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Mad Max Fury Road is hardly feminist. It’s Dances With Wolves With Women.

I confess I never saw "Dances with Wolves" but I'm pretty sure the number Kevin Costner pulled on Native Americans is what this loner White Savior just did for Women. Saved them. What feminists needed was a MAD MAXINE. Instead they got another strong silent type, who drove for them, defended them, and made decisions for them. So he wasn't as good a marksman, once, as one-armed Furiosa. I went to see Mad Max Fury Road with some skepticism that it was an adventure about saving damsels in distress. Art directed by Victoria's Secret. Objectified not merely as helpless models, but as the patriarch's incubators. Steam Punk already has a feminist heroine, Tank Girl.

Vanity Fair cover spotlights a gender trait Caitlyn Jenner didn’t nip or tuck: male privilege.

Thank you Bruce now Caitlyn Jenner for stepping up to be an olympian standard-bearer to assail the stigma of gender dysphoria. Caitlynís reveal on the cover of Vanity Fair is a triumph, for transexuals and, one might hope, ďwomen of a certain ageĒ. But that it certainly is not. Caitlyn owes her magazine cover to her celebrity power of course, to sensationalism, and above all to her male privilege. And there we have the distinction feminists have long drawn between their struggle and that of man-made women. Itís not about whose struggle is greater. But itís not the same struggle. As a woman, Jenner now faces every traditional gender disadvantage except obviously the wage gap. With another exception. If you doubt that Caityn Jenner has yet to shed her alter egoís male privilege, ask yourself when was the last time Vanity Fair put a 65 year old woman on their cover, wearing a bunny suit? Not that female celebrities even twenty years younger would likely consent to being presented as corseted sexpots. Jenner claimed in her interview that she is asexual, maybe to un-complicate the anticipated male gaze. Or maybe thatís one hurdle too far for our reality-phobic media which needs to repress sex to sell it. So Vanity Fair couldnít help but sexualize the cover, but it leaves viewers with nothing to glean but narcissism. Can we fail to feel in Jennerís gaze, the arrogance of a conquerer? That's not an attribute exclusive to masculinity, but Jenner's comes of privilege. The Wheaties box superhuman decathlete had her beefcake and now she intends to eat it. No one says a trans feminine must be a shrinking violet, but the public reaction has been to coddle Jenner for her courageous act, though it seems clearly an act. When Jenner came out in April, she predicted a "wild ride". What the audience took for trepidation was really an artful teaser for the magazine cover and the reality TV specials already in the works. Jenner's Caitlyn races dirt track thrillcraft. Earlier this year she rear-ended a fellow Malibu driver. Jenner's SUV fatally bumped the woman into oncoming traffic on PCH. Forty years ago Bruce Jenner defined the hyper-masculine, now Caitlyn claims the impossibly feminine. I see a craftily Botoxed siren and Iím not sure how our culture is served to efface age and gender, especially as human beings, more fragile than we know, yearn to catch on magazine covers authentic reflections of themselves. Okay, best thing to come out of this? #MyVanityFairCover

Yes All Women except Hillary 2016 No

Are women under attack? Recent attacks on women's rights look more like straw men for feminists to stress their underrepresentation in the power structure. While the inequality is ever present, social engineers appear to be positioning women's rights as the wedge issue to divide the electorate in 2016 and insure the two corporate parties are choice enough. Yes all women, except Hillary in 2016.

Fifty Shades of bad romance gone over to soft core BDSM porn? Just what is the pheromone being sniffed here?

With 20,000,000 copies sold, with almost every single buyer being a woman, what is the secret pheromone behind the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy? And just what is the message to women that makes these newest examples of bad current 'lit' so HOT HOT HOT for so very many many women? The most central message of the books is....... is.......???????????????? THE CENTRAL MESSAGE is that it is OK to be kinky as a woman if it's with a billionaire! Otherwise, just forget it, Men! Gosh, isn't 'romance' just great? See 10 reasons 'Fifty Shades of Grey' has shackled readers but I got to add on some to reason numero uno... 1. Sex sells, but what women really crave is love (YES....to a super rich guy...lol...) Well, what else is new? That the not so secret 'pheromone' that attracts most women is still called that aroma of BIG WALLET (make that portfolio perhaps)? It comes as no big surprise at all to most men. Women really are not all that into feminism but are actually into 'romance' with a rich guy instead. Isn't the world we inhabit a rather sad place indeed? Nothing much ever seems to much really change.

The “War On Women” is a wedge issue

I'll say this with the sensitivity I know White Males of Privilege have in spades: I'm sorry, isn't the War On Women an obvious wedge issue? To me it's the usual progressive ideals versus religious brick wall, meant to divide voters during an election year. Submitting to the traditional patriarchal framing of this debate sets back the goalposts on women's rights. And where yesterday the public was questioning the undemocratic authoritarian fiscal system which perpetuates, among many ills, gender and social inequalities, now the American population's better half is being misdirected to the usual Neanderthal bogeyman. Who is against female reproductive choices? The same Scooby-Doo straw villains who keep Gay Marriage in a seesaw of legal battles. The moral struggle against archaic cultural traditions has already been won, but corporate feudal interests pretend that the public they poll would forbid it. It requires a continuous drive, especially if we keep falling for the Kabuki illusion that the end zone grows further off. To women now mobilizing their energies against the so-called W.O.W. I have to say, way to let the ass's tail wag you. Yes, Rush Limbaugh is doing today's henchman cameo, yesterday it was the church and the GOP, but who declared this "war" to divide the 51% from the 99%? None other than President Obama with his health care measure meant to provoke church-administered health facilities. You don't think this was a depth charge set to fire exactly now? As local women's groups extemporize defensive demonstrations, it will be interesting to see what activism infrastructure already had the astroturf on order.

Yuppie Feminist Brigade comes to life on behalf of US Imperialism in Afghanistan

It's impossible to make this yuppie humanitarian interventionist lunacy up on our own, and since we at Not My Tribe have talked so much about Greg Mortenson and his Three Cups of Tea, why not take a quick look at Jay Leno's wife's new "cause celebre." See: Jay and Mavis Leno turn serious about the plight of Afghan women. Move over Darfur. Move over Tibet. There's a new 'In' thing for yuppie America to focus its tears on. And the new team has on board CNN's Christiane Amanpour, former National Organization for Women President Eleanor Smeal, knuckle chinned Jay Leno and wife, and wait!!! ...where's Madelyn Albright? It must just be a matter of time before she and the President's wife come into the act, too! Whooppee! The Imperial Yuppie Feminist Brigade is now coming to life to save women in Afghanistan! Move over Greg Mortenson! Humanitarian interventionism tied now to terrorist extermination by Pentagon drone! Isn't this all so sweet? I know that the Muslim women of occupied Afghanistan must just be so happy about this 'aid'. Bombs away! Bombs away with NOW, Ms. Magazine, and the 'Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission' propaganda drops on dumb-founded America, too! Hollywood America appeals to Shopping Mall America to CARE!

I wore polka dots today

...and felt like an idiot. Why? I think polka dots are adorable. They are playful and happy and youthful which are traits I value. And the outfit I had on was classy and cute. So why did I feel anxious that someone might pop over unexpectedly and see my polka dots? I'm not sure, but I changed rather than further contemplate the issue. I think that maybe polka dots aren't me. Whatever that means. Like all women, I have a closet full of clothes that I never wear. Truthfully, my closet is a schizophrenic mixed bag pining for psychiatric intervention. I must've worn these styles at one time, but I guess I've changed. Or, more likely, they were never me. I just didn't know it, because I was adept at changing me to be a part of the crowd du jour. I don't think men are this way. A couple years ago, a friend and I took a getaway to Mexico for a few days. We hung out under a big beach umbrella, two pale obviously-American chubbies in a sea of gorgeous foreigners. The women were thin, tanned, and beautiful, but they couldn't hold a candle to the men. Unbelievably fit, glistening brown skin, boy shorts. At once holding a cigarette and a partner's perky breast, we couldn't stop staring at the men. When the couples eventually got up and dressed, the guys wore capri pants, silky dark shirts, and closed-toe leather sandals. But even through my drool I knew that, were I given the chance, I probably wouldn't date any one of them. Seriously! They were not my type. As pretty as the beach boys were, my type of guy doesn't spend much time thinking about his hair and wardrobe. A makeover is buying his favorite shirt in another color. I've never succeeded in slipping Bruni Maglis over his tennis shoes, nor a man purse over his shoulder. Even the plain front/pleated front battle can rage for days, so sartorial transformation has never been in the cards. Men know what they are comfortable wearing, and are usually unwilling to indulge our female fantasies. Truly, I wouldn't want it any other way. If men can stay true to form, why do women's closets suffer from bipolar disorder? Are we multifaceted and complex, or are we being unduly influenced the expectations of our mates, the opinions of our friends, and the daily media mind fuck? Though my closet doesn't reflect it yet, my chameleon days are over. I am newly unapologetic about my hairstyle, my yoga pants, and my Doc Martens. When I dress up I usually wear black from head to toe. I don't show a lot of skin, and hide my few curves. I wear simple earrings, no other jewelry. I no longer worry about fashion trends, because I refuse to be trendy. My manner of dress is merely an outward manifestation of the natural, unadorned, athletic, private girl that I am. I cover my body in such

Sexism and the City

I've been revisiting old episodes of Sex and the City a lot lately. It's a fun show for a girl to watch. New York City neighborhoods, ultra-chic fashions, Manolo Blahnik shoes, ever-changing hairstyles. And an endless stream of nameless but memorable lovers. The show becomes decidedly less fun when any of the girls ends up in a serious relationship. Can a long-term partnership ever compare favorably to a brand new sex-soaked love fest? Surely not. I can handle Carrie and Mr. Big because Christopher Noth is incredibly dashing and always just a hair out of reach. And Charlotte can have Harry because she's the show's I-believe-in-love ingenue and she needs monogamy. But the relationship between Miranda, the successful attorney, and Steve, the soft-spoken bartender, is a huge drag to watch. Miranda is the least attractive of the girlfriends and her personality is off-putting. Brooklyn boy Steve-with-a-heart-of-gold is able to overlook her coarse communication style and soften her with his sympathetic ear and tender loving ways. Okay, fine. I could take that for a few weeks. But for some godforsaken reason the writers let this stupid relationship go on until Miranda winds up preggers, wants to abort, can't because Steve's so adorably earnest, has the baby, decides to keep Steve, blah blah blah. The writers should've killed them both off right then. There should be no happily ever after on Sex and the City. The whole point of the show is the friendship between the women. Men are unreliable, thus expendable. But girlfriends are forever. The thing I really hate about the Miranda-Steve relationship is the whole rich girl/poor boy thing. Charming initially but odious when morphed into powerful-manly-girl/emasculated-but-fighting-nobly boy. Financially secure Miranda is portrayed as shallow, greedy, hardened and immoral, while affable loser Steve is the white knight come to love her into domestic simplicity. Forget independence, ignore achievement, never mind separate identity. The message is that what we really want, in the deep recesses of our scarred hearts, is to give it all up to a good guy like Steve.

the aftermath of a stressful day

It is the close of a busy and vexatious day -- say half past five or six o'clock of a winter afternoon. I have had a cocktail or two, and am stretched out on a divan in front of a fire, smoking. At the edge of the divan, close enough for me to reach her with my hands, sits a woman not too young, but still good-looking and well dressed -- above all, a woman with a soft, low-pitched, agreeable voice. As I snooze she talks - of anything, everything, all the things that women talk of: books, music, the play, men, other women. No politics. No business. No religion. No metaphysics. Nothing challenging and vexatious - but remember, she is intelligent; what she says is clearly expressed... Gradually I fall asleep -- but only for an instant... then to sleep again -- slowly and charmingly down that slippery hill of dreams. And then awake again, and then asleep again, and so on.   I ask you seriously: could anything be more unutterably beautiful? H. L. Mencken

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