What’s going on with the Susan G. Komen Foundation and Planned Parenthood?

Is Smash the post-grad Glee?

Gwyneth Paltrow isn’t a good feminist, according to herself

Taylor Momsen is super classy

Apparently Blake Lively just sends pictures of her outfits to Christian Louboutin for approval. Totes jealous

Fashion and life inspiration: Margaret Thatcher

I wear push-up bras and high heels. I go gaga for lip gloss and lipstick, nail polish, and heavy eye-make up . And I’m not even going to lie, I’m a sucker for pouty boys that call me ma’am. But besides my affinity for sundresses, pearls, and men in ties, I’m a feminist. In fact, I’ve always considered myself to be one. But despite my own declaration in the fight for gender equality, this doesn’t seem possible to people.

“How can you be a feminist?” I’m asked all the time. “Do you even know what that means?”

While feminism can mean different things to different people, I’ve often felt like I didn’t fit the mold — like I wasn’t the ideal. Like I couldn’t claim it. And then it hit me: Feminism can be whatever you need it to be. And sometimes, what you need it to be will change from time to time.

This powerful realization hit me as an 18-year-old young woman sitting in on my first Women’s Studies class at a small, private, all-women university. This moment of feminist clarity has always stuck with me, and now as a 23-year-old post-grad, I am constantly revisiting feminism and its applicability in my ever changing life. Although feminism, even in 2011, often still sounds like a dirty word with a negative connotation, I’m constantly surprised at the way feminism finds itself in my day to day life — it really does come in all shapes, sizes, issues, prospects, and in all kinds of different people. And despite being so diverse and so varying from time to time, I’m still relieved that I can make feminism something all my own.

I like to think that I’ve been a feminist from the beginning. When I was seven years old, wearing overalls and pigtails, I remember raising my hand over and over again in class to answer the questions being asked by my teacher. I’d sit up as straight as possible and inch my hand higher and higher into the sky. I had something to say. I wanted to be heard. But instead, the boys in my class would always be the first called on. I would often come home and cry. “My teacher doesn’t like the girls, she doesn’t listen to us like she does the boys.” At the time, I didn’t have the words for it, but I knew it wasn’t fair. Instead of sitting back and taking it, though, I went with my parents to the annual parent-teacher conference and asked my teacher, “Why do you only call on the boys?” She didn’t have an answer, but from that point on she never overlooked my eager hand. This made me realize that sometimes speaking up can make a world of difference, and I like to think of this as my first moment of personal activism.

In high school, I refused to participate in the abstinence only sex-education program. I may have been sixteen, but I couldn’t sit there without throwing up my hand. “What about condoms? What about STDS? What about things that will actually prevent pregnancy and keep us safe?” I was silenced and shushed, but it lit the fire in me — a fire that came alive the minute I stepped foot onto my college campus. In college, I was always changing as a feminist — always.

There was the year I spent reading nothing but feminist literature; everything from Helen Cixous to Katha Pollit, Gloria Steinem to Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards, and Bell Hooks to Ingrid Musico. There was the summer I spent interning for two of my favorite feminist authors in New York City. There was the year I ran the speakers’ bureau chair on campus and hosted the transgendered performance artist Kate Bornstein and the quick-witted blogger and author Jessica Valenti. There was the year I rejected all Women’s Studies classes — after I was told that I didn’t look feminist enough — and just spent time focusing on defining my gender and social beliefs through my own lens, even if that means sparkly pink nail polish and writing letters to my congressman by myself.

There were so many feminist discoveries throughout the last few years. Like the time I posed nude as Miss January 2009 for a feminist charity calendar. And there was the time I sold carrot cake cupcakes for a Wage Gap bake sale that charged men $1 and women only 72 cents. There were times when I was tired of talking about feminism and women’s issues, but at a women’s college it was inevitable. And then there were times when I couldn’t get enough and I didn’t understand why there wasn’t room for discussion about this in a quantitative reasoning class. Sometimes I would feel like a super feminist, and other times, not so much. Some days, feminism would be on my mind. And of course, some days, it won’t even cross my thoughts.

And while this fickle romance of always trying to work towards what I believe in isn’t perfect, it’s my journey. It’s ever-changing, but it’s exactly what I need it to be — when I need it to be. Feminism fascinates me in the way it’s solid but fleeting in my life. For example, my beliefs on abortion, breaking the glass ceiling, sexual assault, women’s education, contraceptives and abstinence-only education haven’t changed throughout the years, but how I apply feminism into my day-to-day life, whether it’s a job or in a romantic relationship, is constantly changing and evolving.

I’m not a perfect feminist (is anyone, really?), and I’m never claiming to be, but this is how it works for me. Some days, I’m ready with an iron-fist to protest and shout…in my heels and lipstick. And some days, I’m quiet and passive and just want to think about what Bell Hooks truly meant in Communion. But I personally want this feminist juxtaposition; the constant reminder that feminism is here, it’s mine, and it’s something I can always make my own just clicks for me, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

[Check out the Feminist Portrait Blog Carnival to read other women's inspiring stories of their feminist "click" moments.]

Part of me wants to hate this, to write it off as yet another stereotypical portrayal of women by loser guys trying to make a funny YouTube video. But another part, a larger and less feminist part that might still be drunk from last night, can’t stop laughing.

It’s just so. spot. on. I swear I had this exact conversation on Wednesday.

The Rabbi’s argument was that Patti’s club is superficial and that if it is exclusive to millionaires, then those who join the club are essentially marrying for money, and not for any of the “right” reasons.  Patti defended herself insisting that her services provide men with the tools they need to have a successful relationship, and provide women with the comfort of knowing that their potential mate will be able to give them a safe and secure life if a match is made.

My first thought: If only this were the topic of discussion on the Bimah at my own Bat Mitzvah, I may have been able to stay awake.
My second thought: Wait a second, Rabbi may have a point.
My third thought: Uh oh, does this make me a crazy feminist?

Well I’m not ready to stop shaving my armpits quite yet, but I do think The Bearded One has a point.

For men, the club membership fees range from $25,000 to $150,000.  For women….it’s free.  So any women (whose physique is acceptable by Patti’s standards, of course) can be a member of the club.  They’re single, looking for love, and by joining, they may or may not be paired with the love of their life…who can jet them off to Paris for a first date.  Does this make them gold diggers?  According to the Rabbi, it does.  Money should not be the first thing that attracts a woman to a man; his wealth should be unknown until after a connection is made.

What happened to equality?  Are Patti and her efforts taking a step backward in making women equal to men when it comes to wealth and relationships? Let’s evaluate: to join, or not to join?

To join:

- For women, the club is free, so… why not? We have nothing to lose.

- It is a great jumping off point to meet men who are established professionally.

- Accoding to Patti, joining does NOT make a woman a gold digger.  It means she is interested in meeting a man that is financially stable.  It takes much more than money to make a connection, and Patti tells her girls not to put up with a guy’s “bullsh*t” even if he does have money.

- It does not make women less equal to men than if they were to meet them any other way.  Just because they are being set up on dates with millionaires, does not mean that they can’t be successful themselves.

Not to join:

- Money does not guarantee security or a life of stability. From the outside, yes, these guys look like they have their sh*t together.  Some do, I’m not claiming that all men who are successful are secretly a**holes, but I am taking a stance that just because a guy has money does NOT mean he is “stable” by any means.  A millionaire could have just as many emotional problems, if not more, than any average Joe lurking the streets.

- It is no secret that money provides us with comfort.  However, as cliché as it may sound, money cannot buy happiness.  No diamond is worth flaunting on your hand if the man who gave it to you does not make you happy every day.

- In order to join the club, men must prove themselves with money, and women with their looks.  This does sound superficial and sexist, and it does take a step backward from women reaching equality.

Like my mom always says: there’s a top for every pot.  If a loaded pot want to pay upwards of $50,000 to meet his top, well, power to him.  So, now it’s up to you…to join, or not to join?

Maybe my eyes were watering from the 32-degree weather, or maybe I was looking anxious because of all the stuff I had to get done later that day. For whatever reason, though, when I stepped up to get my waffle, the dude working the truck took a look at my face and started clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said. “Why don’t you smile?”

I was taken aback. Why was this guy assuming that there was something wrong with me just because the sides of my mouth didn’t happen to be turned up? And even if I had been upset, what made him think he had the right to pry into the personal life of a total stranger? I stuttered something vague and grabbed my food, happy to get the hell away from that truck. And, okay, still psyched to eat an awesome waffle.

Let me make one thing clear: I am not a gloomy person by nature. I crack jokes all the time, even when doing so might not be entirely appropriate. My laugh is so loud and distinctive—kind of like another notable Hillary’s famous guffaw—that my friends have dubbed it “the cackle.” Even so, I guess that everyone must think I have a natural bitchface or something, because random people are always suggesting to me that I should smile. More often, though, it’s just a command: “Smile!” There’s an implied “or else” at the end of that imperative.

When I was indignantly recounting the waffle incident for my roommate later that evening, she made a good point: “That’s kind of sexist! Nobody ever does that to dudes.” Her statement is totally valid. There’s no way that a guy walking down the street with a neutral expression on his face would be harassed by “concerned” passersby about turning that frown upside down.

I’d argue that the smile demand is as bad a piece of advice for women as telling them to introduce frozen grapes into their sexual repertoire. It implies that ladies should always be happy—or, even if they aren’t happy, they should project the outward appearance of being happy in order to put other people at ease.

If a man isn’t smiling, it’s no big deal. But if a woman isn’t smiling, she must either be a bitch or be undergoing some kind of profound emotional trauma. Being a bitch is no good because it makes you unfeminine, while revealing that you’re upset is also a no-no because it makes everybody else feel uncomfortable—and that goes against the old stereotype that women should always put others before themselves.

Well, screw that. If the way my face looks naturally is somehow offensive to you, you’re just going to have to deal with it. And that goes for all women; in what rulebook does it decree that girls have to sport a simpering grin at all times? Smile when you feel like it, but don’t go around beaming just because you feel some weird obligation to. Plus, frankly, I think that people who smile all the time are creepier than people who don’t.

The next time the waffle guy—or anyone else—commands me to smile, I think I’m just going to respond by saying, “No.” Then, after I turn around, maybe I’ll let my lips curl into a smirk. If I do, though, it’ll be because I felt like smiling—not because I’m trying to please anybody else.

**Note: the waffle did make me smile.

And according to Charlotte Allen, it’s because all women are sluts.

In her recent essay The New Dating Game, Allen tries to communicate the message that because women now have the power to choose who they date (and sleep with), males, particularly beta-males, are being pushed to the back burner.  In the “New Paleolithic Age,” alpha males are “dragging women by the hair into their caves– and the women love every minute of it.” According to Allen, all women spend the better part of their 20′s dressing like hookers and going out to clubs to try and take home the most desirable dudes. That is until they get dried-up (at the ripe old age of 28) and are forced to settle for a less-than-stellar guy so they can get married and pop out a few babies.

Yeah, a woman actually wrote all that.
And now let me react.

Though it’s hard to find in that pile of horse poo and dribble, Allen makes one valid point: hot, confident men are pulling more booty than “beta” males – their less attractive, more awkward counterparts. (Uh, DUH!?) But besides that, there’s so much wrong with this article, I don’t know where to begin.

First and most obviously, she discusses the sexual liberation of women as a bad thing. No. Just no. Second of all, she criticizes “late marriage, easy divorce, and the well-paying jobs that the feminist revolution has wrought for women.” So it’s a bad thing that women have college degrees and careers now, and thus marry later? That women finally have choices and aren’t stuck in relationships because they can’t take care of themselves? That couples are divorcing because they are unhappy?

That there are well-paying jobs…FOR A WOMAN!?

W.T.F.

Maybe this lady should take a time machine back to when arranged marriages were the norm, because as far as I’m concerned, this essay is BS. (Although, maybe for her, an arranged marriage was the only way she could nab a man….) Women can and should enjoy sex, and be able to choose when, with whom, and how many times they want it.  If the so-called “beta” males are suffering at the expense of their better looking peers, maybe it’s time they step their game up a bit. It’s not our fault they have zero personality or a bad sense of style and we shouldn’t have to cater to them just because they are there and they are available.

Even if we are “dried up” and past our prime…in our late twenties.

Listen, Charlotte Allen – I’m excited to be a young woman during the first point in history where women actually have equal, if not more, power in the dating world. Although you criticize it, I’m happy that yesterday’s “loose” women are today’s “liberated” women. And, call me crazy, but I couldn’t imagine a society where I couldn’t go out there and get myself a job after college.  Women now have CHOICES – the same choices men have been given for years – and, like men, we’re going for the best.

Your “beta males” have been coasting through life at the expense of women, so maybe it’s time they stop crying and start trying. And maybe it’s time you enjoyed a little sexual liberation; I have a feeling you could use it.

Here at CollegeCandy, we are all about girl power. We love a good power suit, an intelligent woman with strong convictions and all of the college girls with passions and dreams.

But with all the homework, internships, jobs and stress, it can be hard to stay positive and motivated.

This morning, as we waited for the espresso to surge through our bloodstream, we came across an elderly woman in the news who really inspired us. It got us thinking about all the old women who continue to accomplish great things and make an impact on our world.

Sure, they may look frail, fragile and on the verge of breaking into a million little pieces and, yeah,  we may mutter an expletive or two if we get stuck behind one of them on the highway, but we all have to admit, these old ladies freakin’ rock!

Fighter
Isadel Gooden, 98, fought off robbers who broke into her house by hitting them over the head with a stick. For real. If someone broke into my house I’m pretty sure I’d start screaming like a little girl and dial 911 ASAP. Then possibly wet my pants. But not Isadel; at nearly 100 years old she took matters into her own hands and beat the crap out of someone! And now that guy needs to spend the rest of his life knowing he was beat up by a girl. An old girl.

Record Breaker
Ruth Frith, 100, won a gold medal in shot-put at the World Masters Games, setting new world record. This woman trains five days a week and lifts 77 pound weights….which makes me double think skipping the elliptical tonight…and slightly embarrassed by my baby 5lb weights I usually use. This woman is a true testament to the fact that you truly can accomplish anything you put your mind to. And that old ladies are fierce.

Aiding a Cause
Lan Yin Tsai, 85, biked 150 miles to benefit multiple sclerosis research…in heels. Yes, heels. She claims she rides her bike to church every weekend in heels, so why would she wear anything different for the race? This is my kind of woman. Except the whole biking part. And the heels. I can barely walk around my room in those things without crying.

Bachelorette
Wang Guiying, 107, is currently seeking a husband to get married for the first time. She has survived as a farmer for all these years living on her own, but now that she is too old to work she is finally ready to put a ring on it. (Perhaps her ripe old age suggests something about a life free of a lazy husband demanding food and sex? We’re just sayin’). It’s awesome that despite her age she is putting herself out there to find love, and that she has lived an amazing long life as an independent woman! You go, girl.

College Grad
Nola Ochs, 95, is currently the oldest college graduate, obtaining a degree in history from Fort Hays State University in Kansas. It took her over 30 years to graduate but she finally did it, and we think that’s awesome. She even lived in an on-campus apartment, writing term papers from her room and pulling all-night study sessions just like the rest of us college students! What are her plans now? She is seeking employment on a cruise ship…this may be the coolest old lady on the planet.

Lil Wayne’s going to the big house.

Chris Brown hits the road.

Wanna get rid of those cramps?

John Mayer just wants to get stoned.

What has MTV done for women?

Entourage goes XXX? Sign me up!

Presenting: the epitome of "I don't like your boyfriend...er...husband."

There is a stop on the Chicago Red Line train with a mosaic of passengers’ thoughts, photographs and stories expressed on individual tiles arranged on a cement wall. While browsing the collage the other day, the following remembrance struck me: “I’ll never forget this stop. This is where my best friend told me she didn’t like my boyfriend and we have never been the same since.”

I had two reactions to this: one, you’re an idiot for opening your mouth; and two, you’re an idiot for letting it ruin your friendship. Upon further review, however, this situation is a little trickier, and a little stickier, than I originally thought.

We have all been in this situation: one of your friends is dating a total jackass. Standard procedure is to discuss his McDouchery with the rest of the group, nickname him something awesome like “fart stick” or “lady balls,” then wait a couple months until he’s out of the picture, and she too can laugh about his pompous political discourse.

But what about the girlfriend who has is still dating that jerk? When is it appropriate – and wise – to tell your friend that her boyfriend sucks?

Here a few crucial factors to consider before opening your mouth.

1. How good of a friend is she?
This is really the granddaddy of determinants. It goes without saying that you don’t need to inform your new college roommate that her boyfriend should be more judicious with the “that’s what she said” jokes. The same goes for acquaintances and anyone whose birthday you don’t know (without looking on Facebook). When it comes to your closest friends, however, the plot thickens. It’s a catch-22: while the last thing you want to do is hurt someone you care about, the first thing you want to do is rid them of their a**hole boyfriend. This is why you should limit the “your boyfriend kind of sucks” conversations to your very best friends. These are the girls who trust your judgment and character, and who, if nothing else, will respect your initiative and the deliberation behind it.

As for the rest of your galpals, it’s not worth it. Sure, most of us embraced the girl power movement brought to you by groundbreaking feminists like Baby Spice and Posh, and we also like to think we are ranking members of the chicks before dicks club. The truth is, however, a long-term boyfriend trumps marginally good friends. Sorry, Tyra, but that’s just how the cookie crumbles.

2. Is he really a rotten egg? Or does he just eat with his mouth open?
This is crucial and should be easy to identify. If he has an annoying laugh, skimps on the dinner bill, or wears jorts, this does not make him a bad guy. If his habits start to infringe on your contentment, AKA, he is eating your food and offending your moral code, then by all means, offer some constructive criticism like “I wish Jeff would stop housing my cheese curds” or “do you think he could watch the midget porn at his place?” Otherwise, save the boyfriend intervention for more serious issues. After all, you don’t want to ruin a friendship because you told her his jokes suck.

3. Is she in it for the long run? Or is this just a phase?
This is a tricky one, as it is can be hard to gauge. Making this determination, however, can be the difference between biting your tongue and taking the plunge. If you are fairly certain that she is just killing time and enjoying free dinners with the D bag, I say keep mum. Let the joy ride run its course, and use the “I told you so’s” sparingly. If she starts talking about her future with this guy, consulting him about major decisions, and spending more and more time with him, she has entered the danger zone, and it’s time to wave those red flags, and fast. The last thing you want is to be standing at the opposite end of the aisle, watching your best friend walk into the arms of a guy with whiskey on his breath, panties in his pocket, and gambling debt up to his ears.

This “Before You Score” app is geared towards guys who are interested in picking up chicks. And suck at it. The app breaks women down into 24 different types, including: the sorority girl, the rebound, the punk etc… “Before You Score” dispenses pickup lines, hot spots to take your type of girl (example: local Vegan restaurants for the tree hugger) and even a translator for Greek letters on the sorority girl. And if you somehow “score with Amp” there’s a quick way to brag about it through email, Facebook and Twitter.

Ta-da! Social media for the player, or, you know, douche bag. Nice work, Pepsi.

Instead of throwing a nasty feminism fueled hissy fit (read the comments in this post) about everything that’s wrong with stereotyping women through developing an app that objectifies them and categorizes them (because I actually think it’s a freaking great idea on some levels), I simply think you should develop an app for the other half of your customer base. Because SO many people are drinking Amp anyway (where’s that sarcasm font when you need it?), why not include us all?

Here’s my pitch to Pepsi: develop a “Before You Score” for women. We don’t need it as much as the average d-bag, but sometimes we don’t want to think and that’s when this app would come in handy.

Break down men into their 24 types.
Examples: Hipster, Bro, Frat Star, Mr. Manther, Financier.

Develop cartoon characters to fit the stereotypes.
Hipster: Skinny jeans, Converse, Raybans, PBR.
Financier: Suit, Blackberry, Starbucks, WSJ.
Bro: Livestrong bracelet, pink shirt, sideways hat, Solo cup.

Create pick up lines, conversation starters and tips on where to find your type.

Mr. Manther
FIND HIM: At the hotel bar
LOOK FOR: Wedding ring indent
ASK ABOUT: Club Med
BRAG ABOUT IT: On Twitter. Because he doesn’t even know what that means.

Frat Star
FIND HIM: Sports bar with a beer pong tournament.
LOOK FOR: College shirt. Excessive enthusiasm for football.
ASK ABOUT: Baseball post-season.
BRAG ABOUT IT: On TFLN (610): Woke up with a hangover, spooning a beer funnel and a guy with a Chinese tattoo.

Financier
FIND HIM: Crying into a Jack on the rocks in a cigar bar.
LOOK FOR: A Cartier watch.
ASK ABOUT: Anything but the economy.
BRAG ABOUT IT: Via email to all your homeboys majoring in econ. They too can live the life.

The Hipster
FIND HIM: Sulking at a dive bar clutching a PBR and a Parliament Light.
LOOK FOR: American apparel anything/handlebar mustache.
ASK ABOUT: “Wow, can you believe all these hipsters here? I hate hipsters.”
BRAG ABOUT IT: On Tumblr with an ironic picture.

Metro Man
FIND HIM: At a club, Staten Island fist-pumping, pounding a Red Bull and Grey Goose.
LOOK FOR: A clingy, rhinestoned shirt and a blowout hairdo.
ASK ABOUT: His shoes or his workout regime.
BRAG ABOUT IT: Via a Facebook mobile upload from his iPhone 3G.

The Sensitive Type
FIND HIM: At a coffee shop.
LOOK FOR: Him scribbling in a notebook about his broken heart.
ASK ABOUT: What  he’s writing.
BRAG ABOUT IT: In a poem in your Facebook status.

There you go, Pepsi. Quick fix for your self-created #PepsiFail “problem”.