Roy Lichtenstein
When writers talk about writing, they talk about isolation. It’s why Basquiat and Woolf and the Shelleys and Whitman and Holiday all created something with a vicious pursuit—as a means to connect. They needed to—you could say it was somewhere in their marrow or their spirit, or whatever it is you believe to be so deep, it can’t be separated from the human. So, if we’re talking about living with loneliness, what does this actually mean?
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via WSJ
You Don’t Own Me is a specially crafted, female-empowered playlist for the politically minded. No matter where you might stand on the political spectrum, you still have to admit it is pretty stellar to have a strong female contender out on the field to break up the boys’ club. This playlist is meant to reflect the history, sexuality, anger, triumph, community, and arduous crusade of women over the years through song. It traverses genres to delight in some campy pop, somber blues, and patriarchy smashing punk. Whether you are hitting up a rally, leading protests, or meticulously taking notes on every debate we hope this playlist endows with the spirit of women past, present, and future. Below is the playlist:
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Photographs courtesy of Meryl Meisler and Steven Kasher Gallery
Meisler photographed people because she loved them, and because she loved taking pictures. By sticking to what was close and honest to her, teaching, family and nightlight, she created a well-rounded view of life in the 70’s that has now become iconic. The realness of the work is what helped it prevail.
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AHS Coven
BY ELIZABETH TSUNG
People have been hitting on me ever since I was a sophomore in high school, and I’ve always felt repulsed by it. Growing up and living in NYC, I experience street harassment more than ever; perhaps it’s from how populated this city is, or maybe, there are more confident people here. I lost count at an early age on how many times I’ve been catcalled, and I’m sure others can relate. It’s become a hazy memory in my head, but I can still remember how I felt — weak, defeated, pathetic. I miss living in the Midwest when raccoons and wild animals were all I had to be afraid of and people seemed more respectable there.
Some people I know think I’m overly sensitive for not enjoying being catcalled, but I don’t know how any woman can see it as a compliment. Not only do I see it as a threat, I am absolutely terrified of responding to a person only to have him or her retaliate against me.
About a year ago, a man whistled at me and told me I had sexy legs. I told him to STFU, only to have him follow me for a few blocks before he got bored and went away. My palms started to sweat and I almost called 911. I consider myself lucky to have gotten away — lord knows what could’ve happened had it been someone else, someone more violent. Maybe it’s because I am a victim of sexual assault that I am overly sensitive to this topic, but I don’t think it warrants me having an excuse. Every person should be concerned about street harassment, as meaningless as the situation may seem to them. Street harassment victims should also never be told it was their fault, or they could’ve worn different clothing. Just like rape victims, street harassment victims should not be blamed for what happened.
According to Stop Street Harassment, an organization dedicated to ending street harassment around the world, in a study of 2,000 participants, two out of three women and one out of four men have experienced street harassment in their lifetimes. A person’s income did not factor in the amount of times he or she has been catcalled; however, people of color (including myself) and LGBT+ are at greater risk. Women are also catcalled at least three times more than men before they turn seventeen. This epidemic is a topic that is incredibly under-researched, but don’t these findings call for greater action?
Being an overly inquisitive teenager, that trait never left me as I grew older. A few years ago I experimented when I saw someone walking towards me and looking at me in a way that made me uncomfortable. At first, I walked with a child’s pocket knife in my pocket. I never felt any safer carrying a weapon; in fact, I hated that I even resorted to violence. So I picked my nose. I dug my fingers so far up there that when I got home that night, it bled and it hurt to breathe. When the man got closer to me, he looked away immediately and I saw his eyebrows crinkle in disgust. I will never forget that image because I felt so safe then, knowing that my unladylike attitude drove him away. I started doing this more and more, picking at invisible food in my teeth and walking with a limp (which I later learned was problematic), and doing all sorts of things to turn men off. Eventually, I started assuming the role of a nasty, unkempt woman, even at times when I didn’t feel threatened.
I recently realized how unfortunate my situation was. In a world where businesses and media thrive on telling women they’re not beautiful, acting out in vulgar ways completely depressed and drained me. I kept telling myself it was for survival, I was acting out of survival; and it was, but I hated that I had to do that and wanted things to change.
Street harassment doesn’t always stop there. It is a serious threat to our rights as humans to not feel safe in a space or have access to resources when we encounter this. Street harassment may seem unassuming, but It can escalate towards rape and murder if a perpetrator feels threatened or humiliated by their victim. Sometimes their victims haven’t even done anything to trigger them, yet they still act out in unsettling ways.
I don’t remember when I became so brave, but being able to talk about this with other victims gave me the confidence to walk around without feeling intimidated anymore. Now I always hold my phone in my hands when I walk. When men and women call at me these days, I have no issue snapping a picture of them, telling them I’ll report them to the police. Often enough, they back off and say it was just a joke. Maybe it was, to them, but I’m not taking that chance.
Elizabeth Tsung is a Taiwanese American second generation New Yorker. She collects tabby cats and fairy dust.
BY LISA MARIE BASILE
This is part of our brand new NYC vertical.
When I was a teenager, I'd come into the city on weekends to visit my boyfriend, Gabriel. He lived in this cozy, art-filled Upper West Side apartment--right on the Park. We'd always head downtown to the East Village, especially when he played shows at the Continental--before it was a ten-shots-for-10-bucks place, when it was still a cool music venue.
Right next door was the Bookshop, which would always speak to me; if the club owner at Continental (anyone remember the bouncer with the huge hat?) thought I was too young to come in (despite being the girlfriend of the guy in the band), I'd head to the bookshop and get lost.
Back then, the premise of becoming a writer--let alone surrounding myself with the literary, or going to school in NYC for writing--was as ridiculous as becoming a Hollywood actress. I felt I had no plan, no voice, no money, and certainly no ability.
Gabriel and his parents nurtured me, leaving an imprint that I cannot ever deny. If I'm a product of anything, it's my parents, my resilience, and them. Standing outside that bookshop, peering in at this world, was something meaningful. I didn't realize it then, but it changed me.
As the years went on and I found myself in college in 2005, long after the city had changed--along with my perception of it (it stopped being a giant; it started becoming home), I'd find myself at the bookshop. And again, in graduate school. I even madly kissed someone, drunk on mugs of $3 beer at Grassroots Tavern, against a stack of books.
To speak of loss in New York is strange. There is so much here. There is so much to do, and think about, and so many people. There is the time that has passed, the locations that have gentrified, or died, or been stripped of their identities. And the institutions that watched.
To think sentimentally about any one space in a city so big--where we don't have neighborhoods to ourselves anymore, but an entire playground--seems futile. But those places are what center you. You know that among the millions, and under all the buildings, there's an anchor. What made it all OK. What made it real.
Goodbye, St. Mark's Bookshop.
Lisa Marie Basile is a NYC-based poet, editor, and writer. She’s the founding editor-in-chief of Luna Luna Magazine, and her work has appeared in Bustle, The Establishment, Hello Giggles, The Gloss, xoJane, Good Housekeeping, Redbook, and The Huffington Post, among other sites. She is the author of Apocryphal (Noctuary Press, Uni of Buffalo) and a few chapbooks. Her work as a poet and editor have been featured in Amy Poehler’s Smart Girls, The New York Daily News, Best American Poetry, Tin House, Best American Poetry, and The Rumpus, among others. She currently works for Hearst Digital Media, where she edits for The Mix, their contributor network.
Aela Labbe
Let bell hooks, Roxane Gay and Margaret Atwood cheer you up about life.
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via Boost House Twitter
The Best Thing Ever is telling us something we already know, but are hesitant to acknowledge. We are tired. We are at work. We think about Mom and Dad. We think about death and destruction and our government. Given the multitude of topics we could be discussing with colleagues and friends over text, the same things keep coming up. We repeat ourselves and don’t even know it. The best thing ever would be to put the iPhone down. The actual best thing ever is to hear, to listen to Theobald while we still can.
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For Konudagur, Iceland's National Woman's Day--we give you Bjork.
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Remember when your kid discovered The Cure and you were a proud mama?
Recently, my daughter turned NINETEEN. I’m feeling a little nostalgic so I’ve decided to forgo the literary stuff and give a little list of the best and the worst of my mothering adventures and how I coped through them. I am so proud and pleased that this wonderful creature came through me. I take some of the blame for her problems but I know she was destined to be just who she is – an arty, slightly moody, over-intelligent, secure and yet slightly insecure girl-on-the-verge-of-woman with the world at her fingertips and just enough strength to reach for it.
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"I don’t know anyone who doesn’t have a love-hate relationship with New York," said Sari Botton of her new anthology, Goodbye To All That: Writers on Loving and Leaving New York (Seal Press). The Manhattan expatriate gathered tales of love, loss and ultimately, change from twenty-eight female writers including Cheryl Strayed, Hope Edelman and Dani Shapiro. The 48 year old Long Island native lived in the city for over a decade before relocating to a small rural "hipster" town in the Hudson Valley with her husband Brian. In an interview in Greenwich Village, Botton explained that the impact of having been a New Yorker leaves an indelible mark. "The longer I am away, the more I miss it."
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Nadia is one of our two dedicated assistant editors; simply put, Nadia is a ball of magic wrapped up into one lady. Not only is she brilliant, empathic and truly a great human being (like, literally, she's a magical fairy or something--we swear), she's been dedicated to Luna Luna for a long time now.
In her tenure with Luna Luna, she's copy-edited, written, edited, promoted and done the nitty-gritty work (like posting content), which--as any editor knows--is the most important, arguably. She keeps the whole ship moving, on a sea of glitter and stars. Really, she deserves all the pretty words and adjectives.
We're SO lucky to have Nadia. Here's us screaming it from the rooftop.
Nadia also runs the site Tepid Autumn, a beautiful coterie of her thoughts and work. She's also the author of Moonchild Dreams, which you should check out here.
Some her work is below:
INTERVIEW WITH LEZA CANTORAL ABOUT HER NOVELETTE PLANET MERMAID
About Nadia:
I like to call myself a Moonchild, poet-writer, lover of new wave and gothic rock music, horror movies and games aficionado. I was born in Almaty, Kazakhstan. However, most of my life I lived in Montreal, Canada with my parents and grandmother. And as of 2015, I had relocated to New Jersey as a permanent citizen. I studied Marketing in college and have recently incorporated the field into my everyday professional life although my main focus is still on editorial work.
Having been writing poetry and prose since I was 14 as a creative outlet, having stopped for a while, and having resumed the activity again in my mid-twenties, I realized that words impassion me and not exclusively in terms of writing words. I love reading words. I am also pedantic about proper grammar, and I enjoy the process of learning rules I'm not aware of or forgot about. I like to break them on occasion, too. Thus, I decided to give it a go...become a freelancing editor. So far the journey has been a challenging yet exhilarating and fulfilling experience. I hope to be a full-time editor some day, although, sometimes, it feels like I already am.
On the side, I am also an assistant editor and staff writer for Luna Luna Magazine. It's a wonderful online journal with very talented, intelligent, and sweet people. We write about subjects that can make one feel uncomfortable for their unconventionality, that deliver out-of-the-box thinking, and that are on a darker, edgier side. We curate pieces by writers that are deeply personal and vulnerable. More importantly, we are an open and compassionate community.
It's not easy for artists today (was it ever?), so I like to support new and indie artists I discover and am fond of by sharing some of their work, spreading the word about them, and offering guest posts on my site. Now and then I like to blurb about works of art that left a permanent imprint in me. If you'd like to be featured on my site, please contact me, I'm always happy to oblige.
via The Mary Sue
So maybe we will never know if Claire Dearing truly deep down chose to wear heels that day she had to fight for her life, she is after all a fictional character in a science fiction film. Given her characterization, however, I would say she was in control of her own desired image. Despite the dinosaur operations manager occupation, she is not completely unrealistic person. I know women like Claire who do work in a corporate, albeit, non-dino world. And in the event of disaster, she wasn’t thinking about her heels, she was too busy trying to survive.
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Leonardo DiCaprio and Grave Dove in "The Revenant"
When we talk about it, the scene that has affected us both so intensely, my friend asks, "Do you remember her expression? It was her face…" She trails off and I struggle to remember the blurry parts of my viewing experience. Of course. It comes to me quickly. Powaqa’s face is empty as she is violated, as the French captain stands behind her, as she is shoved against the tree. Her face is wiped of any emotion. I have goosebumps and feel lightheaded when I think of it, the absence of fantasy. There is no Hollywood, choreographed rape scene. No big fight, no shrieking, no scratching, no scrambling to get free. There is only the reality of that expression. Those dead and empty eyes. The face of a woman taken over, defeated, if only for a moment.
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Mark Ryden
Some years ago my Jewish boss brought her menorah to work so she could light it at sunset (we worked late), and it was my non-Jewish colleagues who were most eager to be a part of the ceremony. When traveling in Eastern Europe, someone put candies in my shoes for St. Mikuláš Day. No one in these scenarios is forcing anyone to appropriate a holiday or belief that isn’t their own—they’re only inviting them to the experience. The offer of inclusion says to someone, this means something to me and I’d like you to be a part of it in whatever way you feel comfortable.
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BY LISA MARIE BASILE
Valentine's Day is thought to stem from Lupercalia, a Pre-Roman Pagan festival celebrated between February 13-15 (can we please get back to three days of V-Day?), and so the gauche, commercial excess was not the point. Lupercalia, to the Pagans, was a time for thwarting evil spirits and cleansing the space of its negativity. On this day, because how darling, it is said that the birds chose their mates.
In 14th-century England and France, poems became the primary Valentine's Day (please see Geoffrey Chacer's The Love Unfeigned, a 14th-century poem not specifically written 'for' Valentines, but romantic nonetheless; let us know if you can translate that better than we can). The poem became common again in the 18th century, and especially in the Victorian Era, when sentimentality reached its abslolute peak and V-Day's commercial value heightened. Embossed, lace, ribbons, floral patterns and deliciously ornate designs were the norm. #swoon
And then we got our filthy modern hands on history.
If, like us, you're sick to death of paying $4.95 for a contemporary, soulless, Teddy Bear V-Day card from Duane Reade, we've compiled a few of our favorite printable Victorian Valentine's Day cards. Our recommendation? Print these out, make yourself your own Valentine and create a little Victorian shrine for yourself. Or your lover. Whatever you'd like.
Just click the image to download the print, and if you want more, you can click into each photo and peruse the sites, which will allow you to either download more prints or send a physical Valentine to someone. (We still recommend sending yourself some love in the mail.)
And so, here are a few images (along with a few naughty Victorian bits) for you to swoon over.
xo
Via Vintage Fangirl
Via Vintage Holiday Crafts
Via Vintage Holiday Craft
Via Hubpages
Via Hubpages
Via Victorian Trading Co
Via Victorian Trading Co
Via Vintage Lovelies
Via Vintage Anachronists
Via Hubpages
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Via The Virtual Victorian
