I’ve engaged in countless conversations this week about Harvey Weinstein— with men I love, with men I admire, with men who are my champions— about holding other men accountable. Some asked how they could help, how they could be a part of the conversation. Most acknowledged that they were nothing like Harvey. Their behavior nowhere near as bad. But when asked if they would be willing to hold another man accountable, the most common phrase I heard was, “Well from my glass house…” And what a strange place to stand: acknowledging that that while you might not be rapists, you admit to some questionable behavior, and that makes it impossible for any man to hold another accountable. "From my glass house..." How very convenient.Read More
When Beyonce's first visual album dropped, I remember feeling a new kind of exhilaration. The kind that wakes you up, confuses you, scares you, propels you; a magnetism so strong, an understanding that you don't know quite yet what just happened to you, but you will do everything you can to find out. I remember sitting on my bed, five days before my 23rd birthday, watching "Grown Woman" for the first time and really letting the words sink in. "I can do whatever I want." "I can do whatever I want." Having grown up away from my family, I've always thought that to be exactly my life's philosophy."Priscila is always doing whatever she wants!” Sometimes, a praise. Sometimes, an accusation. But this was different. Because I love structure, I thrive in structure. I love the conquering of a structure. I make structure my b*tch. Crude? Yes. But it's exactly how it feels.Read More
Today, I unintentionally locked eyes with a dude who had been very intensely starring at my face the entire time we shared the sidewalk. I feel very small when I get stared down or cat-called. Frazzled, extremely anxious that my entire space is being invaded and I had no say in it. So you'll imagine my terror when I lock eyes with creepy-blue-eyes.
But then, as he's about to pass me- walking the opposite direction and mantaining eye contact- he makes a fart noise. A surprising, full on, Grown Man raspberry. Of course, I immediately "WTF, Dude"-ed him, but as we walked away I laughed, realizing it was pure genius!
I needed a new tool to handle my cat-calling distress. Telling people to f*ck off is getting old and makes me feel worse. So, should you get stared down while being your badd self, stare back, and give the fart noise a try. It's a great and simple way to disarm the patriarchy.
Thank you, creepy sidewalk man.