressed she had the same desire as a child.

And then it hit us--what a horrible thing for a child to want to do when they got older! As the daughter of a single mother who was also a Catholic Mexican immigrant, pulling my shirt up to show the world my "chi chis" was not something I should have wanted to do, especially not for some beads my mom could have gotten at me from the 99 Cent Store. Not that there is anything inherently wrong with pulling up your shirt and showing the world your boobs. It was problematic for a seven-year-old girl to believe that was what she should do for attention.

I can think of so many more ideas I had as a child that involved me trying to be "sexy" so that boys would like me. Some people will point to my mother and say she should have monitored what I watched more closely. As many low-income people of color know, our immigrant parents were preoccupied working and worrying about feeding us and not missing our rent payments.

Additionally, this problem goes beyond monitoring what I watched as a child. Why did I think it was cool to pull up your shirt and show off your boobs? My brain had already been wired to sexually objectify my own body. But how?

I am especially surprised that my partner wanted Jerry beads as a child because, from a very early age, she knew she was masculine-of-center and had identified with her brother's clothes and toys more so than what her mother would buy her.

There are obviously many reasons as to why young girls objectify their bodies (i.e., media, society, cultural norms). Whatever the reasons are, this cultural norm is a lose-lose situation for womyn. Womyn are encouraged to behave like this (Jerry beads, spring break wet T-shirt contests, mud fights), but once they do, they are seen as hoes, easy, whores or immoral. Additionally, although men don't want an "easy" woman, they do want a woman who attracts attention. But how do you attract attention without doing  the things that consider a woman easy?

These questions lead me back to wanting Jerry beads. Although this behavior is encouraged, female nipples generally have to be censored on television and social media, with a few exceptions. This would not be upsetting if male nipples also had to be censored. This has fueled the #FreeTheNipple movement. When looking at photos that have been altered to show male nipples in place of female nipples, we can appreciate how similar male and female nipples are and conclude that body censorship really is about sexually objectifying female bodies.

For instance, take Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction" at the 2004 Super Bowl. People were so upset about what happened that Janet Jackson issued a public apology even though it was Justin Timberlake who exposed her breast. The aftermath of the 2004 Super Bowl halftime show brings to light the sexism surrounding body censorship. Not only was Janet Jackson's career affected by this choice, Justin Timberlake's was not affected negatively, and if anything, was affected positively. Since Justin Timberlake did not share the responsibility in 2004, people were upset he was invited to perform for the 2018 Super Bowl halftime show.

At the end of the day, male and female nipples are the same. So what's the problem? The only thing I can think of is that the more censored a womxn is, the sexier society finds her. But, that's society's problem to deal with, not ours.

Notes on The Bachelor, Part 2: Justice for Tayshia

Congratulations, friends! We've made it through another season where the titular "Bachelor" decided to forgo choosing a woman who loved him or was actually ready for marriage, and instead chose the blonde he thought was hottest, despite the fact that she lacked the aforementioned qualities and maybe just liked being on reality shows. As much fun as that phenomenon is to dissect, this post is dedicated to another one of The Bachelor's many problems: Race.

For those who have not kept up with this riveting season, here is a quick recap of what truly may have been the most dramatic ending ever. As even those who don't watch the show know, Colton jumped a fence in a fit of emotion. We were teased with this fence jump all season, and it became somewhat of a running joke on social media each Monday night as we all anxiously awaited Colton's reasoning. Well, it turns out that his reason was Cassie Randolph. After about 5 other women warned Colton that Cassie might not be "ready for marriage," it turned out that Cassie was in fact, not ready to get engaged at the end of the show. Colton pleaded for her to stay and told her he was going to choose her, she stood her ground, he went back to his hotel to sulk, but soon left and gave Bachelor Nation what it had been waiting for all season.  After calming down, he decided that Cassie was still the one, and he would fight for her. But first, he needed to dump his two remaining ladies - Tayshia and Hannah G. (Cassie eventually acquiesced to Colton's pleas for a second chance, and now they are happily dating, I guess?)

Both Cassie and Hannah G. are very typical of women that make it to the final three on The Bachelor - pretty, blonde, thin, honestly somewhat innocuous. Tayshia, however, is black. Black women, as well as other women of color, do not typically fare well on this series. Sure, most of time, they aren't all eliminated on night one. But Tayshia's place in the final three women is only the second time out of 23 seasons where a black woman has made it that far. Further, no black woman has ever progressed past the final 3. This can likely be attributed to a lack of diversity in the cast generally, as well as the implicit biases of the Bachelor(ette)s themselves. As a woman of color, I like to root for the non-white contestants, even knowing their chances of winning the show are slim, and that is easy to do when given contestants like Tayshia. I didn't expect Tayshia to win, but there are two things about the way her storyline ended that trouble me: 1) the way she felt she needed to handle herself when Colton broke up with her and; 2) that she wasn't chosen to be the next Bachelorette.

Tayshia's trajectory on the show was typical of a frontrunner. She went bungee-jumping on her first date with Colton, and he seemed to genuinely like her and want to spend time with her. Tayshia seemed smart, down to earth, and sincere. She stayed out of drama for most of the season, until she felt she needed to warn Colton about Cassie's intentions. (After that episode, there was some backlash against her, though she was vindicated in the end when Cassie tried to quit the show.)  When confronted by Caelynn, she stayed calm and did not resort to name calling. Caelynn on the other hand felt entitled to swear, and even called Tayshia a "stupid bitch" in an interview with a producer. Tayshia likely felt that she could not do either, lest she embody the problematic reality television trope of the "angry black woman." She kept her cool again when Colton blindsided her with the news he was breaking up with her for Cassie. In fact, at least from what we saw, she seemed to be the one comforting him (at 4:09) - a really annoying phenomenon many straight women have experienced. She kept her composure through her meeting with Colton at the finale as well, and she was lauded in the comments sections of YouTube videos as well as other social media sites as being "classy," "beautiful," and "too good for Colton." Hannah G. was much more confrontational with Colton, choosing to use both the break-up itself and the interview at the finale to ask the questions she needed to gain closure, and was firm about making her disappointment in him known. She too, was showered with praise and similarly told by the internet that she was "too good for Colton." Hannah G. was pretty quiet this season - we didn't get a lot from her substantively, as the edit was focused on her and Colton's physical chemistry. However, in the final two episodes she came out, guns blazing. She didn't have to worry whether she would be branded aggressive, she could talk to Colton as indignantly as she felt the situation warranted. Tayshia didn't have that luxury, which, given the situation, feels unfair to her.

As much as the ladies this season spent a lot of time questioning the other girls' motive for coming on the show, every season of this franchise is an audition for the next Bachelor(ette) and Bachelor in Paradise. As long as a contestant is somewhat interesting or memorable (in the broadest possible terms), they will end up on Bachelor in Paradise. That is not a bad thing - from just four seasons, two couples are married with kids, and at least three more are still in committed relationships. As such, BiP actually has a pretty good track record.  Still, if it doesn't seem like a contestant is going to win, you can bet one of their other goals is to be the new Bachelor(ette). The title position is typically chosen from the previous season's final 4 men or women. Thus, this year's pool of eligible women should have been: Caelynn, Tayshia, and Hannah G. Instead, the powers that be chose Hannah B., who finished in 7th place, who while sometimes delightful enough, seemed to struggle at times in front of the camera. Caelynn was implicated in the Cassie "not here for the right reasons" drama, and, as mentioned before, we didn't see enough of Hannah G's personality to imagine her carrying a show. So what about Tayshia? The last time that a black woman, Rachel Lindsay made it this far on the Bachelor, she was chosen as the Bachelorette. I thought it was an enjoyable season - Lindsay is smart, vibrant, and was not afraid to ask the men (a few) difficult questions about race, and they brought in more men of color for the occasion. The franchise appears to like Lindsay, but given another opportunity to produce another season with a black woman in the lead role, they balked and chose a woman who finished in 7th place. ABC seems to have felt they have done enough with respect to diversity and race when it cast Lindsay in the role, but it appears to be hesitant to cast a another person of color.

In conclusion, ABC missed an opportunity to cast another black woman as the Bachelorette, despite how carefully she policed herself on the show. At least we'll be seeing her again in Paradise!

Notes on an intersectional feminist’s unabashed love of “The Bachelor”

In the words of the inimitable Roxane Gay, I, too, am a bad feminist. The best part of my month is receiving my Ipsy “glam bag.”[1] I never hesitate to ask a man to carry heavy things. If a guy on a dating app doesn’t text me first, we will likely never speak. But, chief amongst my sins, is the religiosity with which I have followed “The Bachelor” franchise since my senior year of college.[2] And I mean the whole franchise. “The Bachelorette,” “Bachelor in Paradise” - if Chris Harrison is forcing boringly good-looking people to hand out roses, I am there with dip and the few friends I have roped into watching with me this time around.[3]

An ABC fixture since 2002, “The Bachelor” is based on one (straight, white) man’s “journey” to find “true love.” In order to do this, the show finds him 20-30 ladies who are objectively attractive - that is, the majority of them are pretty, thin, again white, and blonde. Each week that year’s Bachelor – lately a fan favorite from the previous year’s “The Bachelorette” – thins his herd of women through the notorious “Rose Ceremony,” in which he asks each lady if they will accept a rose, and thus continue in the competition for another week. Before the ceremony, the Bachelor goes on “dates” with the women. Sometimes, that date is one of the coveted “one-on-one” dates, which is exactly what is sounds like with the addition of a dramatic date activity (like bungee-jumping), a fake dinner, and several camera-people. More often, it is a group date, which ends up being mostly the same, but with a higher chance of drama due to infighting among the contestants. When it gets down to four contestants, the dates get more intimate with hometown visits with the ladies’ families, and, of course, the overnight dates. The finale is supposed to consist of the Bachelor proposing to one of the last two contestants, and thus dumping the other. Fun!

“The Bachelor” and its progeny have consistently been the subjects of criticism and mockery, and why shouldn’t they? The show is excruciatingly heteronormative, with its insistence that a man always proposes to a woman (even on The Bachelorette!) during the finale. With the rise of Instagram stardom as a potential, lucrative post-show career, not being there “for the right reasons” is hardly even scandalous anymore. There has never been a black Bachelor. But, just how bad of a feminist does loving this seemingly anti-feminist show make me?

In defense of the franchise itself, it has been inching towards self-awareness on some of its issues. This season features Colton Underwood as the Bachelor, and, as the show will not let you forget, he is a virgin. Colton is otherwise attractive and nice enough, if a little boring. Facially, the fact that he is a virgin at 26 is surprising. This overemphasis on his virginity has likely led to some interesting discussions and even simple thought exercises about societal expectations of sex and when we expect one to have it. Colton, of course, is not the only member of the “Bachelor Family” who is/was a virgin on the show. Nearly every season, there seems to be one, and nearly every season it is a big deal, something to be confessed as a possible roadblock, or even deal breaker, for the relationship. Sex is the norm on this show - we expect The Bachelor or Bachelorette to sleep with the people who make it to the “fantasy suites." We applaud it, even. This feels at odds with middle America’s – you know; the people we would expect to love "The Bachelor” - sometimes Puritanical view of pre-marital sex. I am of course referencing conservative pushes to challenge Roe vs. Wade, decisions like Hobby Lobby that allow employers to refuse to include birth control coverage in healthcare plans, and the general reluctance to expand access to birth control and comprehensive sex education.

Still, while the show can be read as somewhat sex positive, it also reinforces stereotypes and double standards with respect to societal expectations of men and the amount of sex they should have had by that age. A few seasons ago, on Kaitlyn Bristowe’s season of The Bachelorette, Kaitlyn was slut-shamed for having sex with one of the contestants before the fantasy suite episode. She ended up telling some of the other men about her tryst, most likely at the behest of a producers trying to ensure as much drama as possible. This lies in stark contrast with the teasing Colton is subject to for being a virgin. This is a clear double standard, and many fans and columnists have not forgotten Kaitlyn’s treatment. Maybe, hopefully, this is a sign that the show is making some progress on its views about sex. More likely, it is because producers are hungry for a story.

Colton’s virginity may have been the catalyst for one of the most genuine conversations on the show. Last week, contestant Caelynn Miller-Keyes opened up to Colton about being sexually assaulted in college. Raw, emotional conversations are not a new thing in the world of the Bachelor. Two seasons ago, the Bachelor team managed to get footage of the Bachelor dumping the girl he initially proposed to because he was in love with the technical runner-up. This one felt different though. Miller-Keyes has had practice with this conversation, as fighting for stricter Title IX protections was part of her platform when she competed in Miss USA. Miller-Keyes told her story eloquently, and, perhaps recognizing that much of this conversation would be played on TVs across America, was careful in punctuating specific details. For example, she spoke about how the first hospital she went to refused to administer a rape kit, which, she emphasized, is illegal. Colton, for his part, handled the situation well, mentioning that his ex, and first love, is also a survivor.[4] As a fan, I admit that I love making fun of this show. However, The Bachelor team deserves praise for the way they handled filming and editing this conversation, and thus ensuring that people Bachelor Nation at least had to think about the issues survivors face after a sexual assault, and how a decent man should treat such an admission.

The Bachelor franchise is problematic, even without a critique on its racial dynamics. However, like any piece of pop culture, it can lead to important discussions about gender dynamics, societal expectations, and sometimes even serious issues such as sexual assault. Granted, I don’t always watch in hopes of such discussion. But when it does provide that opportunity, it has the potential to reach audiences who hadn’t dedicated much time to such issues, a result which ends up fostering feminist discussion.

[1] Five make-up products for $10 a month in a cute little bag! Amazing!
[2] I graduated college in 2013.
[3] Which is not to say I haven’t watched alone. I definitely have.
[4] His ex-girlfriend is Olympian Aly Raisman.

Feminist satire: is Saturday Night Live helping or hurting?

For almost half a century, Saturday Night Live (SNL) has entertained audiences around the world with clever, silly, and sometimes downright weird sketch comedy. As a self-proclaimed "SNL buff", I eat up every second of every show. However, my favourite sketches - the ones that make me laugh out loud and hurriedly send links to my friends - are the "feminist" sketches.

SNL's feminist sketches run the gamut in terms of subject matter and style. In "A Sketch for Women," male cast members continuously talk over their female counterparts, poking fun of "mansplaining". In "Permission," a rap/hip hop group demonstrates what respecting women's boundaries in a night club would look like. Most recently, in "Leave Me Alurn," women advertise a fake urn and lower back spikes that can be used to stop unwanted male advances.

All of the sketches leave me in stitches, but I think the reason they do is because they are rooted in reality. I am no stranger to mansplaining, inappropriate conduct on evenings out, or the unsettling feeling of a man grazing my lower back as he passes by. When SNL makes a sketch about one of my frustrating realities as a woman, though, I get to laugh at it instead of let it anger me. While I appreciate the laughs, I also wonder whether making light of these problems is perpetuating gender inequalities?

To many audiences I think the sketches make difficult subject matters approachable. Comedy, and SNL in particular, is an accessible platform. It allows people to address or encounter serious issues while maintaining a safe distance from them. One might recognize that the driving force behind "Leave Me Alurn" is the presumption that men have the right to invade women's spaces, but they do not have to engage with the seriousness of that premise because the jokes take center stage.

While this could be interpreted as dismissive of the underlying issues, there is something to be said for the effectiveness of creating a palatable platform. For example, Gilette's most recent ad, "We Believe: The Best Men Can Be," challenges toxic masculinity and references the #MeToo movement by encouraging men to "be better" than violence, bullying, and sexual harassment. The ad received almost instant criticism, largely from males, who were angry that Gilette seemed to presume that all males were bullies, violent people, or sexual harassers.

To me, it seems that the seriousness of the Gilette ad was immediately off-putting for male audiences. The ad confronted men with the suggestion that traditional gender roles have created a culture that breeds a certain type of man. The ad did not give space for viewers to make light of the serious message. Accordingly, men shut down; they were no longer receptive to the conversation about the negative effects of traditional masculinity.

In contrast, SNL's "Permission" similarly focuses on men's shortcomings as they pertain to sexual harassment and assault, but its reception is predominantly positive. YouTube comments on the video include countless men praising the song, if not for its lyrics (comedic and meaningful), then for its musical quality and use of popular rappers. On other feminist satire sketches, a common comment is somewhere along the lines of, "I don't agree with the premise, but you have to admit this is funny".

Similarly, comedic newspapers often have great success on social media. Reductress, a satiric online news platform with female-centric content, publishes quippy, humourous articles about the female experience. Some examples are: "Woman Nails Job Interview With Future Harasser," "Study Shows Women Have Happier Relationships When Their Partners Aren't Total Douchebags," and "Wow! This Working Class Mom Is Forced to Have It All". The humour brings in a wide audience, who then must acknowledge, to a certain extent, the underlying issue in order to get the joke.

SNL, Reductress, and other similar platforms provide an accessible, non-threatening avenue through which people can learn about inequalities. Feminist satire makes those who would otherwise not be receptive to the notion of gender inequalities, engage with them in some way. But, do women have to make fun of themselves for people to listen?

It is frustrating that entertainment/media seemingly caters to the sensitivities of more narrow-minded audiences. As evidenced by Gilette, content creators have to calculate how much reality - or seriousness - they can put into their content without alienating viewers. Soften it too much, though, and it is likely that the social or political commentary doesn't come across at all.

To this point, I think SNL generally strikes a good balance. Granted SNL's audience leans left, which means they can afford blunter statements with fewer repercussions, but SNL does not obscure a message in search of a laugh. There is usually a healthy balance of humour and commentary.

While SNL sketches may not be groundbreaking forces of social change, I think they serve an important purpose. Many people do not feel comfortable talking to family or friends about sexism, sexual harassment, etc., but they do feel comfortable sharing an SNL sketch that comments on it. SNL can be a great jumping off point for deeper conversation. It can also provide a visual representation of how ridiculous some inequalities are in real life.

I believe the idea of feminist SNL sketches is a good one, but I would be remiss not to mention the lack of experiences represented in the sketches thus far. It is no secret that SNL has a diversity problem. A cast member has never identified as Asian-American. The show's first openly gay cast member, Kate McKinnon, only joined the show in 2012. Furthermore, the show's supposed "diversity push" has resulted in only three men, and three women of colour on the current cast. In other words, SNL remains very white and heterosexual.

Because SNL lacks writers and actors with varied experiences, they do not showcase the full range of inequalities that women face, specifically those that deal with race, ethnicity, and sexuality. Until SNL hires individuals who can bring intersectional issues to light, the show's feminist sketches will continue to perpetuate a narrow set of issues related to gender.

At the end of the day Saturday Night Live exists to make people laugh. Its purpose is not to advocate for social change. However, as the show becomes more political, it must recognize that as an institution in American entertainment, it often influences the country's social milieu.

Currently, its politically and socially charged sketches (including feminist sketches) adequately toe the line between reality and comedy. But, without greater representation of the experiences women face, whatever good is done by feminist satire is minimized by the lack of experiences shown. Until this changes, I will keep watching and sharing the feminist messages that do appear on the show, but will find and share other outlets that represent diverse female experiences more robustly.

When the "good guys" are the harassers

Over the past few months, the media has exploded with claims of sexual harassment made by victims against men in positions of power. The allegations range in severity, from molestation and sexual assault of minors to unwanted sexual advances and "butt-grabbing." Regardless of the details, many of these allegations had common themes running throughout: men abusing their professional, social, and personal power; and victims staying quiet, fearing retaliation, harm to their careers, public shaming, and damage to their reputations.

The tidal wave of sexual assault allegations has not been relegated to one party or industry. The accused come from a variety of careers and political affiliations. As someone who identifies as more politically liberal, this has forced me to contend with my own discomfort as I discovered that many public figures I trusted and respected had acted so terribly. It's easy, even validating, to believe and accept that men like Donald Trump (serial misogynist) and Roy Moore (serial crazy person) have committed acts of sexual assault and sexual harassment. It stings to hear such accusations leveled against Al Franken and John Conyers, Democratic stalwarts and proponents of causes and ideals I identify with and care about. I will admit that even the accusations against Louis C.K. hurt a bit. I was subscribed to his email list and watched all his comedy specials multiple times... but lord knows I'm certainly not laughing now.

I am not the only one dealing with these mixed feelings. In conversations with friends and family, I have heard others express disbelief and even make attempts to justify and mitigate the conduct of these men and others.  These pained responses seem to reflect the cognitive dissonance we are all experiencing... how can a "good guy" have done this?

This cognitive dissonance is playing out in the media as well, as prominent women publicly (and I would argue, clumsily) defend these men. For example, on Meet the Press last week, House Minority leader Nancy Pelosi spoke in support of John Conyers. In doing so, she inadvertently checked boxes for multiple tactics sexual harassers use to undermine their victims and the accusations against them. Pelosi attempted to bolster Conyers' credibility at the victim's expense, portrayed Conyers as the true victim, minimized the severity of Conyers' conduct, and highlighted Conyers' otherwise respectable history of supporting women.

The women of SNL made a similar effort to defend Al Franken. Thirty-six women who worked with Franken at SNL while he was on the show issued a public statement, lightly condemning Franken's behavior as "stupid and foolish" but nonetheless going on to say that none of them had ever experienced sexual harassment from Franken and that Franken "treated each of [them] with the utmost respect and regard." As The Stranger's Anna Kaplan so aptly put it, "All 36 women who were involved with producing the show anywhere from the top down signed the letter to show solidarity and support for him because of how they personally interacted with him. However, maybe one of the most glaring realities that has come out of the past six weeks is that people you think you know, maybe aren’t exactly who you thought they were."

If the #metoo campaign showed us anything, it is that sexual harassment is a pervasive aspect of American culture (regardless of race, class, age, or political affiliation) that has touched a tremendous number of lives. It's only realistic to anticipate that even people we like and love (not just public figures but people we actually know) may have engaged in reprehensible conduct. 

So how should one respond when someone you like and respect is accused of sexual harassment? What is the appropriate way to balance your care for the accused with your concern for the victims? An article recently published on Bustle.com outlined seven productive and empowering steps people can take:

1. Listen to the accuser

2. Laud the survivor for coming forward

3. Don't center your response on your relationship with the harasser

4. Talk to the harasser

5. Offer the harasser actionable advice to improve their conduct

6. Critically evaluate your relationship with the harasser

7. Focus on receiving information rather than merely reacting to information

I strongly identified with this strategy. In following these steps, one can show compassion to the victims of sexual harassment while also recognizing that it's possible (even helpful) to maintain a relationship with the accused. In fact, by standing in solidarity with accusers, and offering honest and critical feedback and advice to the harassers (either in person or in the public sphere), individuals have a valuable opportunity to contribute to ending a culture that condones and encourages such behavior.

Not all public responses to harassment claims have been tone-deaf and inept. One example of a great response came from Sarah Silverman, a comedian and close friend of Louis C.K. In her statement, which ran before an episode of her show on Hulu, she followed some of the steps outlined above. She recognized that it hurt to hear about the things Louis C.K. had done, but also unequivocally stood with his accusers:

 “He wielded his power with women in f—ed up ways, sometimes to the point where they left comedy entirely. I could couch this with heartwarming stories of our friendship and what a great dad he is, but that’s totally irrelevant, isn’t it? Yes, it is. It’s a real mindf*ck, because I love Louis. But Louis did these things. Both of those statements are true. So I just keep asking myself, ‘Can you love someone who did bad things? Can you still love them?’ I can mull that over later certainly, because the only people that matter right now are the victims. They are victims and they are victims because of something he did. So I hope it’s OK that I am, at once, very angry for the women he wronged and the culture that enabled it, and also sad, because he’s my friend. But I believe with all my heart that this moment in time is essential. It’s vital that people are held accountable for their actions, no matter who they are. We need to be better. We will be better. I can’t f—ing wait to be better.”

Suffice it to say, I can't wait either.

A feminist joto's take on Playboy

I was about thirteen years old when I stumbled upon a discarded Playboy magazine. It was on the floor of a public, single-stall bathroom. The cover of the magazine immediately peaked my interest. I reached for it and leafed through it as I went about by business. Admittedly, by that age I knew I was what older Latinas referred to as curioso, a questionable euphemism that some Latinx folks use to refer to jotos and gender non-conforming individuals—it’s akin to calling someone precious. And they were right. By then I knew I was somehow “different” from other boys: I found myself “crushing on” boys and not girls, developing friendships mostly with girls, and distancing myself from stereotypically masculine activities, including sports. Indeed, I dreaded the weekends, when my father would seize control of the tv, and I had to pretend to cheer for Club America, his favorite soccer team. But I did enjoy screaming “gooooooooooooool” whenever a player scored a goal.

And yet the contents of the magazine mesmerized me. I was still learning English then, so I paid little attention to the text. Instead, I perused the photo spreads, each of which led to a moment of solemn introspection: “Is this what I’m supposed to like?” I looked at the models’ breasts, “nada” (nothing). I looked further below, “tampoco” (still nothing). I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to feel, but I didn’t feel anything. Still, I remained captivated.

I continued examining the pictures carefully. The models were beautiful, glamorous, and radiated confidence. Their pictures made me wonder if I would ever exude femininity like them, a thought that confirmed I was curioso. By then at least ten minutes had passed, so I quickly tossed the magazine aside, cleaned up, and walked out. Today, I wonder if that discarded Playboy magazine answered other questions that questioning teenagers may have had.

In retrospect, perusing that Playboy magazine forced me to confront my sexuality and gender identity over the course of a bathroom break. No, I didn’t walk out of the stall screaming, “soy joto” (I’m gay). But as I forged my identity moving forward, I felt empowered knowing I enjoyed the performance of but wasn’t attracted to femininity—a topic I’ll discuss in a later post. For that reason, I have a somewhat positive attitude toward Playboy.

Some would argue, however, that Playboy magazine is inherently antithetical to feminism because it perpetuates women’s sexual objectification. But that argument is too facile. Look around! Contemporary capitalist culture is predicated on sexual objectification. Indeed, H & M, Abercrombie & Fitch, Victoria’s Secret, etc., ads rival many of Playboy magazine’s “soft-core” images. But Playboy magazine at least has the decency to admit it uses adult models for adult entertainment purposes. In contrast, many retailers’ ads sexually objectify (underage) women and men without “for adults” labels, and the retailers peddle the ads for mass consumption free of charge. Even our food ads employ sexual imagery to wet our appetites—remember these Carl’s Jr ads? I can’t recall the last time ate a hamburger in that manner. Thus, if Playboy undermines the feminist cause, so do a lot of soft-core ads, and it behooves us, feminists, to think twice about the retailers we patronize since our money may very well be spent on soft-core ads.

That is not to say that Playboy is not without problems. Indeed, one problem is its lack of diversity with respect to race, look, size, and ableness. Arguably, if Playboy magazine is going to continue structuring its consumers’ desires, it should at least structure them in a more inclusive fashion. And we should demand the same from advertisers. Personally, I’m glad I found that Playboy when I did because it cleared up important questions early in my life. If I had similar questions today, a Victoria’s Secret catalogue may suffice.

The post-Harvey Weinstein landscape

If you've paid attention to the news in the last two weeks, you've undoubtably seen the name Harvey Weinstein quite a bit. Weinstein, co-founder of juggernaut film studio The Weinstein Company, was recently fired after dozens of women in the industry publicly revealed that they had been sexually assaulted by him. The New York Times did a good job of recapping the story so far. Particularly eye-opening, there were claims of sexual assault from some of Hollywood's biggest leading women like Angeline Jolie and Eva Green. This is not to say famous women are worthier of attention, it's intended merely to highlight the extent of Harvey Weinstein's disregard for women. It takes a particular state of mind for a person to think they can assault some of the world's most high-profile women without consequence. For those interested, Jezebel has a running list of the women who have come out against Harvey Weinstein.

Beyond Harvey Weinstein, this story is significant for other reasons. This scandal has revealed quite a bit about our society, good and bad. Starting with the good, women and men alike took social media by storm with "#metoo" as a means of raising awareness and a show of solidarity in the wake of the Weinstein scandal. The hashtag was used by those who had experienced sexual assault in their own lives. As Facebook and Twitter feeds drowned in #metoo posts, many including myself reflected in horror as friends and family put a face to sexual assault and just how pervasive the problem really is. While this is nothing to feel positive about, it did at least help show the gravity of the situation. The #metoo phenomenon has led to increased conversation about sexual assault and how to remedy it. More specifically, many men responded with detailed "#Iwill" commitments to do better to prevent sexual assault in the future. 

The #metoo campaign was not entirely uncontroversial. For many it is traumatizing to see how pervasive the problem of sexual assault is, leading to a feeling of inescapability. Additionally the #metoo campaign faces the same major challenge that all other social media campaigns do, having a real effect beyond creating conversation. Hashtags, promises, and conversation are meaningless unless they can lead to real concrete action. This does not mean that the conversation is entirely useless. No matter how small a step it might be, it is in fact forward progress. 

Turning the spotlight back to Hollywood, it'll be interested to see how the industry responds. While a superficial look may make it seem like the correct steps have been taken, a deeper look reveals otherwise. The Weinstein Company decided to part ways with Harvey Weinstein but only after he first attempted to distance himself from the company by taking an indefinite leave of absence.  It's hard to keep from assuming that The Weinstein Company decided to fire Harvey Weinstein primarily as a business decision. If it had been more profitable to keep Weinstein in his position or allow him to distance himself for a while before returning, the company would have probably done that. Recent comments from industry insiders suggest that Harvey Weinstein's decades-long pattern of sexual misconduct was no secret. It is difficult to believe that the board of directors of The Weinstein Company were less privy to their co-founder's reputation than the rest of Hollywood yet they took no action until the recent outpouring of confessions. 

Melanie McFarland of Salon shares my concerns, going as far as to say, "But the grim truth is that women will find it difficult, if not impossible, to beat the Hollywood system because men in power do not want them to." It's hard not to be pessimistic, or perhaps simply realistic, about what we can expect from Hollywood in the post-Harvey Weinstein world. One of the only few things for certain in this moment is that there is a golden opportunity to correct course. With all of the recent attention on sexual assault there is no time like the present for both Hollywood and society as a whole to take the next steps towards a more healthy future. These steps will be uncomfortable, they'll require require us to be honest with ourselves about the ugly ways we've allowed people, particularly women, to suffer. The easy way out will  be to continue with business as usual but we cannot allow that to happen. We must strive to make the Harvey Weinstein scandal the watershed moment some believe that is it, not just another blimp on the radar. 

Squeezing into sexism?

In my most recent post, I alluded to classical ballet’s flirtation with feminism in the form of Isadora Duncan, a 19th Century American dancer, refusing to wear a restrictive whale-boned corset while performing, and instead opted for a loose-fitting Grecian tunic. While this defiant outfit change may garner a “so what?” reaction from some, her intrepid move inspired me to reflect upon the corset as a symbol so deeply enshrined in history as an instrument of female oppression, but also as a possible symbol of female emancipation.

The “progressive” intellectual and social reformer Havelock Ellis once wrote that the evolution from “horizontality to verticality” was more difficult for females than males, and also that a “woman might be physiologically truer to herself if she went always on all fours”. The blatant comparison drawn between women and base four-legged animals aside, the opinion of such an “expert” instilled a grotesque image of women as feeble, spineless creatures into society from the Middle Ages to the Mid Twentieth Century. It’s no wonder that at the pinnacle of their popularity in the Victorian era, the garb of a ‘respectable’ and ‘decently dressed’ lady demanded a corset, with anything less only insinuating loose morals.

So what did the traditional corset represent? The entire design of corsets with their cinched waists that are quite literally breath-taking, aimed to fabricate the ‘ideal’ hourglass figure in order to satiate the mainstream male sexual desires of the hay day. A slim waist with accentuated hips and breasts subliminally equates to fertility which in turn equates to childbearing capacity, apparently. Men made up the vast majority of corset makers, with Louis XIV of France reported to have ordered a guild of female dressmakers to make all the clothes for women in French court, apart from riding habits and corsets, which were left exclusively in the domain of men. So while male appetites defined the silhouette of the woman, male hands too contributed to their caging.

While the artist Manet once remarked “the satin corset may be the new nude of our era”, when referring to his infamous painting ‘Nana’, the inherent sexuality of the corset has and will always continue to ooze. The popularity of corsetry had fluctuated and nearly fizzled out since Manet’s time, yet we have Madonna to thank for so kindly reviving the draconian garment during her 1990 Blonde Ambition Tour, in which she collaborated with Jean-Paul Gaultier to produce the iconicpink cone bra corset. Riding the wave of sex-positive feminism, Madonna’s corset was a distinctly different creature from the antiquity all had grown accustomed to, adding fuel to the flames of the Underwear as Outerwear movement.

This concept that underwear should be worn over clothes, not under them, or even by itself (why not?), bolsters the arguments of sex-positive feminism that have been bubbling over since the early ‘80s. Despite the centuries of tight-laced terror inflicted upon women, somehow the corset has come to embody this in full. We need only look to the 2017 Spring/Summer collections of countless couturiers for our proof. Along with printed tees proclaiming “we should all be feminists”, Christian Dior’s first female creative director Maria Grazia-Chiuri, showcased the emerging trend with a subtle nod to their boned brethren. Isabel Marant, Les Copains, Stella McCartney,MISBHV, Fenty x Puma, to name but a few, point to the plethora of designers rooting for the revival of corsetry, albeit in a deconstructed sense.

Somehow in the tumultuous lifespan of this garment, the Kardashians enter the fray. Their iconic pedalling of waist trainers as exercise and weight loss aids serve only to remind us that the corset in any shape or form is repugnant to feminist ideals. Kim, Khloé and Kylie being the most flagrant offenders, attempt to reinforce this idea of centuries past that the hourglass figure equates to beauty by pawning it off as “body positivity”. Unfortunately for the rest of us lacking in surgically endowed curves, waist trainers won’t give us anything other than indigestion and a sense of inferiority.

Women’s bodies have never been good enough, a fact that has repeatedly reasserted itself throughout history, and corsetry hasn’t been alone in highlighting this. From foot binding to fad diets, there has never really been an acceptance of the uniqueness and individuality of the female form. Although sex-positive feminism and the Underwear as Outerwear movement have characterised modern day corsetry as being a distinct choice that women have control over as opposed to a mandatory imposition, in light of what the corset originally and still fundamentally embodies, it’s safe to say no amount of Madonna’s or Kim Kardashian’s will ever squeeze me back into this form of sexism.

Why ballet is boring

Classical ballet has to be one of the most technically revered art forms in the human arsenal. The fine balance between sheer athleticism and seemingly effortless poise pushes one to the outer extremities of their physical capabilities. Yet more often than not, the mere mention of it sends the unappreciative into an impulsive fit of eye-rolling. You see, ballet bores a lot of people, and even though it’s one of my passions and I’ve danced for the most part of my life, I can see why.

The pervasive stereotype of ballet undeniably stains it a baby pink. From its nascence to modern day, ballet has been deeply entrenched in Western culture as a “girl thing." Fumbling around a ballet class at the age of five has come to be viewed as quite a ‘normal’ hallmark of a girl’s childhood (at least if they’re white and middle class), and while the vast majority don’t actually end up pursuing careers in dance, ballet is undeniably dominated by women. At least at a glance.

Classical ballet is saturated with gender clichés. In terms of physique, elite dance companies such as the Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet, are rigorous in maintaining their dancers firmly in the clinically underweight section of the BMI index, with a 5.7ft tall girl being expected to weigh at most a mere 109.8lbs. This wafer thin female ‘ideal', is supposed to make it more aesthetically pleasing for female dancers to execute certain moves, but is in fact primarily in place for the benefit of male dancers. A large part of the male dancer’s role in classical ballet is dedicated to performing intricate lifts of their female partners in pas de deux. Vaganova has stated that girls who weigh over 110lb will have “very limited access” to partnering classes to protect boys from potential injuries. But what about protecting girls from the rampant eating disorders and unhealthy lifestyles that injure female dancers in their pursuit of these ridiculous ideals? I didn’t come across a section about that.

So female dancers must be ‘slight’, as many companies phrase it, but also significantly shorter than men to facilitate a height increase when they dance en pointe. Male dancers also aren’t immune to bodily requirements. They are to generally be tall, lean and strong, quite obviously so they can fit into the classical roles of princes and protectors of the ethereal heroines, who only exist to live and die for heterosexual love.

It’s a mystery to me how in an industry largely populated by women, a bias in favour of men manages to prevail. Yet if you peer past the pliés and pas de chats, you can see the different strata of sexism are more concrete than classical ballet's fairy tale foundations.

It’s a known fact amongst the ballet community that male dancers progress through the ranks of dance companies in an expeditious fashion in comparison to female dancers. Supply and demand, apparently. Although I admire his awe-inspiring command of the art form, I can’t help but think that Sergei Polunin, who danced to Hozier’s ‘Take Me to Church’ in a stunning video directed by David LaChapelle in 2015, would have actually grossed 21,239,206 Youtube views if he hadn’t already been dubbed the “bad boy of ballet." He’s infamous for his tattoos, tantrums and tremendous snubbing of the Royal Ballet in 2012, when he left the company shortly after being appointed its youngest ever principle dancer at the staggering age of 19. His stunning classical technique aside, he defies all expectations of how the conventional stoic ballet dancer should act. He didn’t conform, he partied, he took drugs and had even danced while high. The reason why he seemingly got away with it all? His male privilege in the industry. As a classically trained dancer, I’m acutely aware of the rigorous discipline any dancer of a high calibre, let alone the principle dancer of the Royal Ballet, would have to engage in. Which is why I can see that if a female principal dancer ever acted in any way erratic regardless of their talent, they’d quite frankly be shown the door. Female talent is easier to come by, after all.

Sexism in ballet is often subtle. However, what’s not subtle is the severe lack of female choreographers being given the opportunity to flourish. If women are the more populous sex in the industry, common sense would dictate that a wealth of talented female choreographers would showcase their work, wouldn’t it? Apparently not. Based on their 2016-17 seasons, The Paris Opera Ballet featured only Crystal Pite as their token female choreographer amongst 23 men. The Royal Ballet featured the work of Pite, and another female choreographer, along with 14 male ones. If you’re looking, the examples of gender inequalities in the context of choreography are endless and obvious.

Classical ballet with all its flaws has at least flirted with feminism, I’ll give it that. Isadora Duncan, a renowned California-born dancer of the 19th Century, rebelled against the Victorian ideal of womanhood by refusing to wear the restrictive corset or painful pointe shoes, she instead opted to perform bare foot and in a loose-fitting Grecian tunic. She paved the way for other women to rebel against the inherent inequality of classical ballet. Duncan, along with Martha Graham, another feminist of the ballet world, facilitated the rise of modern, more abstract ballet. This took hold of some of the feminist ideas of the 60’s and 70’s, such as sexual liberation, and channelled them into the art form. As a result, modern ballet and dance have been said to be truly dominated by women, yet classical ballet still isn’t quite ready to boast this feat.

I find it remarkable that in one of the most widely perceived “female” spheres, there’s still ample room for sexism. It’s surprising and generally covert, yet unmistakably there. Which is why I no longer get irritated when people roll their eyes and say classical ballet is boring. Although the art form itself formed a huge part of my life and will always be dear to me, the sexism that classical ballet represents bores me too.

Feminism and rap: an imperfect union

As a brown man raised in a community bursting at the seams with people of color, police presence, and poverty, it was impossible for me not to be captivated by the allure of rap music. American society’s dominant narratives have always been a reflection of the convictions of white men. At some of our nation’s darkest moments, rap has been a powerful counter-punch, giving a voice to the otherwise voiceless. When the crack epidemic was crippling ghettos, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five gave us “The Message.” When police brutality was dominating the national headlines in the mid-80’s, Ice-T gave us “6 in the Mornin.’” When people were getting fed up with racial profiling, N.W.A. brought gangsta rap into the mainstream with “Straight Outta Compton.” I love rap music because it is honest and unfiltered. All of that being said, it is impossible to be a feminist and a rap enthusiast at the same time without feeling like a hypocrite. 

I recognize that it is difficult to speak about rap music, or any kind of music for that matter, in broad strokes. People make music for a myriad of reasons. Some people hope to be famous, some hope to be rich, others make music simply for themselves. Motivations vary and not everyone seeks to make music as a means of effecting positive social change. That being said, one thing is disturbingly common across all rap, the dehumanization and over-sexualization of women. When women appear in music videos, it's almost guaranteed that it is in a skimpy outfit. When women are the focus of songs, they are almost always as an instrument of male pleasure. 

Perhaps worst of all is the fact that women are largely mute when it comes to rap. Whether they are there to be ogled, insulted, or sexualized, women do not often speak. This raises another important issue, the lack of prominent female rap artists. While capable and talented female rappers exist, they rarely gain the traction that male rappers do. Sure, there are examples of iconic women who have overcome the odds such as Nicki Minaj, Missy Elliot, M.I.A., Beyonce, Erykah Badu, Lauryn Hill, Queen Latifah, etc., but these women are exceptions. Additionally, even for those who find mainstream success, it is often only after conforming to average rap fan's expectations of what a female rapper should be. It is difficult to enter a male dominated industry as an outsider in any context but I imagine the difficulty is amplified in the hyper-masculine space that is the rap industry.

The narrow minded hyper-masculinity that dominates rap both keeps it from progressing and reinforces traditional gender ideas that relegate women to secondary roles. This has become especially clear recently following incidents involving prominent rap artists forced to confront sexual ideas they are uncomfortable with. Earlier this year Atlanta-based rap trio Migos, made up of members Quavo, Offset, and Takeoff,  came under scrutiny and were forced to apologize following homophobic comments made in a Rolling Stones interview. When asked about a fellow Atlanta-based rapper who recently came out as gay, Offset stated, "the world is fucked up" and Quavo followed by saying "That's wack, bro." A day after the interview Migos issued a disingenuous apology but the damage had been done and the message had been sent. This is only one example amongst many which make it clear that being anything other than a hyper-masculine male will be met with either disinterest or disgust. 

Personal experiences confirm that the problem of close-mindedness in rap is reinforced by listeners as well as artists. When popular rap-duo Killer Mike and El-P released their hit 2014 album "Run the Jewels 2," there was refreshing twist. Track 9, titled "Love Again," begins with Killer Mike and El-P describing a few of their most memorable sexual experiences in typical mysogynistic fashion. At the third verse we hear a guest feature from Tennessee female rapper Gansta Boo, her opening lines being "That's what you want, huh? Well, let me tell you a little story..." She then proceeds to describe one of her most memorable sexual encounters with a level of extreme detail typically reserved for men. When I heard this song I immediately replayed it because I could not believe what I was hearing; Killer Mike and El-P set us up to have Gangsta Boo completely subvert our expectations and traditional gender roles. Sadly, not all of my friends shared my enthusiasm. I found that many of them were uncomfortable with hearing a woman rap in the same way that men do, and they began skipping the track entirely. 

While the current place of women in rap is not great, there are reasons to have hope. We must keep in mind that despite its immense worldwide popularity, rap is a relatively young genre. When it comes to sexuality and gender, we are seeing a slow but noticeable shift towards a more accepting rap culture. On the one hand we have an older generation of rappers evolving in their beliefs. When confronted about his previous use of homophobic language, Killer Mike of Run the Jewels tweeted a sincere apology. True to his word, Killer Mike and Run the Jewels as a group continue to advocate for equality and speak out against homophobia in rap. In addition to changes of heart, we have a new generation of hip-hop artists openly embracing feminism and homosexuality. Frank Ocean and Syd tha Kyd, both originally of hip-hop collective Odd Future, are openly gay artists who today enjoy immense success and support. This past year alone hip-hop collective Brockhampton has exploded onto the scene, led by openly gay frontman Kevin Abstract. The group has various songs with lyrics about being proud of being gay and calling aggressively for respect for women. 

Ultimately it is unrealistic to expect that the entire rap industry will conform overnight to meet our hope for equality. In fact, it is exactly because rap refuses to conform that it is such a powerful genre. Sometimes this non-conformity can be on the cutting edge of progress and other times it can derail the genre and keep it stubbornly entrenched in outdated ideas. For all the criticizing we do, and must continue to do, it is also healthy to recognize the progress that has been made. When we reflect on the current state of rap it is clear that this generation of rap artists and rap listeners are much more accepting than previous generations. It is also painfully clear, however, that better in this case is not good enough. As Tupac one famously said, "Time to heal our women, be real to our women...So will the real men get up? I know you're fed up, ladies, but keep ya head up." While we can hope to see more women enjoying prominent roles in the rap industry and to hear lyrics that are less degrading, this is a change that can only be facilitated by us, the listeners. We must challenge ourselves to be more intentional about the music we support. Only then, collectively, can we begin to make major strides towards creating a more accepting and empowering hip-hop culture for women.