As a little white girl, naively comforted by the romances of Madame Butterfly and Disney’s Mulan, I had developed a pretty enduring schema by which to evaluate Asian women: they must either be supplicants donning opulently embellished kimonos, or they must be men. By the time that movies like Godzilla and Aloha came around,…
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As I recently watched the housemates of this year’s Celebrity Big Brother UK cruelly tear into Stephanie Davis’s discharge in her underwear, I couldn’t help but feel like I was missing something. Yes, her laundry was lying around. No, that was not an excuse to publicly shame her and use her underwear as a way…
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On the rear of my car, there is a sticker declaring how much I love my box. I’m not just talking about the hatchback or the boxes of wine it is meant to denote (cheers, university Goonion.) This sticker also connotes the admiration I have for my vagina, my vulva and all the other intricate…
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I’ve mentioned before that I don’t read print magazines much anymore. Nowadays, I will usually only read if I’m bored, or if I’m at the airport and need to kill time. There’s too much in “women’s” magazines that raise my blood pressure and I like to keep it low. Caffeine addiction already does the damage,…
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