How to have a feminist Ivies

Left of lipstick: Photoshoot celebrates women and their bodies in a hostile world

Left of lipstick: So bye, Bowdoin: reflecting on my columns and takes on campus events

Yesterday I went to Fat Boy with my coven of SWUGs. Five of us piled in my car after class. It was chilly. My toes were damp from rain that had seeped in the crack of my boots. As we dipped our fries in our milkshakes, it occurred to me—this is the best thing in the world.
This is my last column, and I’m sad about it. I doubt I’ll ever have a platform with this leniency again. I’ve been able to write about Marxism and Miller High Life, pubic hair and gun control and etiquette and Plan B.
There have been some public growing pains. That one time when my column was quoted out of context in Cosmo (OK, I actually got off on that). When I was asked if I “had ever heard of sex positivity” after I condemned dance floor make outs (DFMO) as symptoms of the patriarchy. Somehow, the DFMO piece is still my most widely read column. For the record, it’s my least favorite too.
But on the whole, I’m proud of my takes. Trader Joe’s and the minimum wage and crisis pregnancy centers.—they matter. Writing my thoughts has helped me develop my politics. I’ve been touched when people—friends, professors, the two sophomore women at my Snow Pants or No Pants party, Linda in the recital hall, an alum who added me on LinkedIn the other day—have mentioned my columns. It is heartening to know that the things I’ve written haven’t entered the void.
So thanks, y’all, for reading (or skimming or whatever). Thanks to my dad for being my first and best reader and to my brother for not tuning me out when I talk about the patriarchy and capitalism. Thanks to my SWUGs. Thanks to the faculty and staff of the Gender, Sexuality, and Women’s Studies Program. Thanks to my radical brain trust. Thanks to my mom, who never got to read my column but shaped it more than anyone else.
Fuck you to whoever stole my denim jacket at Ivies.
Since my first year, the Orient opinion section has gone from the boring domain of a few white guys (sorry—it’s true) to a vibrant space where all kinds of Bowdoin students discuss ideas. I’m proud to have been a part of that, and I know it will continue.
I hope the College continues to become an institution that I’m proud to have attended. Divesting from fossil fuels would help, as would increasing wages for staff. But I think we’re headed in the right direction.
So bye, Bowdoin. There are a few weeks left before you recede in my rear view mirror. I think they’ll be good weeks. Lots of champagne. Maybe a few tears. Let’s try not to miss each other too much.

Left of lipstick

This piece represents the opinion of the author:

April 27, 2016

Feminism isn’t about Ivies. Obviously. Feminism is a collective movement to end sexist oppression. But the Orient needed more content this week, and I wanted to write about Ivies. Everything I know about Ivies I learned as a baby. A raspberry-Pinnacle®-drinking, crop-top-wearing baby. I was abroad in Prague last spring where I learned to drink like a grown up. Don’t worry though, I got back to Bowdoin and promptly forgot. Cheers!

Friendly competition between friends

Two of my friends and I are doing a personal Miller High Life case race. The rules are simple: 10 days, 30 beers each. We tell this to men, and they laugh. “We can succeed in a man’s world,” we retort and shotgun 12 ounces of lukewarm piss water to prove it. Get creative with your consumption. Make your Annie’s Mac and Cheese with beer instead of milk. Word on the street is that it’s “actually not that bad.” Make a beer mimosa. Pour for a round of pong. Slip your half-drunk cans to obliging strangers. But no matter what, don’t give up.

Witchcraft

Start referring to your friends as your coven. Host a séance. Burn incense. Summon spirits. This can be a restorative activity for Friday evening as you claw through your post-Brunswick Quad hangover. Maybe drink tea. (Just kidding—you should drink a Miller High Life.)

Goddess worship

It snowed on Tuesday. That’s fucked up. We’ve all got to play our cards right with Mother Nature for the concert on Saturday. Get your coven together and say a little prayer to the goddesses for a warm, dry Ivies. Please. Baauer will be better if we have to watch him through sunglasses—trust me.

Fiber Craft

Celebrate the feminized and marginalized practice of craft. For example, I knitted myself a crop top. Email me if you want the pattern. It’s probably too late to knit one now, and your fine motor skills deteriorated days ago, but it’s never too early to start thinking about next year.
There are other ways to get crafty: tie dye your socks, rip up a t-shirt, bedazzle a water bottle. If you’re lucky, your craft can also serve as a beer-soaked souvenir!

Bangin’

Keep all that good stuff you learned during Consent Week in mind. Smashed and hooking up is not always the safest combo. The best Ivies Bae is a communicative Ivies Bae. And let’s be real, you’re probably going to feel so shitty that you just want to snuggle anyways.

Feminist tracks for the pre- or post-game:

1. “Can’t Get Enough Of Myself” by Santigold. “All I wanna do is what I do well.” For me, that’s knitting and drinking Miller High Life.
2. “Love Myself” by Hailee Steinfeld. This song is about female masturbation.
3. “Townie” by Mitski. “I am not gonna be what my daddy want me to be. I’m gonna be what my body wants me to be.” I can do her one better. Neither my daddy nor my body wanted me to drink 30 Miller High Lifes in the past week. I showed them.
4. “Bottoms Up” by Keke Palmer. Did you know she released this song in 2007, the same year she starred in the Disney Channel original movie “Jump In!”? 2007 was also the year I got my braces off. Bottoms up! (Miller High Life).
5. Didn’t Beyoncé do something recently?

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