1) Stop Shaming Women’s Bodies

Comic by fatgirlyay

I recently came across this gem from AskMen.com: “Top 10: Subtle Ways To Tell Her She’s Getting Fat.”  Not only does this article perpetuate the idea that fat bodies—and fat women’s bodies in particular—are unacceptable, but it doesn’t do straight men any favors, either. If it’s not clear enough from the ratings (87% feeling “furious,” and only 2% feeling like “a better man”) then allow me to spell this out for you: these kinds of articles suck. Although the extreme fierceness of disapproval of this specific article convinced AskMen.com to make some important edits that shame both men and women into keeping thin and to replace tip #9 with “Do not: deliberately feed her smaller portions, buy her clothing that won’t fit, or pinch her love handles (as one remarkably dumb writer once suggested in an article that looked a lot like this one)”, there are still tons of articles like this one.

No woman’s body type makes her deserving of emotional abuse.  I don’t care if you don’t find a certain body type attractive; you’re allowed to have preferences.  However, that does not give you the right to try to make a woman feel bad about her body.  People should be allowed to feel confident about themselves at any size.  If your girlfriend is happy with her fat self, don’t try to change her.

ReturnofKings.com’s piece “Why Fat Women Should be Sent to Prison”, blatantly shames women’s bodies.  Do they not notice that shaming any body is abusive?

Think of the girls who read these articles.  When you write things like “if you continually rest your hand on her love handles (or even lightly pinch them), she’ll soon realize that you’re becoming increasingly aware of something that never used to be there before,” you are putting the idea into a woman’s head that she doesn’t want her partner to hold her by the hips. (This quote was taken from the AskMen article, pre-edit).  She might think that her boyfriend is shaming her body every time he touches her there.  The result?  Unhappy girlfriends who don’t want to be cuddled anymore because they’re self-conscious about their partners touching them.

2) Stop Trying to “Decode” Women’s Body Language

I have lost track of the number of times I have seen advice columns for men claiming that women who cross their legs and smile a lot totally want your dick, bro!

They’re wrong.

Did you know that women are expected to smile, all the time, or else face being called a frigid bitch?  It’s true.

My first retail job specifically trained the girls who worked there to be upbeat, smiley, and peppy.  We had to keep this up during eight-hour shifts or beware of customers who would would complain if we seemed “unpleasant” (i.e., stopped showing our pearly whites for five minutes because our cheeks hurt).  My favorite instance of this was when someone mistook me for a manager and complained that my extremely pregnant boss was being cross with her.  I’m not sure if this person had never considered the fact that when a fetus is kicking at the lining of a woman’s uterus, it gets old after a while.

Another manager, however, was allowed to break out of the faux-liveliness act and nobody ever said anything.  He was a man, of course.

That’s just one example, though.  Ask any woman you know if she’s been told by a complete stranger that she needs to smile, or been asked if she was having a bad day because she wanted to relax her face.

Did you also know that women who don’t cross their legs are asking for it?  That’s not actually true, but living in a society that promotes rape culture has led most women to cross their legs in public in fear of someone looking up their skirts or telling them to keep their legs shut, sluts!

So, men’s advice blogs, I’d really appreciate it if you stopped taking things that women are coerced to do and using them to justify sexually harassing a girl because you thought she was into you.  If she likes you, she’ll let you know.

3) Stop Diagnosing Women With Mental Illnesses (Unless You Are a Doctor)

This one should be common sense but evidently we’re still stuck in the stage of calling women crazy when they do things we don’t like.

Another handy service announcement from AskMen.com has declared that girls who like affection and take too long getting ready are nuts.

Not only is this undermining actual mental illnesses, but it’s attempting to justify men emotionally abusing their girlfriends.

This needs to stop.

Men, you should not enter into a relationship with someone and then get mad when she wants you to be affectionate toward her.  You are not allowed to expect your girlfriend to look pretty and then call her “a psycho” when she takes a long time getting ready.  You are setting conflicting, unrealistic standards that are unfair to your partner.

This leads me to my next point:

4) Stop Commenting on Women’s Makeup

Aside from it being none of your business what cosmetic choices a woman makes, you are confusing the hell out of us.

Articles like this one from Yahoo are all over the place in two ways: they are on almost every women’s advice blog, magazine, etc.; and they are inconsistent.

Personally, I’m sick of men commenting on women’s makeup.  Sure, some of us wear makeup to conform to beauty standards.  Some of us wear it to look presentable at work.  Some of us use it to express ourselves.  Whatever the reason may be, we don’t put it on for you; we put it on for ourselves.  Men have no reason to say negative things about a woman’s choice either to wear makeup or not to wear any.  I didn’t get ready this morning in hopes that it would make you want me, mister.

Additionally, every man has a different opinion on women’s makeup.  “Wear light makeup,” says one guy.  “No, no, do that smoky eye thing,” says another.  “Leave your lips natural,” says yet another.  “But if she wears lipstick it will make for a really hot, messy blowjob!”

Basically what articles like these leave us with is the idea that men have varying tastes in what makeup they like a woman to wear, and honestly?—I could have figured that one out on my own.

5) Stop Strategizing the Dating Scene

Comic by callmekitto

There is no way to guarantee that a woman will have sex with you or want to date you.

Doing unprovoked favors for a girl does not obligate her to you whatsoever.  When a girl accepts a drink that you bought for her, she is not signing a contract that she will have sex with you.  In fact, you especially should not expect sex from a girl if you buy a drink for her, because having sex with an overly intoxicated person (who is unable to consent) is rape.

Telling men that there are things they can do for women that will instantly make women fall for them perpetuates nice guy syndrome.  Self-proclaimed nice guys are guys that are nice to girls until the girls reveal that they’re actually not interested.  Then, these “nice” guys turn misogynistic, often calling girls bitches or accusing them of throwing men into the dreaded friend zone.

This should not be happening.  Men should not have the idea put into their heads that there are certain strategies they can follow that will get women to go home with them, have sex with them, or date them.  Like I said before, if a woman likes you, she will let you know.

Guys, being nice to a woman won’t do you any good if she’s simply not attracted to you.  You cannot make a girl like you.  Attraction doesn’t work like that—sorry to burst your bubbles.

What do you get when you mix white women, flower crowns, racism and colonial imperialism?

FEMEN!

Unfortunately, FEMEN and their actions are no laughing matter. Self-described as a “radically feminist” organization, FEMEN’s roots are in protesting against sex trafficking of Ukrainian women and demonstrating for pro-choice legislation in Ukraine. The group was founded in Kiev, Ukraine, in 2008, and now boasts having members and branches all over Europe, with a large branch located in Paris. In October of 2012, FEMEN claimed to be composed of 40 topless protesters, with another 100 who had joined their protests outside of Kiev. Most recently, FEMEN has become increasingly offensive and racist and has sparked an international debate.

The women of FEMEN, who have recently acquired mainstream media fame for what they declared to be a Topless Jihad Day, have become known for staging topless protests in front of religious institutions. The group claims that staging protests while topless is the “only way to be heard” in their native country of Ukraine. FEMEN’s ‘Topless Jihad Day’ is said to be in response to death threats that were made to Amina Tyler – a Tunisian woman who posted nude photos of herself on Facebook with the words “I own my body; it’s not the source of anyone’s honor” written on her bare chest. Overall, Topless Jihad Day appeared to be a protest against Islam and Islamist “oppression of women”. At least, that’s how FEMEN sees it. White women wore flower crowns, black skinny jeans and scrawled ‘FUCK YOUR MORALS’ and ‘FREE AMINA’ on their bare chests. In Paris, topless protesters burned a Salafist flag in front of a mosque. All of this, in the name of ‘liberating’ Muslim women.

And then there’s this photo:

It is counter-productive to attempt to ‘save’ women by upholding racist, Islamophobic stereotypes. Can the rights of one structurally oppressed group, i.e. Muslim women, be saved while the rights of another structurally oppressed group, i.e. Arabs, Muslims and people of Middle Eastern decent, be mocked and oppressed? The level of racism in the photo above is overwhelming–the ‘towel head’, the beard, the unibrow, the mocking of Islamic prayer. How can this hope to further FEMEN’s agenda?  How can FEMEN hope to be taken seriously on the international stage?

It is not hard to believe that Muslim women around the world are angry with FEMEN. A group called Muslim Women Against FEMEN, or MWAF, have formed to make it clear that FEMEN does not speak for all Muslim women. MWAF states:

“This group is primarily for Muslim women who want to expose FEMEN for the Islamophobes/Imperialists that they are. We have had enough of western feminists imposing their values on us. We are taking a stand to make our voices heard and reclaim our agency. Muslim women have had enough of this paternalistic and parasitic relationship with SOME western feminists.”

Even Amina Tyler, the activist who inspired the Topless Jihad, has expressed disapproval.  “They have insulted all Muslims,” Amina explained during a brief interview on a French television station, “and that is unacceptable.”

MWAF began to spread their message with posts that included Muslim women with or without hijab (religious head gear), holding signs with messages like ‘I am a proud Muslimah and I don’t need to be liberated!”, and “Do I look oppressed to you?”  Inna Shevchen, a white Ukrainian member of FEMEN, wasted no time responded to MWAF and their posts (like this one):

In a Huffington Post UK blog post, Shevchen wrote:

“Being born in post USSR country (Ukraine) I know exactly that it’s a common trait of dictatorial countries to promote the official position of the government pretending that it’s backed by the people. I don’t deny the fact that there Muslim women who will say they are free and the hijab is their choice and right. … So, sisters, (I prefer to talk to women anyway, even knowing that behind them are bearded men with knives) you say to us that you are against Femen, but we are here for you and for all of us, as women are the modern slaves and it’s never a question of colour of skin. …  They write on their posters that they don’t need liberation but in their eyes it’s written ‘help me.’”

Chin smacks floor.  True feminism should respect a woman’s freedom in everything she chooses – that includes the freedom to choose her religion and religious headgear. Inna Shevchen and FEMEN are upholding racist and Islamophobic stereotypes and generalizations, and frankly, many of their methods look to be more attention-seeking than possessing good intentions. Instead of fighting oppression and joining together in upholding women’s rights, FEMEN alienates themselves as white, paternalistic radicals who may be adding to modern negative stereotypes of Westernized feminism instead of furthering the progress that feminism is supposed to strive for.

Can white feminists help women of color who may be oppressed?  Of course.  Are all white feminists bad?  Of course not.  What FEMEN is missing in their approach is an intersectional sensitivity.  FEMEN claims to fight for the rights of Amina Tyler, who had been threatened and persecuted for simply showing her breasts on the Internet.  FEMEN’s efforts to bring attention to Tyler’s plight are well-intentioned but their methods are ignorant.  When writing about how FEMEN could continue to help Amina Tyler without resorting to racism, imperialism and oppression, Roqayah Chamseddine reasoned: “[Y]ou raise awareness by highlighting native voices, not co-opting them. It is your duty to amplify, not commandeer.”

As of now, it seems that FEMEN are unwilling to change their misinformed attitudes.  One thing is certain:  FEMEN will serve as a humbling reminder that even the most committed feminists can be wrong if they do not continue to check their privilege.

Online dating has always been a thing that I have found absolutely absurd, but in some respects, vaguely tantalizing. eHarmony and Match.com ads have plagued my psyche since as far back as I can remember. I mean, who wouldn’t want some joyful Motown music playing as an elderly white Christian dude tells you he’s gonna nab you the love of your life? That seems absolutely legitimate and not creepy at all, but underneath the all-too-cheerful-vaguely-racist-heteronormative-advertisements, there is some actual draw. All I have to do to find the love of my life – whom I will eventually marry in a grand princess Disneyland wedding and honeymoon in the Cayman Islands with – is answer some survey questions and post some sexy-ish pictures of myself on a website? I’m sold but only because I have been planning that wedding since I was nine years old, and it’s not not going to happen.

Luxuriating in the idea that I could find my soul-mate by just lounging around at home in my underwear while answering basic questions about myself as I ate Rold Gold pretzels with Mad Men reruns playing in the background, I gave in last semester. I was bored. I was lonely. And yes, I was drunk. But I also love answering survey questions about myself. I happen to think that I am very clever and answering the most inane questions would obviously reveal this to absolute strangers.

Either way, it happened. I started off last October, but gave up a week later because it just proved my theory that everyone is awful, creepy, and just wants to touch your body in any possible way that they can. The singular person I could have met resembled Quentin Tarantino in the creepiest of ways, and I knew I would never be able to feel comfortable around him in public, so I quit.

I rejoined in December over winter break because any sort of break from school sends me into this misery spiral of existential crises and exorbitant amounts of drinking. I was pleasantly surprised this time around. This guy liked Disney movies and fancy beers just as much as I do. It was written in the stars, or however that works on the internet. And then we met.

He left early claiming that his parking meter was up. I did not hear from him for four days. He then sent a text saying that he could not talk to me anymore because there was absolutely no physical attraction whatsoever. My OkCupid account was deleted later that evening.

The idea that a boy I could possibly let myself like, after years of nothing romantic, could easily toss me aside because of how I looked kinda hurt. And I am not immune to feelings – I am a human after all.

Of course, three weeks later the feminist in me refused to give in to some superficial boy-child’s ignorance. I rejoined OkCupid for, yes, a third time.

And somehow a slightly new, still sort of battered confidence emerged in me, and it brought all the boys to the yard. Bold, sassy, morbid, but caring and loving at the same time with a body I was finally learning to love and appreciate, nothing and no one could stop me from getting my “Prince Charming.”

In a recent interview with Charles Ramsey, the man who saved three women who had been missing for a decade, he was asked how he felt about all the attention he was getting from media outlets.

His response?

“I don’t even want it.”

Ramsey went on to say that he’s human and that he did what he did because it was the right thing to do. He seems to have the very admirable mindset that we, as humans, have a duty to do the right thing for others. We shouldn’t behave in an ethical manner so that we can get rewarded for it; we should do it because it is a thing that decent human beings would do.

Essentially, what I think everyone can take from Ramsey’s case is that we should not expect cookies or medals for treating others the way they deserve to be treated, and I think this ties almost perfectly into feminism.

I don’t write for this blog for the attention that comes with it, and I don’t identify as a feminist so I can earn brownie points from that. I combat the patriarchy because it is a system that oppresses many groups that differ from straight, white, cisgender, able-bodied men, and helping to liberate others from oppression is the right thing to do.

Albany, NY has been the capital of New York for basically forever and the capital of Bitchtopia since February. From living on the SUNY Albany campus for two years and in the student “ghetto” for a following two, I’ve built up amazing memories of our first and last Fountain Day, Kegs and Eggs Riots and four wonderful Tulip and Lark Festivals. There has always been a gas station for snacks less than a block away, a friend living across the street, and a cozy seat to write articles in at Hudson River Coffee House. Although Bitchtopia is moving headquarters, we will always have a home and family in Albany. (We’ll also still keep up with all the feminist news coming from the Capital Region.)

Here are some photos from Bitchtopia’s fun times with friends, contributors and supporters from the Capitol Region:

(Top 6 photos by Shannon Straney, bottom 3 by Molly Eadie)

We’re especially excited to move to a new city, make new friends and learn about new opinions.

Where do you think we should move to? Maybe we’ll be bringing our sassy attitudes to your hometown…

Until then, catch me running around NYC and New Jersey!   It has been a pleasure feministing in you, SmAlbany. This isn’t goodbye forever, I can assure you.

Dear wonderful readers,

I wanted to take a break from our hard-hitting articles and fancy photos  to remind you that we run off of your submissions. We love having a group of regular contributors, but also thrive off of one-time submissions. If you’d like to join our team or just share a piece of art work from your collection, send us an email at Btopia.Mag@gmail.com. You can also find us on twitter, @bitchtopiamag

Don’t worry– we’ll be back to our regular scheduled posts tomorrow at 12:01am!

The West. The civilized and cultural west. We are the leaders of the world. We have good moral values, and we want to share them.

We do that. There’s no denying. We are taught in history about the white man’s burden in the 1800′s during imperialism. That never went away. Even though we are a more ‘free’ world, and we have come a long way with our freedoms from civil rights movements and world wars, we impose it through the white curtains of freedom of speech.

I will never forget my lesson in Philosophy class a few years back. We were talking about moral actions, and our teacher asked us a question: “Is it morally OK to stone a woman to death if she cheated on her husband? Knowing that this penalty has been around in their culture for hundreds of years, and the woman definitely knew what she was getting into.”

The general answer was, “No.” Almost the entire class said it was horrible and that the woman shouldn’t suffer like that. I raised my hand.

“No. I don’t find it wrong. It is exactly like the death penalty in America, maybe not in the same way, but that country’s ‘Justice System’ is taking someone’s life into their own hands and giving the person the ultimate penalty. Yet, the subject of death penalty in America or some other western country will cut the opinions in half .”

… But whats the difference?

And some guy asked me, “So you support the Jihad movement?”

Let’s pause.

By now, I had not even made a statement if I supported death penalties. I personally am not in favor of it. I don’t think an eye for an eye is always the best choice or that a woman should be sentenced to death for cheating on her husband. I understand that the example of the question will cause some anger because it is about a woman, and in our society a woman cheating is not cause for the death penalty. My opinion was immediately linked to Jihad, because I would question the ‘obvious’ answer. Someone might now think: “How can you even question it?”

I’m not angry or sad that I was raised in Finland – a modern and ‘liberal’ country in Europe where equality is not an issue, and we are very strong on our freedom of speech, but our moral raising is unquestionable. It’s a Christian country where the Ten Commandments are known by heart and even being atheist, I agree with some of them. Of course, I wouldn’t kill anyone without a reason or want to steal from others, but I’m sure we can all agree that there are some general moral rules around the world.

However what we westerners tend to do is point our finger; we point our finger to cultures that do things differently. We do it sometimes for the right reasons – for freedom of speech or helping a country reach democracy – but we also get into other people’s business for selfish reasons because we believe we are in the right.

One of the best examples is Muslim women who choose to cover up. Not all of them are forced into it; that is how their society works, and they choose to follow their culture. Yes, some of them have been forced into it, but the social media paints a very black and white image of reality. There is a good article about the misconceptions we have on women who dress in hijabs/burqas/abayas/niqabs.

“The male American politicians waging war on Afghanistan were the most bizarre example. It seems that one of the excuses they came up with to start bombing an already decimated country was to free women from the horrible confinement of the burqa. Suddenly, craggy old white men who never heard the word feminist became inordinately concerned with the rights of women halfway across the world, insisting this cruel injustice be put to an end.”

People must remember to take a step back, leave their comfort-zone and question things that feel very clear to them. Think about it, there is a person on this planet who is exactly opposite to you in every way. If you feel comfortable going around braless (which is totally cool, totally rocking that style at the moment) and in short shorts, then there is a person who feels more comfortable being covered up.

I can remember plenty of times in heated debates with people in a bar where I have completely forgotten that I can’t make everyone agree with me. People, including world leaders, forget the line between suggestion and imposing a thought, which, at the end of the day, is no different on the White Man’s Burden of the 1800′s.

He messaged me first because he saw a photo of me with one of my favorite musicians.

He wanted to tell me he had met her, too, once, in a café.

I didn’t really care, but he was attractive—like, “why are you talking to me? don’t you know you could do better?” attractive—so I went with it.

We chatted for a bit before he hit a speed bump.

“Woah,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re 20.”

And he was 27.  I was slightly too young for him, and he was slightly too old for me, but I was bored and it was Easter break; all of my friends had gone home for the holiday, and I was alone in my dorm room watching American Graffiti on demand.  I desperately wanted something to do that night.

I suggested we hang out—not go on a date, as our having accounts on a dating website might suggest.  He said that was cool and asked if I wanted to go see Dune at the Logan Theater.  I’m not into sci-fi, but I desperately wanted something to do that night.

He told me to meet him at his place.

A train, a bus ride, and a walk through a muddy park in my favorite shoes later and I had arrived.  He opened the door before I could even ring the bell.  I asked him how he was doing.

“My grandmother just passed away.”

Seriously? I thought.  What do I even say back to that?  Yeah, I’m sorry to hear that, but that’s not how to start a conversation with a random stranger.  I should have left then.

So he started telling me how he’s part of a group of men who talk to fraternities to prevent date rape, and I thought, cool, someone who gets it.  Maybe I’ll stay.

He brought me inside and sat me down on the couch and poured me a glass of wine and asked me if I was hungry because he had made tacos.  I couldn’t resist making the obvious sexual joke.  I was only 20, after all.

“You know, I have a cousin who’s 13; maybe the two of you would get along,” he said.

I should have fucking left then.

I mean, I was pissed, so of course I started acting cold and distant.  He had the nerve to tell me he thought my “sass” was “charming.”  Yeah, look at what an adorable attitude problem I have!  Who could ever think that maybe I wasn’t okay with someone talking down to me, and that that feeling was valid?

Picking at my food, I didn’t say much.  He asked if he could take my plate back to the kitchen.  I obliged.

He ran his hand up my leg.  “I’ll be right back.”

No.  This isn’t a date.  I made it so clear that this wasn’t a date, so why is he doing that?—and even if it were a date, what the fuck?  I’ve been here for thirty minutes and I never consented to that.

“This isn’t a petting zoo.  Don’t touch me.”

He looked at me as if that were the most appalling thing he had ever heard.

Coming on to me sexually when I made it extremely clear that I didn’t want that is pretty appalling to me, actually.

He got up and took my half-empty plate to the kitchen.  He was in there for an excessive amount of time; I assumed he was recounting the incident to his roommates.  I should have left then.

I could feel my face flushing, my blood boiling, my ears fuming.

I waited around another minute.  I didn’t want to upset him.

No, fuck that.  He upset me.  He didn’t deserve my consideration anymore.

I should leave.

I was leaving.

My limbs were on autopilot, scooping up my belongings as quickly as they could.  Do I have time to put my shoes on before he comes back and catches me walking out?  No, probably not.  I picked up my oxfords and made a run for the door in my socks.

The door had at least four locks.

I scrambled to figure out which ones I had to unlock to get out.  I was running out of time.

“Are you leaving?”

I was out of time.  I froze.

“Um,” was all that came out of my mouth.

He stared.

“I mean, you seemed kind of mad at me, so…”

“Yeah, it was kind of a rude thing to say,” he said.

You jackass.  I don’t owe you politeness; I don’t owe you anything after what you just pulled.

“Well—”

“—You know what?  Why don’t you just head out?”  He shut off the porch light before I was even out the door.

I sat on his dark front steps, fumbling with my shoelaces and trying to figure out how I was going to get home.

A bus pulled up, paused, and drove past me.

There wouldn’t be another for at least half an hour, and it was so cold.

Image by MesserWoland

A recent Jezebel article by Tracy Moore titled “10 Reasons Sluts Make Better Friends” puts a new spin on judging women based on their sexual history—it praises sluts and, as a result, debases less sexually active women.

I do not find this to be progressive at all.

I am an avid believer in congratulating a friend on getting laid.  “Good job, girl—get it!  Sex is awesome and I’m glad you got to have some,” is about as far as I’ll go though.

Moore’s article tries to promote the idea that women who have lots of sex are somehow more worthy of friendship.

It’s ironic to me that so many feminists are trying to put a stop to the far-fetched idea that a woman’s worth is somehow attached to her sexual history, yet here we are claiming that women who have sex a lot are “better friends” than those who have less sex.

A woman’s sex drive—and desire to act on it—should be independent of how we judge her for several reasons:

 1. Being Sexually Active (Or Not) Deserves Neither Shame Nor Praise

Some people choose to be sexually active.  Some choose not to be.  There are plenty of varying levels of sexual activity as well.  Moore’s article seems to favor those women in particular who choose sexual activity—and lots of it.  That’s great; I’m all for ending slut-shaming.  However, I don’t think the answer to this is prude-shaming.

With lines like, “Sluts are tougher than the average woman,” we’re putting down girls who choose not to have large amounts of casual sex (and potentially calling them weak).

Sure, having an active sex life can be empowering.  Still, that doesn’t mean that women who choose to abstain from sex are weaker or less in-control than those who choose to have lots of sex.

It’s always been my understanding that a woman’s worth should not be judged based on how much sex she has.  How much progress are we making if we say women who don’t have lots of sex are lesser than those who do?  It’s just taking the idea that sluts are bad and replacing “sluts” with “less sexually active women.”

That’s not right.

2. Saying Positive Things About a Woman’s Sexual History Can Still Be Stereotyping

There are tons of negative stereotypes surrounding sluts.  To pull a few from Moore’s article, heterosexual female sluts supposedly aren’t desirable as marriage partners and are disliked by their less sexually active female peers.

I can’t speak for this personally, but slut-shaming women is, sadly, a part of our culture; I wouldn’t doubt that many people hold these misogynistic views.

While I understand that Moore is well-intentioned in trying to reverse some of these stereotypes, I think making generalizations about a group of women is stereotyping in and of itself.

There are some sluts who are excellent people.  There are some sluts who are shitty people.  There are plenty of sluts who fall somewhere between these two poles.  Sluts aren’t all good or all bad, and it certainly isn’t helping to create unrealistic—albeit positive—expectations for women who enjoy getting their pussies pounded.

3. Women Are Multi-Faceted Individuals Capable of Having a Personality No Matter How Much Sex They’ve Had

Moore’s article treats sexual experience like a rewards program.  Her article says that women with more sexual experience have more life experience.

To me, this reads as follows: “Get five dildo-shaped hole-punches on your slut card and you’ve earned yourself the right to call yourself fashionable!  Just one more session of being shamed for having sex until your “compassion for others” switch is activated!”

It may be hard to believe, but women can gain life experience from many more things than having loads of sex.  We can learn how to be open-minded, to dress ourselves nicely, to develop standards, and to have plenty of personality traits from things that don’t involve sex.

The way Moore’s article is written praises more sexual women as being the principle possessors of positive traits, which definitely is not the case.  She does tack onto the end of her article: “But that doesn’t mean you should go make friends with the nearest slut. That would be silly. Because a good friend is someone you like, who does the things you want a friend to do. If you actually think it has anything to do with how many people she has slept with, rethink your major.”  Still, after everything said in her previous paragraphs, it’s pretty clear that there is a major slut bias in this article.

4. I Deserve Friendship Because I’m a Human Being Who Enjoys Companionship

Not because me being “ostracized” as a result of slut-shaming has made me more sympathetic (this doesn’t always happen, by the way, because not all sluts are shamed directly).  Not because I know how to work my ass in a cute outfit so I can reel in a sexual partner, and not because I can teach you how to do the same.

I’m capable of being a good friend, regardless of how many dicks, toys, fingers, or tongues have been in or around my genitals.  I don’t think having sex magically transformed me into a better companion.  It didn’t.

Being a friend to others is a long learning process that involves maintaining strong friendships and interacting with others on a platonic level.  Having sex isn’t a metamorphic experience that makes a woman worthy of friendship.

Instead of saying “Sluts make better pals,” we should be saying, “Women can be great friends, period.”  Leave our sexual history out of it.

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(Ingrid put me in charge of doing this, so I apologize in advance for what is about to happen here. I’m truly sorry.)

In no particular order:

1.) Kelly Rowland’s “Kisses Down Low”

I’m proud to be an American because we got hot-ass-mighty-goddess-pop-star-warriors like Kelly Rowland championing the tingly-body-touching-magic that is cunnilingus. Sure, other pop stars have alluded to the pure ecstasy that is getting someone to go downtown on your mighty nice lady bits, but let’s be real here: Kelly nailed it on the head (OF YOUR VAGINA/CLITORIS? I MAY NOT HAVE PASSED ANATOMY). It’s sexy. It’s demanding. It leaves almost nothing to the imagination. And Kelly is killin’ it in the video. (Except for that weird red pixie cut wig thing. Like stop.) So thanks, America, for letting Kelly talk all about making out with a vagina on the radio. I’m all about it. #VAGINAKISSES

2.) SCOTUS-DOMA-SHUT-da-fuck-DOWN-BYE-BYE-PropH8rs-WENDY-DAVIS-STUFF

So, like lots of political stuff has been happening. Generally speaking, the politics in America (and the world at large) make me want to eat frosting until I can’t feel my outer extremities and/or emigrate to New Zealand or wherever they keep the kiwis (the fruit, not those weird ass little Suessical creatures), but I’ve got to give it to the government (parts of it) and the politicians. They’ve been stepping up their game and standing up, sticking up, and fighting for something. While we still have so much work to get done, it’s good to know that we’ve got people that have got our backs (for the most part) up in Washington D.C. and I am all kinds of proud of us. (PS #HILLARY2016 #LADYHILL4EVER)

3.) BABY NORTH WEST

(Isn’t that photo awesome?) Like the North Star of the barren wasteland that is the pop culture of today, Baby North (A Kimye Collaborative Production) will lead us out of the darkness and hopelessness and on into the bright future of tomorrow (or just more awesome episodes of whatever they are calling the Kardashian shows now). Also, like I so need North and Baby Blue Ivy (Jay Z and Queen Beyonce’s lil one in case your life has been devoid of all meaning for like the last year or so) to be BFFz. Like I just need to know that that is happening or will be happening at some point in my life. Like my soul needs it. Needs it real bad. AMERICA NEEDS IT. (ALSO, IT’S SO FEMINIST AND RIOT GRRRL THAT KIM AND QUEEN BEYONCE BOTH WERE LIKE ‘FUCK THE PATRIARCHY’ AND GAVE BIRTH TO FEMALE BODIED INDIVIDUALS.) #THEGREATnotwhiteNORTHbaby

This is starting to feel soooooo Buzzfeed-y. FUCK. THIS MUST END.

4.) Butts

Because what the hell is more American than a tasty lil booty and when I say tasty lil booty, I also mean big and juicy and when I say big and juicy, I also mean medium and rare. Gimme dat booty meat because booty is like meat, right? Also, American meat is good, too. And ya’ll know what I’m talking about when I say meat. Like you know. #BOOTYTOWNUSA

5.) The Wild Wild West

(Not the movie with that fine ass, Will Smith, but that could also definitely qualify as number 4 on this list.) I LOVE COWBOYS. Gimme some of those Marlboro men and some cactus and golden tan bodies and iguanas(?) and big ole mountains and like… other stuff that is western? I don’t know. Just listen to some Hank Williams and you’ll know.. it’s just like “fuck yeah, I’m an American.” #SEXCOWBOYS

6.) Amanda Bynes

Like yes. Celebrities losing their shit brings out the best and worst (mostly just the worst) in everyone. Everyone has something to say and everyone thinks their something to say is the very best [worst] something to say, and while it is super shitty for these celebrities who clearly, probz, defzies need some help or some hugs, it’s just a great example of our freedom of speech and why it’s so awesome (or something cute and American like that).

7.) No wonder I am still single. Look at this list. #4EVERALONE

7.) ____________________________________. (This is the fill-in-the-blank section where you get to tell us one of the reasons you’re proud to be an American, this year in particular. But mostly I just got super lazy and wanna go eat the last slice of provolone cheese in my fridge. SO COMMENT OR TWEET US AND TELL US WHY YOU’RE GLAD TO BE REPPIN’ THE RED, WHITE, AND, BLUE THIS WEEKEND.) #DIYBitchtopia

XOXO
GoSsIpGRRRL

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Incredible artwork created by the incredible Lee Anna Fitzgerald.

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I’m mostly a hater, but I guess I like stuff, too. Check it.

The 3 Things I Hate This Week

1. The Sun

Fuck off, hater. You’re the worst. You are not my friend. You’re the goddamn devil and I need you to go away like right now. Particularly when you’re all sticky and humid and AWFUL, JUST FUCKING AWFUL. I’ve sweated in places that probably don’t even have sweat glands this week (also, I failed anatomy so don’t get on me about sweat glands and their locations; let me be whiney, GOSH). And I am so tired of doing laundry on a regular basis. I am a starving-artist-college-student-with-a-shit-part-time-job. Shelling out these quarters on the daily is taking away from my beer budget and a girl has gotta get her beer on at the end of the week. ESPECIALLY SINCE IT’S HOT AS TITS OUT. So just back the fuck up, sun. We don’t need your kind ’round these here parts.

2. Man-Boys

Mama didn’t raise no fool, but I been played a fool because I THOUGHT, I HOPED THAT BOYS WOULD EVENTUALLY GROW THE FUCK UP. However this continues to be disproven by all these man-boys traipsing around willy-nilly like it ain’t no thang that they are just being childish little assholes. THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE IN THE WORLD, BOYS. Wake up and realize that. People are not here to take care of you whenever, wherever, however you may need them to. We (ME) are people, too, and do not need to deal with your little baby ass drama about your “feelings” and your bullshit. So grow up. Get a hair cut. Move out your mama’s place. And quit snorting coke. Also, do NOT buy that Pacific Rim action figure. Buy somebody a drink.

3. Zits

BE GONE, MOTHERFUCKERS. You’re literally the bane of my existence and I want to kill you with my bare hands, but I’m not supposed to touch you (at least that’s what Tyra taught me) and so you win. BUT COME ON. I’ve been so on top of washing my face and toning and moisturizing and not sleeping in my makeup (all the time) so you need to understand that I am putting some time and effort in and I REALLY NEED YOU TO CUT ME SOME FUCKING SLACK BECAUSE I HAVE A DATE WITH A NICE (hopefully not a man-boy) GUY TOMORROW NIGHT and I do not need Mount Vesuvius all up on my business. SO I am gonna rub some lemon on you and sacrifice a couple small animals tonight and you better recognize who is boss and GTFO.

I AM GETTIN’ SO BUZZ-FEED-Y HOLLLLAAA.

The 3 Things I Love This Week

1. The Killing

IF YOU HAVE NEVER WATCHED THIS BADASS PERFECT WONDERFUL AWESOME COP CRIME DRAMA TV SHOW, THEN HOP ONTO MY BANDWAGON CUZ WE RIDIN’ OFF INTO THE SUNSET WITH JOEL KINNAMAN (the Swedish American actor who plays Detective Holder on the AMC television series). Kinnaman is one of the many sexy individuals on the AMC show, that is currently in the throws of its third season. I’ll make this quick. Holder is sexy and misunderstood, but tough and suave and street smart. Linden (played by the incredible Mirielle Enos) is the intense, intuitive red-haired detective who shuts the shit down. The two are currently pursuing a serial killer who has been going after young female runaways and sex workers. The show has been digging into the underbelly of Seattle’s street culture, focusing particularly on runaway queer and transgendered individuals. Bex Taylor-Klaus who plays Bullet gives me so much hope for young Hollywood. She’s killin’ it. This show is beautiful and bringing me so much joy in this god-awful summer slump. CHECK THIS SHIT OUT. IT WILL SAVE YOU. I PROMISE.

2. Popsicles

#BLESSED GET IN ME YOU GORGEOUS FROZEN FRUIT JUICE STICKS THAT ARE DELICIOUSLY PHALLIC AND DELICIOUS. YOU GIVE ME LIFE. I EAT YOU IN THE MORNING, IN THE EVENING, AT 3AM WHEN I CAN’T SLEEP AND AM LONELY. YOU’RE THERE FOR ME AND I WILL BE FOREVER INDEBTED TO YOUR GLORY MUCH LOVE XOXO

3. Jay Z

Fucking Magna Carta Holy Grail. Holy shit. I love this album so much I dreamt about Jay Z inviting me backstage to enjoy free strawberry daiquiris with him and JT and QUEEN B. Like that’s how good this album is. I dreamt about it. THAT’S NEVER HAPPENED IN ALL MY LIFE EVER. So you should probz check it out because I am all about it. And I am usually never all about a Hov album, but this time, I am all about it and you should be all about it, too. BE ALL ABOUT SOMETHING. DO IT. Also, if you wanna have cool dreams where you enjoy delicious frozen alcohol beverages with pretty close to the coolest people like ever, then listen to it.

Deuces

XOXO

Gossip Grrrrrrrrl

WE PICKED 7 THIS WEEK! OH SHIT! Much love to all you tweeters/tweetzers/twitterers!

Want to get on next week’s “Favezies Tweetzies”? Send your tweets to @BitchtopiaMag on twitter and follow us! (We follow back!)

It’s my birthday today, and I’ve received so many incredible presents. (Our amazing and talented web designer, Lee Anna, painted a portrait of me that is FA-BU-LOUS and really topped any present I’ve ever gotten.) With this in mind, WE HAVE A PRESENT FOR YOU.

We’re giving away a pair of tickets to Story Time with Annie Lederman for Wednesday, July 24th at 6:30pm at More Bread & Jam in Cohoes, NY.

You might know Annie Lederman from her regular appearances on Girl Code, Chelsea Lately or Comedy Central. The line-up for the evening also includes Adrien Behn, Josh Davis, Thomas Attila Lewis, Lydia Nightingale and Gregor Wynnyczuk, with Ethan Ullman hosting.

To win a pair of tickets to this show leave a comment here, on our Facebook or tweet at @BitchtopiaMag and tell us why you want to go!

One of the worst nightmares I can imagine is one in which I trust a partner enough to send them a nude photograph of me, and they share it with everyone as soon as we break up.

Me telling some dude to stop trying to save my nudes

“Revenge porn” is a serious problem impacting exes everywhere; one can never know if or when those nudes they sent six months ago will resurface.  This can cause a lot of shame for the person whose nude photos are all over their social circles.

Websites like the now-defunct Is Anyone Up? even encouraged people to share their exes’ intimate photos.  Users on the site could link up their Facebook profiles to the site to comment on the shared nudes, further shaming the people (typically women) whose private snapshots had been leaked.

Sharing a former partner’s naked photographs is incredibly problematic.  It is disrespectful, it is a breach of trust, and it can cost the nude selfie-taker their job or dignity.

The repercussions don’t end there: in some cases, one or both parties can get in serious legal trouble for nudes, especially if the person photographed is underage.  Never share nudes if you are underage.

A recent smartphone application, Snapchat, makes it possible for people to send nudes with less fear than they would in a typical situation.

Snapchat only allows a recipient to see a photo or video for up to 10 seconds.  Additionally, if someone takes a screenshot of a user’s photo or video, the sender is immediately notified.  This means that users can send nudes with almost no fear.  They will know instantly if the recipient had suspicious motives.

Snapchat’s “Screenshot!” notification.  Steve here took a screenshot of my nudes.  Steve is an asshole.

If you find yourself in a situation where you have received nudes on Snapchat and you’re planning on taking a screenshot to share with friends, there is a simple, step-by-step guide you can follow to ensure the best possible outcome:

1) Don’t.

Seriously, don’t do it.

Nudes are a fun, exciting way to spice up your relationship.  With Snapchat, you can send and receive as many as you want because they’re not supposed to be shared permanently.

Don’t breach your partner’s trust by taking a screenshot on your phone of something that they only wanted you to see for 10 seconds.  That is disrespectful.  If your partner wants you to have a nude photo of them to keep, they’ll send you a regular photo message.

Snapchat can help prevent revenge porn from happening.  Don’t ruin that.

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SUBMIT!

XOXO

Gossip Grrrrrrrrl

As a female raised on American soil but in the depths of Indian traditions, there are countless thoughts that haunt me daily about the life I’m expected to lead and the life I might have led alike. My parents aren’t your stereotypical Indian parents that force their kids to pursue a medical career, fill up the hours of their day with textbooks, and be oblivious to sex, drugs, and how the world works in general. In some ways, my parents might have Western values themselves, and I believe that’s the hardest part for me to deal with. Their beliefs seem somewhat compromised, and I am eternally guilty for not being able to meet them in the middle.

But… how can I? How can I sit through a school lesson on Southeast Asia’s “missing girl” dilemma and not wonder if I would still exist if my parents lived a bit more in a village, had a bit less money, and knew before I was born that I didn’t come equipped with the almighty penis? Girl, meet coat-hanger; coat-hanger, girl. How can I ride the bus and not think about the hands that would be groping me if I was using the Indian public transport system? How can I keep myself from rocking back and forth in the corner of my bedroom, a sobbing mess, knowing that my rapist still lives a hallway away from our apartment in India, that he still doesn’t know he’s a rapist, that his new bride is on her third trimester? I may not have to worry about being given to my husband’s family only after my parents handed over some shiny kitchen appliances and a car or two. I may not have to worry about my family picking out some 37 year old doctor/lawyer/engineer for me as soon as I’m out of high school who fucks me with the lights off and then is kind enough to let me rest a few hours before throwing me in the kitchen (to which the laundry room may be attached, for added convenience!) to cook and clean and dream about that “god-awful purpose thing women nowadays dream about”. I may not have to worry about these things but it’s so easy to worry about my sisters who do, stuck in the least developed parts of India.

Bridal procession (photo courtesy of National Geographic)

Of course, while I worry about them, I’ve also got more to worry about here at home. When the topic comes up, I am used to being told I can’t even look at the opposite sex unless he’s of my parents’ religion, Indian, and financially stable. To an atheistic girl who’s only ever fallen for guys that were dark and mysterious on the inside but blatantly Caucasian on the outside, this sounds a little bit like “religious, chauvinistic, and a rich asshole”. What’s more, I can’t talk to strangers but after I marry one, I’m expected to fuck him. Let’s rewind some years before marriage, though. I’ve finally convinced my parents to let me wear short-shorts and bare my shoulders on a 90 degree day, after years of boiling in the sun after my childhood’s supposed end (Indian girl-children have no problem with showing skin, it’s only after you’re too old to pull it off without looking like a slut that your parents swoop in with conservative clothing and save the day). Although, I still can’t wear shorts in the house when anyone of the holy Indian race is over, while my little brother saunters around the house like shorts are the only article of clothing he owns. He goes to the park down the street? My parents don’t want to bother him while he’s having fun with friends… in the extremely dark hours of 8 and 9PM. If I go for a walk on a sunny afternoon, lo and behold my phone is blowing up with “Where the fuck are you?” less than an hour later, even though I made sure to tell every single member of the family where I was going before I left the house.

Also, before leaving the house, I have to make sure I repeat back to my parents all the things I am not going to do. “No, I will not giggle while speaking to a boy. I will not unbutton the top of my shirt if I get hot. I will present myself in a ladylike matter. I will not act like a whore. I will not do my makeup like a whore. I will not do my makeup at all unless I have some horrible fucking rash on my face. Oh… Sorry. I will not swear.” The cynically funny thing is, they don’t care about half of this stuff. When I timidly asked them why I couldn’t do some of the more innocent things on the list of “Thou Shalt Not’s”, they fearfully said “Well, we don’t want some Indian person to see you and ponder our bad parenting skills!” I had to turn away so they wouldn’t see me roll my eyes. Right, my life depends on the judgmental opinions of some third-party group of people who neither my parents nor I know. Wonderful. Even in the comfortable recesses of my home, the day isn’t really over until I’ve heard my father tell my crying brother to stop acting like a girl. “What, so only girls are sensitive? That’s rude to him and me.” In reply I got a shrug of the shoulders. The day isn’t really over until my mother has pestered me a few times to start learning how to cook. “I’m not into cooking. Would you make my brother do the same if he was my age?” In reply, I got a synonymous answer of “Cooking is for girls.”

I wish I could meet my parents in the middle, I truly do. However, their “middle” is quite scary. I am frequently told at school, by my friends, by my mentors, to be the powerful woman I should and want to be. I am frequently told when I come home that that is not who I am. I have to constantly validate my moral stance from my friends to prevent breaking down into “Am I doing the right thing?” and “I am so not doing the right thing”, but my stance is one that I can’t shed. Because, when it’s all said and done, I am the embodiment of nearly everything it means to be a Western girl. I am fierce. I am ambitious. I put myself first. I am not afraid to come to terms with my newfound sexuality or the loss of a loved one. I will not be afraid to dream about being a great politician and a great wife at the same time. I live richly in my femininity, but I do not let it define who I am. I am compassionate. I am no-nonsense.

And I am a bitch, with many causes