I once read that months yawn into existence—like a sharp inhale of untamed time that burns out of you as the days amble into weeks. That’s what it feels like to make it to June: the contagion of one yawn after the other, when half the year gets lost behind and the remaining half unfurls.
This collection is about girlhood, womanhood; a future that is female as much as it is fleeting and fickle. A reminder that it is only June, and the worst is not over.
- i know how this ends: today, the headline said the end is here
- hello girl: clean girl, material girl, that girl
💌
i know how this ends
today, the headline said the end is here
I was raised on the brand of self-righteous, barely-intersectional feminism that was eager to inspire on movie screens, the kind that promised braids and a side of bravery could topple unchecked despots and archaic regimes. She wasn’t like the other girls because she could still be scared, but wielded her vulnerability with the virtue of grit. She could tough it out, shoulder the burden, and take on the world when it was against her. And she would win.
I woke up this morning, on June 24th, and thought about the generation of girls who knew the stories of a girl against the world. Who clung to notions that they could save themselves and others if they stood taller and stared harder. Who could change the world someday, if the world let her. But the world, this world, always crushes the girl.
The sovereignty of the dystopia isn’t waiting for us in an untouchable, far-off future. It sits in a classical building high up on a hill, twisting its hands and thinking it knows best. Its machinations are little pulses of seismic activity: small earthquakes that tremble into full-blown natural disasters across the social topography. For a long while, we’ve felt the ground sinking beneath our feet. Today, it’s swallowing us whole.
The legend of David v. Goliath persists because when David falls, he gets to get back up. No bruises on his knee or gashes on his palm. Unscathed. When laws and institutions and an entire judicial system fail the girl, she becomes the failure. Judicial precedent cannot save her; somebody made up that word once in old French, and now, precedent is just another word for a stone left unturned. Sometimes, she wonders if precedent is just the word that cowards use when they’re scared to face the truth.
I woke up this morning, looked at my phone, and wanted to go back to sleep. I wanted to return to my body, but it doesn’t really belong to us anymore, does it. Maybe that’s what those movies were trying to tell us all along.
anyway, read this by jia tolentino.
hello girl
clean girl, material girl, that girl
preface: This is probably part of a longer essay: a piece about girlhood and what that uniquely means to every girl, and the girls we want to be in the forming stage and the girls we’ve become in the norming stage. The dominant theme is the fracturing. The splintered creation and demolition of various personas, enforced by societal and cultural expectations, that condense into the palatable version of a normal girl. The ideas here explore some of the containers the girls have been put in, and why they’re leaders in their category.
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In the early aughts, the it girl was all the rage. She was an heiress to a small family fortune, who set the tone of what was in (and what was out) with avant-garde looks and ruled the social scene with her a manicured fist of influence. The it girl let her privilege radiate out of her pores, wore it like her best perfume. If she wasn’t well-liked, she was thoroughly envied. An aura personified as the popular girl in teen films or the cover model of grocery store tabloids.
Later, the it girl became ringarde, too tacky and insincere for a societal order that prized authenticity. A reactionary counterculture swooped in for the girls next door. More girls filed in after: skater girl, boss girl, lulu girl, granola girl, sad girl. Fast-forward to the modern girls of today.
The material girl likes material things, the fancy clothes and expensive cosmetics the it girl prized, but now with the down-to-earth awareness about her self-indulgence. The credit card bears her name: she owns what she buys. She buys luxury handbags and linen bedding because she can, because they make her feel great; so why should she be faulted for liking nice things? Why should any girl be ashamed of wanting nice things? The corporatization of femininity is consecrated as a viable business model, but maybe the material girl wields her material power as an exercise of personal capital. Her things are not what make her valuable, but rather, she treasures her valuables because of her inherent sense of self-worth.
The clean girl is effortless. She practically floats on air, and when she doesn’t float, she dons athleisure and performs yoga in a hot studio. She wears makeup, but just so her cheeks embrace a soft rosy glow and her lips glisten with a barely-there rouge. Only so her natural beauty can shine through; she’s beautiful inside and out. Cleaning is not a chore, but a cleansing ritual that brings her in harmony with her surroundings. Her cleaning supplies are probably non-toxic, biodegradable. There’s extra spinach in her morning smoothies. She is untouchable in the way she ensures nothing harmful could ever come her way.
That girl has her shit together. She bullet journals her life into action and drinks matcha lattes in the morning; maybe goes out for an afternoon run and sleeps after a multi-step skincare routine. She never forgets to water her plants and takes vitamins like clockwork. She’s never gotten a bad grade on a test because she treats every day like a new test; she is constantly being tested and she is passing with flying colors. She doesn’t want to conquer (that’s the boss girl), she simply wants control. She takes all the messy inertia of life and makes it work for her.
Some day, these girls will grow up; or maybe they are already grown, but we have a nasty habit of infantilizing women. We press them between pages of dress codes and social etiquette, and hope they’re preserved in perfect condition when we’re done. They may grow up and read the headlines. They may be grown and listen behind closed doors.
What’s almost worse is how easy it is to become a picture-perfect recreation of these model girls. It’s easy with the right capital to architect the right lifestyle. All that’s required is buying the right things to compose the tableau. A three-thousand dollar handbag; or a closet full of leggings; a leather-bound lined journal. Buy these things, and you’ll become her, approximate. Share the things you buy, and you’ll inspire others to be more like you. A pessimist sees a capitalist flywheel; an optimist sees an empire. Girls see nice things and wonder why they can’t have them.
this past month
- watched: the summer i turned pretty
- not watching: the fleabag-ification of persuasion.
- read: book lovers by emily henry
- such a smart book. knows the tropes of a small town romance and plays those cards so well.
- listening: the summer i turned pretty soundtrack could hardly be more perfect if it tried—taylor, bleachers, olivia, phoebe, carly. and bon iver. plus billie and ariana just for kicks.