feminism Archives - Starshine Roshell

Women Can’t Be Funny (Seriously)

Published by Starshine Roshell on July 9, 2019

Study Shows Women Using Humor at Work Seen as ‘Disruptive’

More women are running for president right now than ever before in history. Harris, Warren, Klobuchar, Gillibrand, Gabbard, and even Marianne “I’m here for my own amusement” Williamson are keeping their male counterparts on the run, and I hope they’ll keep it up. They should be bold, speaking out whether they’re invited to or not. They should be fearless, calling out opponents on their hypocrisies.

But according to a recent study, there’s one thing they should not do: crack a joke.

While using humor in the workplace is likely to benefit men by boosting their professional status, a University of Arizona study has shown that it has the opposite effect on women. In fact, female humor — at least on first impression — was generally perceived as “disruptive” while male humor was seen as “functional.” Ain’t that a laugh and a half.

#Me … NotSoMuch?

Published by Starshine Roshell on March 10, 2018

Confessions of a Last-Wave Feminist

Ladies, I gotta come clean. From the first time I saw it on a social media post, #metoo has rubbed me the wrong way. And I don’t mean, like, in a #metoo way.

The first wave of confessions was powerful — a silent but staggering wail that exposed the shocking pervasiveness of sexual assault and oppressive harassment in a nation that regularly applauds itself for equality.

For me, though, the hashtag became a maimed meme when women began tossing unsolicited ass pats and insufferable catcalls into the mix along with the egregious, menacing affronts. Though these may all be evidence of men treating us like property, it feels both insensitive and overly fragile to lump together the rapiest of rape with the old man saying, “Hey, how about a smile, sweetheart?”

Then came the naming and shaming, the firing and blacklisting and the systematic picking apart of each public apology like flesh from a carcass. That’s when my hackles went on high alert — and for a couple of good reasons:

That’s No Hurricane; It’s a Him-icane

Published by Starshine Roshell on October 22, 2017

The Gender Saga Behind Naming Storms

Hazel killed hundreds in 1954. Camille flattened cities in 1969. And Agnes cost billions in 1972. These twister-sisters weren’t messing around.

For more than a quarter century, hurricanes in the Atlantic basin — the area that recently brought us Harvey, Irma, Jose, and pals — were only given women’s names: Alma. Betsy. Cleo. Delia. Ethel. Fifi. Gladys. Hilda …

While apologists say the practice took its cue from the time-honored tradition of seamen referring to the ocean as female, more experts guess it was an inside joke by those in the male-dominated meteorology field. Some even say the scientists named storms after their girlfriends.

Q&A with Gloria Steinem

Published by Starshine Roshell on March 2, 2017

The Dirt on Flirting

Published by Starshine Roshell on August 25, 2011

Grandma used to flirt with the butcher. During WWII, when meat was rationed, she’d sidle up to his counter in her finest frock and chat him up for hours.

“Grandpa really liked pork chops,” she told me, “so I’d say, ‘Gee, I’d really like to have those, but I don’t have enough stamps,’ and he’d tell me, ‘Well, I think we can arrange that.’

“I just made him feel important,” she said. “And you’d do just about anything to get more meat.”

I used to blame the desperate times for Grandma’s indecorous behavior. Having come of age myself at the peak of second-wave feminism, I couldn’t fathom using my femininity as a tool to manipulate a tenderloin vendor. Also, I’m uncomfortable with the juxtaposition of sexual tension and ground chuck.

But I recently found myself at the meat counter of my local market, staring in confusion at the oddly named offerings, when a hunky young aproned man leaned over the counter and offered to help.

And just like that, I was righting my posture, flashing my teeth, and complimenting his dizzying raw-cow know-how. No ration stamps. No wartime. Just a dopey damsel in dinnertime distress going all girly and guileful for a gallant gristle-chiseler.

What the flank?!

Tag: feminism