The Fallacy of Rationality: Stop Expecting Women to Respond Rationally to Emotional Manipulation

This post, though originally published here, has been moved to Wussy Mag! Please read here:

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All That Glitters: The Dark Side of Lisa Frank and The Masks We Wear on Social Media

“Gold in its raw form appears dull and does not glitter.” Like most girls my age, I grew up on Lisa Frank; to this day I have never loved a boy as much as I loved my original Lisa Frank trapper keeper. And as a feminist I deliciously delight in non-ironically reappropriating the pink colorful glitter images Frank iconized as celebratory and powerful rather than weak and flippant. So while groggily sitting on my parent’s back deck this morning where I have been living for the past 6 months due to some of those wonderful life-likes-to-kick-you-in-the-ass-unforeseen-circumstances, I’m half enjoying my day off thanks to the long holiday weekend and half suffering through pangs of loneliness, deeply isolated from the glitzy city lights of Atlanta 30 miles away. As I scroll through my friends’ posts and pictures of their frolicking late night adventures around Dragon Con this weekend, adorned in pink wigs, high heels, outrageous costumes, and ridiculously (yet genuinely) larg

Confessions of a Waitress

Waiting tables is sort of like that thing you do until you can get a real job. It’s great in a lot of ways: it can work around your schedule if you are in school or trying to be an actress or a Mariah Carey biographer or something, you can leave with cash and make pretty decent money, and you can meet a lot of cool people. That being said, waiting tables is also one of the most grueling jobs and can sometimes make you hate people, a lot. It’s a pretty weird concept when you think about it: you are there to serve someone else, by definition. A little dehumanizing right off the bat. Second, it puts your financial success (or failure) in the hands of random people you don’t even know. I guess a lot of people still don’t realize that the wait staff relies (usually) entirely on their tips for income. You make $2.15 an hour and that money goes to your taxes. So your paycheck is a big fat zero. When you stiff me on a tip, it really affects me. For anyone out there who happens to

An Open Letter to Devin the Dude

Dear Devin the dude, Here’s why I think you’re an asshole. I went to your show last night in Atlanta, Ga. I was excited. I like your music a lot; I think you make great records. I was really exited to see you perform. I work as a waitress, which means I work late nights and weekends. But luckily, Atlanta is a city that is notoriously late for everything, so I got off before you had gone on. So I was like, that’s what’s up, I’m gonna go see the Devin the Dude and smoke weed and drink gin and tonics with my friends. It should have been a really awesome night! what my night should have been like When I got there I dished out the 20 dollars at the door, which I had just earned from commodifying myself to the point of oblivion. But if I know (think) I’m gonna see a really good show I’ll pay for it. It’s too bad that you failed to perform until almost 2 in the morning, after the audience had endured basically three

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