My bookshelf alone probably makes me look like a walking red flag to some.
Feminine rage is not just anger, its retribution.
Its feeling every word in your bones, even decades into adulthood.
Warner Bros. Pictures
The times have been cruel to women.
I could list out the ways, but whats the point?
Dont insult either of our intelligences by pretending otherwise.)
Its no surprise the girls are pissed offwhy wouldnt we be?
But for once, I dont want to talk about feminine rage.
I want to talk about feminine joy.
Go for it, bud, my friend said, waving them over.
Absolutely, I mouthed back.
she said enthusiastically before booking it back to the SUV.
What the hell was that?
my friend said, staring down at the bracelet, perplexed.
That, my friend, is feminine joy.
To say that the Eras Tour was probably my favorite concert experience wouldnt be an overstatement.
And everywhere I looked, there were strangers stopping to greet one another.
one girl in a white sparkly dress called to me from the other side of the lot.
I saw you in your car earlier!
someone else said to me as they passed by.
Later, when I told another friend about the experience, she raised her eyebrows, surprised.
It had been an alternative show in a little venue in the middle of the city.
Someone had spilled their beer down my side without apologizing.
Someone had groped her from behind, though she never found out who.
They were gone before she found the courage to confront them.
Looking back at it now, Ive started to realize something.
The concert experience as a whole was what youd expect.
That shirt looks amazing on you, the woman waiting in front of me said.
It reminded me of the joke about women drunkenly obsessing over one another in bar bathrooms.
In these safe spaces, it was almost as if the environment completely transformed.
So maybe I shouldnt have been so surprised about the heartfelt interactions at the Eras Tour.
Because who among us hadnt blared one of her songs when we realized we were falling in love?
Or when we cried, broken, on a drive home?
Or when we were dancing with friends on a Friday night?
It felt like a precious thing, to be able to share that with one another.
I felt a little more myself than I had in a long time.
In some ways, the concert has already begun to feel like a dream.
The feeling still lives inside of me, though, in a way I find difficult to explain.
Lets be honest for a moment hereno one with any access to technology could escape the hype.
Everyone wanted to see it, whether or not they grew up playing with Barbies.
Some might attributeBarbies success with the way it taps into the nostalgia of the doll.
I wont deny that was probably a contributing factor, at least to some extent.
Not girls, not just teenagers, but women of all ages.
It was advertised as campy.
It was advertised as funny.
But more than anything, it was advertised as brazenly and shamelessly feminine.
Theres this joke in one of the animated Barbie movies that my friend told me about.
It starts with a game show host asking the contestants, Whats Barbies favorite ice cream flavor?
Thats not a flavor someone else starts to protest, but the host cuts them off.
After all, what is Barbie if not very, very pink?
Personally, Ive always had a complicated relationship with the color.
When I was a little girl, it was my favorite, and people encouraged my enthusiasm for it.
I had pink dresses, pink shoes, a pink bike.
Nearly every toy I owned incorporated the hue to some degree.
But when I grew up, something happened: the color disappeared from everything.
I traded out pink skorts for ripped jeans and black t-shirts.
I threw out the rainbow comforter on my bed and replaced it with a black one.
I thought if I wore darker, baggier clothes, men might stop catcalling me on the street.
They say hell is a teenage girl for a reason.
I wanted to be desirable, but mens attention often made me feel like prey.
Pink is one of my favorite colors again.
I own pink chairs, a pink comforter, pink curtains.
If it was supposed to be an insult, I didnt take it as one.
I let myself embody it in every way that I can.
I find ways to hide it in every corner of my existence.
I brushed the color onto my eyelids and painted it onto my lips.
We wanted to celebrate femininity.
We wanted to celebrate ourselves.
It is a curse, but also the biggest blessing.
Who among us couldnt relate?
This is why I want to focus on feminine joy.
Not because feminine rage isnt important, but because I am sick of the weight of all this anger.
We may not live in Barbieland, but Im convinced its the closest well ever get.
