Hair/Story

Before I cut my hair off about a month ago, a lot of my friends at law school already knew I was planning to do it. I got asked a lot why I wanted to get a pixie cut. No one asked in a rude way, just with curiosity – like, if my hair looked good at the length it was, why would I want to have short hair? I explained time and time again that I just wanted to.

I felt claustrophobic because my thick, fluffy hair around my face and neck. I missed the freedom of not having to style my hair in some form. I just didn’t feel like myself with my longer hair. I’ve had short hair more often than long in the past five or so years, so it wasn’t a scary decision.

Short hair just seems natural on me. It’s sassy, it’s fearless, it’s low-maintenance, and it’s unapologetic: everything I strive to be.

After I got my hair cut, most reactions were positive. But one guy asked me if my boyfriend supported me cutting my hair off so that guys wouldn’t hit on me as much. I laughed, then I calmly tried to explain that my boyfriend happens to think I have a pretty face, and that it’s easier to see my pretty face when I don’t have so much hair in the way… And that I feel confident that he’s not trying to purposely make me uglier.

This conversation bothered me in the same way that all those articles online from douchey bros, who claim that short-haired women are ruining the fun for men, do - because they all assume one vital falsehood:

That I (and other women) are actively thinking about pleasing men and how all our actions fulfill that goal.

I did not cut my hair for men. I didn’t cut it for my boyfriend, or my father, or my male friends, or the men I pass on the street. I did not keep my hair long for men. I didn’t keep it long for my boyfriend, or my father, or my male friends, or the men I pass on the street.

I grew out my hair because I wanted to. And I cut it off because I really, really wanted to.

If cutting my hair off upsets sexist douchebags and makes me less appealing to random men on the street, that’s actually a plus in my book. It weeds out the kind of guys who will objectify me on first sight, or judge me without getting to know me, or assume that I care about their opinions on the sexual attractiveness of my body.

I wear high-waisted pants because they make me feel fabulous. I have a nose ring because it makes me happy. I have short hair because it makes me feel confident. I wear running leggings as pants sometimes because they’re comfortable and opaque. None of these actions are harmful to other people, and they are deeply and personally satisfying for me.

Women do a lot of things without thinking about the reactions or approval of other people – men and women included.

I want Jake to think I’m beautiful. I want my dad to approve of my choices. I want to make my grandpa proud. But if it comes down to making myself happy and making other people happy, I’m going to go with actions and decisions that make me happy and fulfilled.

Your decision for how to cut and style your hair, what clothes to wear, or how to decorate your body are all personal decisions that only you can make - and these decisions do not make you any less of a woman or deserving of respect.

If you want pink hair down to your waist or no hair at all - have 15 piercings on your face alone or just your ears - two full sleeve tattoos or a butterfly tattoo on your lower back - and those things will fulfill you deep in your soul (or maybe you just really want them), then let your freak flag fly.

No one should be making that decision for you – especially trolls on the internet. If a few less douchetools don’t think you’re sexy for being your most complete, confident, satisfied self, then I’m pretty sure you're the one who lucked out.

xo Madie

A bodily work: birthing my baby

Pregnancy is a bodily business. So is giving birth. It seems odd to tell my birth story with words and thoughts when it contained very little of either. But my body is already changing the story it tells each day, and the birth of Amy Mae is one I wish to remember. So, here we go.

(Friday) 
        A few morning contractions and a little birth show on my panty liner are the first indicators I deem important enough to text to my doula, Julie. Just a quick update but a new development since I saw her at our 38-week prenatal appointment with my midwife, Lanette, two days previous. It’s another low-key morning with a wide open time line of an unknown duration of waiting. The end of pregnancy. I spend most of my time these days resting, eating, and watching Property Brothers on HGTV, which I am convinced exists for frustrated, non-working pregnant women. Thankfully, this day has a little more color because my husband, Michael, and I have a big adventure planned for the day: going to the grocery store.  Woo-hoo, right? Not many contractions through the morning, but a really strong one in the dog food aisle of Pick ‘n’ Save this evening reminds me of the promising change from the morning. A few more through dinner. A few more in the evening. Several while trying to go to sleep. Several more while trying to stay asleep. Finally, they are too frequent and annoying to sleep through, so I get out of bed at 3 A.M. and spend an hour rolling around on my birthing ball. I don’t want to wake Michael, because I know he will need his rest if I really am in labor. After an hour, I call Julie to tell her I am having strong contractions every ten minutes with a smaller one at the 5 minute mark in-between. I know I need to try and sleep, and she confirms that in her sleepy voice. I go back to bed and rest between contractions, but sleep will not come. 

(Saturday) 
        Michael and I are up around 8 A.M. which is earlier than usual, because we like to sleep in. Michael rubs my back while I lay over the birth ball and while I’m on my hands and knees. I’m trying very hard to relax and help each contraction be as productive as possible, but I’m also trying to rest. So, I keep my contractions about 10 minutes apart.  Around 11 A.M. I decide to commit to laboring, and I go upstairs to walk around the living room. A few granola bars and a fruit smoothie later we leave at 2 P.M. for the 35 minute drive to Milwaukee. (Contractions have been 3 minutes apart if I’m walking and 5 minutes apart if I’m sitting.) The car ride is not as bad as I expect, which is a small relief. 
We arrive at the birth center to cheerful, excited faces. I feel that my face is one of exhaustion and almost boredom. The only thing I desire is sleep, and I’m having a hard time getting excited about the prospect of a new baby. It’s as though my mind doesn’t comprehend the possibility. It’s only a couple minutes before I find out why.
After letting me pee, the midwives have me lay on my back, take my vitals, and listen the baby’s heartbeat through a contraction. I haven’t had a pregnancy pelvic exam yet, so I don’t know what to expect, but it lasts longer and is much more uncomfortable than I thought it would be. Lanette calmly tells me to stay relaxed, and she will let me know more when we’ve gone through a contraction and finished up. 
Turns out our baby had decided her hand was so nice that she wanted it right by her head. Consequently, she had been sitting on top of my cervix off-center, with her hand jammed up by her head. Lanette had needed to push it back. That’s what had made my pelvic exam so long and extra uncomfortable. The baby could now sit on my cervix like an egg in an egg cup instead of an egg with a marker next to it trying to fit in an egg cup. 
I’m so glad she could push back that arm, but I’m just so tired and now we need to walk around. A couple laps around the birth center with contractions that now feel different. I want to lay down, so Julie sets me up in a three-quarters-over position with my right knee on a pillow. I try and sleep. I’ve spent hours being woken by contractions, but I wake to a much larger, much more painful contraction. I feel so much pressure in my lower back and have a harder time finding focus in my relaxation. These are worse to try and sleep through.
Another pelvic exam, two hours after the first, and I’m 1 cm dilated. I haven’t slept in 30 hours, laboring for about 16 of those, and my only question now is “what next?” I don’t care when the baby will come. I’d wait a week if it meant I could get some sleep. 
Lanette and Ali explain that I have a couple options. There are some different medicines that might slow my labor and let me sleep. Julie listens, does some more research for us, and recommends the anti-histamine. It should help me sleep and has been known to slow or stop early labor (usually anything before 4 cm). Sure. Call it in. We will pick it up at the Walgreens a mile from our home. 
We walk into a mucky winter night and our windshield washer fluid has frozen. Our 35 minute drive turns into a much longer affair with slow speeds on the interstate and two stops to wipe off the windshield. Michael has been a pillar of calm and reassurance, but I know he is getting impatient. He just wants to get me home, and I just want to sleep. The contractions are incredibly painful and I relax through each one as best I can, but I am getting angry. I start audibly sighing through contractions but not so much out of coping or instinct. I’m just angry at the contractions, so I’m yelling at them.
We get to Walgreens and they tell us they can’t give me my prescription because it’s not covered by my insurance. Fine, we will pay out of pocket. Oh, the state won’t let you do that. Are you kidding me? (That thought may have contained some swear words in my head.)
Michael asks if I want to wait in the Walgreens parking lot while we call the midwife to figure something out or go home. I say I want to go home so I can just “get out of the damn car.” 

(Home) 
        I haven’t eaten more than a piece of toast and a couple granola bars since Friday night dinner, so I know I need to eat before climbing into bed. My mother-in-law comes downstairs with my requested bowl of raisin bran to sit with me while Michael calls, gets the prescription redone, and goes to pick it up. 
I finally get my medicine around 8 P.M. I am ready to settle in for some much needed rest.

(Some time that feels like a day in-between Saturday and Sunday)
The medicine doesn’t work. I’m up every 5 minutes with strong contractions. Every two or three take me off my side and onto my hands and knees on the bed, and Michael wakes up with me for each one. Every time he tells me I’m doing well is a time when I need to hear it. (Which is with every contraction...) I tell myself I’m strong. Focus. I can do this. I picture myself running up a hill, knowing it will be easier after I get to the top. I can’t help thinking that running up hills will be much easier to me after this night of labor. 
We try again with more medicine at midnight. Still doesn’t work. More contractions. At 4 A.M. we are texting Lanette and Julie that it’s not working. They recommend a bath. There is one time (maybe two times...) when I think I could just go to a hospital and tell them to take the pain away somehow with some drug that will stop labor. Anything. But I don’t want that, so I do what I don’t want to do. I take a bath. Michael sits in the low lit bathroom with me to make sure I don’t drown or slip. I stay in the water until it's cold, and he sits with me quietly the entire time though he has not slept either. The bath is relaxing, but not like I want it to be. Back to bed. I spend the rest of the morning much like before with the addition of weird visions of lemon greek yogurt during contractions. I’m also going through them with Rock You Like a Hurricane going through my head, because I keep rocking my hips and it hurts and somehow that means hurricane to my exhausted mind. 48 since I’ve slept, 32 hours of labor.

(Sunday) 
         It’s 8 A.M. and my hands and knees are so tired. I’ve been on them on and off for probably 32 hours, the last 14 of which have been very difficult. I wake from one of my 5 minute nap breaks to a promising plan from Michael. Julie and Lanette are supposed to text us about a time to come to the birth center so they can check the baby. Finally, something to look to! I’ve been laboring convinced my contractions are ineffectual because that was how my first 18 hours of labor went.  The medicine was supposed to slow my labor, so I think the last 14 hours have been for nothing. 
 We leave at 9:45 to meet everyone at 10:30. I’m pretty sure I look like death. Yesterday, I walked in feeling like a woman in labor. Today, I walk in feeling like zombie. 
Ali gives me a pelvic exam and the best news I’ve heard in 24 hours: I’m paper thin and 6+ cm dilated. The last 14 hours have not been for nothing! She mentions to Julie that the baby is +1. I'm pretty sure that means she’s low. No wonder I’ve had so much lower back pressure. That and the fact that my membranes still have not released.
But...I can get in the tub. A big tub. A big, beautiful tub of water which is all I have wanted for 8+ months. I get in and keep trying to relax. I’m pretty sure I look relaxed, but inside my mind is running like crazy. I don’t remember any of the thoughts I was having, but I was very focused. Very aware. Trying to relax. Moving. Breathing. Drinking water from my blue cup with Michael’s help. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that a modified hands and knees was the most comfortable position for me. The tub had a little seat or shelf thing on which I could rest my elbows, so at least my wrists had a break.

Time moves quickly in the water. Sooner than I expect, my body has a small convulsion at the end of a contraction that feels like a push. Two more contractions with that pushing instinct, so I tell Michael to get the midwife (who is just in the next room). I feel a pop between my legs and know that my membranes have finally released. I find out later that it is 12:45 P.M. I've been in the water for only two hours.
From this point, I do not remember any pain. I did compare the pushes with contractions and couldn’t decide if I had a preference. At least I could feel more keenly the great work my body was doing. I felt my baby begin to move down. I felt her move forward with each series of expulsions and then slide back a little. I was very happy she was doing this, because I knew she was stretching me out little by little. And she was moving fast! I thought maybe a little too fast, but I couldn’t slow down the work my body was doing for me. 3 pushes from the end I knew how many more there would be, and I could feel her head. Second to last push and I knew there was only one more. She was right there. I was completely stretched out. Her head finally popped out (this hurt for only a moment) and I remember thinking it felt very round. It’s 1:13 P.M. A rest in my body’s work, and then some final expulsions to release her body. Her body felt bigger coming out than her head! (And hurt a little more, too.) She’s born at 1:15 P.M.

I moved off my elbows and knees to lay down, and then she was coming into my arms. Her head was up and her eyes were open and she cried immediately. I felt exhaustion. I felt relief. I didn’t know what I was feeling. These two days after the birth I didn’t remembered crying, but as I write this I remember. I cried. I looked at Michael and he was so happy. I drank in his expression, and I have held that memory second most vivid to my daughter’s face as she came into my arms and my chest. I didn’t feel like I knew her, nor did I feel any rushes of understanding. I only felt confusion and what I think was happiness. I knew I would get to know her. She was mine, but I didn’t quite know why. I knew she was Michael’s, because I could see it on his face. And his face gave me hope.

Selfie/Story

I've got a confession to make…

I take selfies.

That definitely wasn't someone else who took that picture of my face. That was me. With my iPhone, with that little "reverse camera" feature so I could see what I looked like when I snapped the pic. I probably took at least three pictures before I finally took one I liked. If I'm gonna post my face all over the Internet, I wanna look good.

Women are expected to look beautiful all the time. We're expected to look flawless whether we're at home or work. Sometimes (despite all those Pinterest fitspirations about, "If you look good after your workout, you didn't work hard enough) even after a workout, in that sweaty, sexy, exhausted, maybe even post-coital way. We're supposed to wear makeup, but only enough to enhance our "best" features. We're supposed to have perfect skin, and if we don't, we're supposed to cake on some concealer until it's not as noticeable. It takes us twenty minutes to make our hair perfectly dishevelled so we look gorgeous, but in that, thrown-together-I-really-didn't-try-I-swear kind of way. We work really hard to look effortless.

http://www.thegloss.com/2013/07/05/beauty/social-experiment-confirms-men-like-natural-makeup/

That, in itself, says a lot about unattainable beauty standards. And on top of everyday people, celebrities, and (most of all) companies telling us that we we're not pretty skinny curvy insert physical qualifier here enough, why are we surprised that women have lower self-esteem about their appearance?

According to Psychology Today, women are more concerned about their appearance because people judge us on our appearance, much more than people judge men on appearance. Dove says that only 4% of women worldwide would describe themselves as beautiful. This may have to do with sexual selection, biology, or competition, but it's a real life problem that women experience on a daily basis. We're sold products to cover up or eliminate these "flaws." If we didn't feel so shitty about how we looked, many a company would go out of business.

As we try so hard to look so perfect (quite an uphill battle), heaven forbid women express any sort of pride or confidence about their appearance.

"Oh, you look so beautiful today!" "Psh, no, I look like a troll! You look beautiful!"
"Oooh, I love those pants!" "Awww, really? I got them on sale!" (Notice, no acknolowedgment that your body is attached to those gorgeous pants)
"You look really pretty today!" "Are you kidding me? I just rolled out of bed!"

When should I stop quoting "Mean Girls?" THE LIMIT DOES NOT EXIST.

Women are supposed to be insecure. We're supposed to blow off compliments. If you're open about how beautiful you feel, even if you totally do, you're full of yourself. A bitch. Cocky. Self-involved. Fake. Vain. Maybe even slutty.

Selfies are a touchy subject. People see them as promoting vanity, an impression of empty-headedness, attention-whoring, or self-obsession. And let's be honest: we all know that one person who has a Facebook album exclusively full of pictures of her face at slightly different angles. It does seem a little extreme.

Here's my question: Is it really offensive that a woman might actually feel good about herself and her body?

I'm not advocating we all start making selfie albums on Facebook or anything, but is it possible that maybe that girl posting a picture of her face just... feels pretty? Is it more offensive than a group of friends taking six different pictures of themselves until they take the most flattering one?

Is it so offensive that someone might actually feel good about themselves and feel okay sharing that online? We share new jobs, good grades, relationships, and pretty much everything else online, but sharing a flattering picture - differing from all those other tagged pictures only because you took it yourself - crosses the line?

In a world where 4% of women worldwide would call themselves beautiful, we should be celebrating women who have the confidence to post a picture and say to the Internet, "Hey, I feel beautiful today. Deal with it." We should be encouraging other women to feel beautiful just the way they are (filter or not). We should be building each other up, not tearing each other down. We should encourage ourselves to celebrate our own beauty, whether that comes in the form of a good grade, singing really loud in the car (with the windows down - free those dulcet tones!), or having a good hair day. And hell, take a picture of it if you want to. I bet it looks great.

At least on my Instagram feed, selfies appear all the time with a caption like, "Hey, just feeling pretty today! #nomakeup" The responses to those pictures in particular are really beautiful - 99% of the time, other women are building each other up. They say things like, "Wow, BABE ALERT," "You're always so beautiful," or "Screw makeup, you're so foxy!" Every time I see one, it warms my heart. 

I have an app called "BeauCoo" where women (of all shapes and sizes) can post their outfit pictures. It's meant to be a supportive community where you can see how specific clothing items might fit you, but the comments are always my favorite part. It doesn't matter what size, shape, face type, or skin color - the comments are always positive and uplifting.

When I see examples like that, I just can't throw all selfies in the "self-obsession & vanity" pile. I see a way for women to embrace themselves. I see a way to show the world that we refuse to make self-hate the norm. I see a way to embrace beauty however we'd like to. I see a way to raise that 4%.

How do you feel about selfies? Do you think they have redeeming quality?

xo Madie

Women and Girls

I recently had an odd exchange with a friend of mine. It went a little something like this:

Me: I was so mad in class today because this woman took my seat. I mean, they aren’t assigned but I always sit there. It really threw me off.

Friend: *laughs*…wait, a college…woman or like an…adult woman?

This isn’t the first time I’ve had this response, but it really struck me: what is the difference? Aren’t traditional college-age women adult women? I personally don’t see a difference. College-age women are, by legal standards, adult women. But why my friend had to ask for clarification is because the normal word for a college-age woman isn’t woman—it’s girl.

What’s the problem with calling college-age women girls? We don’t generally call college-age men men; we call them guys. But guys is not the equivalent to girls—boys is. Guys doesn’t have the same connotation as girls. Guys has a sense of autonomy and is generally not age-identified. Girls translates as young, less intelligent, small, helpless, dependent, weak, and silly. People want to hang out with guys; the kids want to play with girls. By calling college-age women girls we characterize them as young, less intelligent, small, helpless, dependent, weak, and silly.

I’ve always thought of my college-self as a woman, not a girl. But I never really thought about when my peers and I transformed into women (I’m not speaking of legal recognition, of course). I always thought the last time I would struggle with where I fit in society age-wise was adolescence. In adolescence, we constantly (supposedly) struggle between the adult part of ourselves and the child part of ourselves. There is conflict inherent in being an adolescent.

But what about college…uhhh…kids? We are out on our own—some of us very far from home, all of us out of our parents’ sight. As 18-23-year-olds, we are legally adults and we are expected to act like adults. And yet, we are still tied to home. Many rely on parents for financial and emotional support, for advice, and even for things like health insurance (especially under the Affordable Care Act). So, we are in a bind. We still grapple with the conflict between child and adult. But still, we are mostly adult. If we commit a crime, we’re an adult. If we go to the doctor, we’re an adult.

So we come to my real question: why is it so hard to call college-age women “women?” Why do we have to remind ourselves that we are, in fact, women? And at what age do we stop being girls and start being women? Who decides that? College-age women are definitely not girls. So, why call them what they aren’t?

I think we’re uncomfortable with the word woman. I think we’re uncomfortable with the meanings around and of woman. I think we’re uncomfortable with women. Violence against women, women in business, women in politics, women in abortion clinics, conservative women, liberal women, women doing whatever they feel like doing because they’re adults who should be given the same rights as any other adult (especially the right to privacy). I think we’re so hesitant to call women women because we want to keep as many women as girls as long as possible because it’s more comfortable. Girls doesn’t have as much potential to challenge the patriarchal system. Girls are weak, silly, and helpless. They aren’t scary, capable women.

If we stop calling college-age women girls we give them a measure of…well, if nothing else, respect. And that’s not a bad place to start. 

Guest blogger Sarah Flinspach is a sophomore at the University of Minnesota where she studies political science and minors in gender, women, and sexuality studies.

Flirting with Men: The Lesbian Loophole

When I was younger, I dated a lot of guys. In high school I tended toward a "3 month rule," ending most relationships before they had time to get remotely serious. In college I had longer, more fulfilling relationships with guys, but they, like the others, all eventually dissolved.

I came out at the end of college and stopped dating men. I do, however, still tend to flirt with them.

Why does this still happen?

Is it my naturally flirtatious personality? My love of attention? My enjoyment of all very personal, intensely private, and intimate details of other people's lives? An urge to fit into a heternormative lifestyle? Repression of my full lesbian identity?

I honestly don't know. It's likely a combination of all of these, or at least most of them. (Flirting is also a multifaceted term that I'll dissect a little bit later.)

More interesting are the reasons why I haven't given this habit up.

I have this theory that most (and I repeat, most. I'm making generalizations here, people) heterosexual men don't learn how to converse about feelings and emotions until they date their first serious girlfriend. I don't think our society encourages men to express most of their feelings, especially not with each other.

What I get the opportunity to do then, is talk about feelings and emotions with men on a platonic level. Being a lesbian removes me from having an agenda. I have no intention of dating the guy, I'm not looking for a one night stand, in fact, I've completely taken both romance and sex off the table. I'm not threatening to other women and I don't have ulterior motives.

In fact, I would argue that my relationships with men have gotten immensely better since I came out. Gone is that question of if there's something bigger going on between us. Gone are the awkward "are we on the same page" questions. I drop the "I have a girlfriend" line in the first five minutes of our conversation and all of a sudden I have simplified the equation. (This isn't to say that every guy I talk to is into me and that playing the Lesbian Card lets them down easy. This also eliminates their concern that I'm into them when they aren't into me.)

Awhile back, Madie wrote a blog about a court case in Iowa. In short, a man fired a woman for being too attractive, which for him equated to being too seductive. In order, he said, to continue being faithful to his wife, he had to end his professional relationship as a boss to an attractive woman, even though she maintains that she had no interest in him romantically. In essence, he didn't believe he could keep it in his pants with her around, despite her disinterest.

This case demonstrates a deep seeded belief in America that women and men can't be friends, especially if there's any attraction between them. There's too much chemistry, too much seduction, too many SEX THOUGHTS, the theory goes, for men and women to be in platonic relationship with one another.

This is such a detrimental line of thinking. I'm not trying to argue that all women and all men have to be friends, in fact I think there are some decent reasons some men and women are not always friends. But folks: we have so much to learn from each other. Listen, I might be a lesbian, but I have no idea what it's like to be a man. I don't even date them!

When I titled this blog, I used the word "flirting." I've always used the term to label my behavior when I'm asking men about their lives. A more fitting description? Confidently asking personal questions and sticking around to hear the answers. But I've always called it flirting because it seems so ingrained in our culture that men and women can't or wouldn't have a serious conversation about their personal lives without sexual chemistry.

Being a lesbian is a strange but real loophole in the old women-and-men-can't-be-friends way of thinking. Because I don't date men there is a removal of the possibility, the removal of an agenda. So I've managed to avoid the problem myself, but most men and women continue to face this challenge.

I don't get it - because when women (ok, women in my life anyway) hang out, most of what they do is talk about their feelings, their relationships, their ideas about life, etc. I do this with other women constantly, straight and queer alike, without having awkward confusion about if we're into each other. Why wouldn't women and men be able to converse together about these same things without these problems?

All of us, straight or queer, even those of us in relationships, interact often with people we find attractive. That's right, I said it: we - single and committed - are all wandering around the earth feeling attracted to people who aren't our significant others. And you know what those of us who are in monogamous relationships do about it? Well, hopefully, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

I know we all like to think that once we fall in love we stop being attracted to everyone else on the planet, but in my experience that's just not true. What's also not true is that if we are attracted to people we must follow our urges. In short, we can be attracted to people we choose not to be with.

There's a problem if we have to fire our employee simply because we're attracted to her or him. There's a problem if men and women can't be friends because they can't handle themselves to have a platonic relationship with someone to whom they may or may not be attracted.

As stated previously, I've mostly avoided this problem, what with my woman-loving and all. But my argument is that rather than denying and ignoring and even avoiding people to whom we feel attracted and possibly missing out on some fantastic friendships, we should learn how to manage sexual attraction in a way that allows us to be both a great friend and faithful to our partner. Self-control, rather than missing out on great friendships, is the key.

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Love Always,
Kelsey

Don't Hate Me Cause I'm Sexy

I don't pretend that you're living under a rock and haven't seen the news, BUT IF YOU HAVE there is a bit of a controversy going on right now: The Iowa Supreme Court recently ruled that to fire a woman for being too attractive would not be illegal gender discrimination.

I know, I know. I'm thinking it too. How am I going to keep a job down?

Given the above picture (and hundreds like it on Instagram), I'm sure you understand my concern.

The case the Supreme Court ruled on was about a dental assistant named Missy who worked for her older boss for 9 years with no issues. The last year or so, the dentist (Dr. Knight) started making comments about her clothes being too tight (She wore scrubs to work, so, OK). They occasionally texted each other, like things about their kids. They were both married to other people and seemed happy. He was occasionally creepy to her. Whatevs, Missy's a chill girl. Doesn't bother her too much. Then one day she's called into Dr. Knight's office and his pastor's sitting there with him. Dr. Knight informs her that she's being fired... because she has become an irresistible temptation for him, and he thinks it's best that they don't work together anymore.

It turns out that Mrs. Knight (his wife) also works there and had recently found out that Missy and the dentist had been texting. She flipped out and demanded Missy be fired, which is what brought this on in the first place. Dr. Knight later called Missy's husband and told him that Missy was the best dental assistant he's ever bad, but that he's concerned if he and Missy continued to work together, he will be unable to resist and they will have an affair.

The Iowa Supreme Court recently ruled that Missy's case wouldn't even make it to trial, because no jury could reasonable find that Missy was fired because she was a woman. The Iowa Supreme Court ruled that this had nothing to do with Missy Nelson being a woman, since Dr. Knight employees many other women. He fired her because he had feelings, and since in Iowa, employees can be fired for any reason except an illegal one, his feelings do not constitute gender discrimination.

Was Missy was fired because she was a woman? Yes. Dr. Knight has testified that he is a heterosexual man and is solely attracted to women. He has been asked if he would have been attracted to Missy had she been a man, and he has said that he would not. Dr. Knight has said, and continues to say, that Missy was a great employee; she was just an irresistible temptation to him.

There are many things about this which bother me immensely. Scrubs have suddenly become irresistibly sexy, so that's cool. She also wore Target long-sleeved shirts underneath, so let's all start wearing those to get some attention from DE MENFOLK. Dr. Knight, of course, brought his pastor in to inform Missy that she was a secret harlot, so that's also awesome. Or humiliating. One of the two. This decision to pry himself away from her was clearly so hard for him (a moral and pious individual) that he needed his pastor there to hold him to this and give him support. And, naturally, Dr. Knight assumes that Missy - who has never flirted with him or shown any signs that she was sexually interested in him, and who is 20 years younger than him and thought of him as a father figure - would be TOTES down for an affair. It's not like she's happily married with kids or anything. He just assumes she would be helpless to resist his succulent charms.

And now we come to my favorite part... irresistible. Oooh yes. He would be unable to resist making the sexes to Missy if she had continued working there. Dr. Knight just wouldn't be able to help himself guys! He would continue to have sexual feelings for her sexy scrubs and would be UNABLE TO RESIST. BOOOOBZ.

As I'm sure you know, people have this thing called self-control. It's that little thing that stops you from doing things like hitting other people, or raping other people, or stealing things. It's basically that thing that helps you resist things you know you shouldn't do. We don't let people steal things because that big flat screen tv was irresistible. We don't let rapists off because that girl's bod was SO irresistible. You know why? Because it's common sense - nothing is irresistible. People have self control, and we're expected to act like adults and use it, or face the consequences.

The Supreme Court claiming that Dr. Knight was just motivated by feelings might seem logical for about 5 seconds, until you think of what other arguments people can make... "Oh, I didn't fire that guy cause he was black! I fired him because darker skinned men make me uncomfortable." There goes racial discrimination! NO SUCH THING. Just people with feelings. Now, I like feelings, but firing someone for being black because you have feelings is still illegal. Why is this any different for a woman?

Don't get me wrong - I understand that it may have been uncomfortable for Dr. Knight to have worked with a woman he was getting pants feelings for. I get it. I understand why his wife probably got jealous, cause Missy really is a hottie and Dr. Knight clearly was interested in more... But how does that NOT have to do with her being a woman? And if it does, how is her being fired not illegal in the state of Iowa?

I'm a little biased about this case. My mom just happens to be the attorney for Missy Nelson. I'm a future law student, and I'm very interested in women's issues... However, I fail to see how the Iowa Supreme Court ruling makes any sense. Do you agree with their ruling? Do you agree with me? Do you find other people irresistible sometimes? DO YOU FIND ME IRRESISTIBLE? Do you steal things because feelings? Let me know - comment below!

Love - Madie

Links to news stories concerning this: 

http://jezebel.com/5970736/iowa-supreme-court-says-it-was-totally-cool-for-a-dentist-to-fire-his-irresistibly-attractive-female-employee

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/12/21/bosses-irresistible-workers_n_2348381.html

http://www.cnn.com/2012/12/21/justice/iowa-irresistible-worker/index.html

http://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory/iowa-court-bosses-fire-irresistible-workers-18038838#.UNkepI6hDzI

"Women's" Issues

From Amherst's terrible dealings with a rape (or many rapes) on their campus to the grotesque statement that "some girls rape easy" to the "Top 10 Ways to Get Away with Rape" flier found in a men's bathroom of Miami University, it's been a rough week in the news.

With the election right around the corner, we're hearing accusations on both sides of the aisle about how each candidate handles "women's" issues.

Interesting, politicians. What exactly is a women's issue?

Is it abortion and birth control? Whether or not Planned Parenthood will continue to be funded by government money? How many women have jobs right now? Something about single parents and guns?

I don't know about you, but I'm awfully sick of hearing about the "women's vote," as if all women will be voting the same way in this election.

Why are politicians only targeting female voters now? Why in the world haven't they been trying to win everyone's votes for their whole campaigns? And why is it assumed, by politicians and by the media, that only women care about so-called "women's" issues. That only women will be swayed one way or the other by how a politician will handle policies concerning women?

These issues - from rape to birth control - are issues that concern all of us. Just because you don't take birth control doesn't mean you shouldn't be concerned about it's access for those who want to use it. Just because you may be at a much lower risk of being raped simply because you are a man doesn't mean you shouldn't be concerned about those who are.

We should be outraged at the attitude about rape in this country. All of us should be outraged. This isn't an issue only for those who have been raped, only for those who fear rape, only for those who are statistically more likely to be raped. The minute you minimize this to a "women's" issue is the minute you dismiss it as something men don't have to care about. 

I don't think all men are rapists. That isn't what I'm saying at all. I'm saying most men aren't rapists. I sincerely believe that most men think sexual assault is a horrific act. But when we hear men - men who are elected officials- say shit like "some girls rape easy," we know that all is not right in this country.

When we find a flier called "Top Ten Ways to Get Away with Rape" in a men's bathroom we know something is wrong.

These aren't just "women's" issues. Just because the population most at risk of being raped is women, doesn't mean men should turn off the news when the topic comes up. When the media casts these huge issues as only women's concern, they do this country a great disservice. These are issues that affect everyone in the United States (and beyond). These problems need to stop being labeled in such a way that makes people believe only women have to be concerned.

We should all be concerned.

Not just because we all have mothers and sisters, but because we're all human, damn it.

Why isn't anyone on the news curious how men are voting on so-called "women's" issues? Have they forgotten men will be voting in this election, too? On the very same issues women will be voting on?

Or is it because politicians spent their entire campaigns worrying about men's votes, so they have to spend the last couple of weeks on "everyone else?"

The media is essentially telling men to close their ears when something concerns women comes up. This attitude on "women's" issues is how we end up with bullshit like "legitimate rape." We need everyone to be informed - especially people who are making decisions about this countries' policies.

These are issues concerning women that we should all have thoughts about. This doesn't mean we control women, or tell them how to think or how to act. It means we all get informed on issues that affect those around us. Try talking to the people who are affected by the issue at hand. 

Love,
Kelsey

P.S. Consent is sexy, and so is communication.