I wrote this earlier this morning and it nearly killed me. Like an earthquake, I’m feeling it later on in the day. I can’t write anymore. Just read this. This is what’s going on.
I’ve been asking myself for years now: Why do I want to do this anyway? I’m always coming up with more answers. Here are a couple that last.
Are you ready for a feminist rant? I swear, I’ll be brief as I can. For now.
When I was a teenager and later in college, I didn’t see anyone like me in movies. And I especially didn’t see anyone I thought I might ever one day resemble. I remember how deeply depressing it was to go to see another movie where the lead woman “found herself” by designing shoes or getting a makeover or finally allowing herself to stop being so uptight and to fall in love already. I remember when every single movie “for women” had a dressing room montage. I remember when Sex and the City the movie was a huge hit and it was in all the papers – Women…
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