We Don’t Care If You Like It

You guys! Hi! It’s been SO LONG!

I’ve missed you, you little rabble rousers, but I’ve been on an extended hiatus because I had a baby. WHAT. I know, right? Bananas. It would be easy to fill several blog posts talking about the insane magical pain cave of wonderment that is childbirth, but that’s for another day and another blog. Some kind of mommy blog. Maybe I’ll do a guest post on one of those someday.

Here and now at BC the topic is of course, as ever, Feminist Funtimes! It isn’t Friday, but did I mention I had a baby? We’re getting our funtimes when and where we can, people.

There’s a lot to cover, and in light of that I’ll keep my commentary to a (relative) minimum.

Firstly, I propose we make this our anthem for 2015. You don’t have to buy the t-shirt, but it couldn’t hurt. For those of you sillies who’ve not read Bossypants, here’s the excerpt where our new anthem originated.

I don’t give a fuck if you like it. – Amy Poehler

It is with Amy’s brilliant mic drop moment in mind that I head into 2015, and I encourage you all to do the same. Whether it’s in your art, your attitude, your daily life, or all of the above, slough off your need to please. Let other people worry about what’s “marketable” or “proper.” You have better things to do. If it feels right, fulfills you, and sets fire to your insides, then do it.*

(*essential lawsuit-avoiding disclaimer: as long as you’re not physically or emotionally damaging those around you)

Now that we’re all duly inspired, here’s a mishmash of feministy delights I’ve curated from the world wide web:

What is this show Outlander and why have I never heard of it? Are you guys watching it? Is it as good and femtastic as it looks?

I’ve always liked Leighton Meester (she’s adorable, has a weird-ass name, and was easily the best part of Gossip Girl), and now I get to love her even more for her no-nonsense quip on calling oneself a feminist.


New goal for 2015: write a screenplay focused on a group of sexy, accomplished women in their fifties, and no, Russell Crowe, I don’t give a fuck if you like it. I’m sorry I ever defended your “singing” in Les Miserables.

While we’re waiting for my sexy middle-aged lady movie to be written, produced, and released, we can watch this documentary! It’s from a while back, but still very relevant considering a dearth of progress regarding sexism in Tinseltown.

Lastly, and most importantly, a huge, rabble rousing THANK YOU to all of you, our darling readers. Our Beauty Coup data stats look better and better with each passing year, and we are ever so humbly grateful to all of you for your comments, questions, and support. In direct conflict with our 2015 mantra, we Do give a fuck if you like it, and it means ever so much to us that you keep coming back for more. Happy 2015!


Blogging While Jobbing is a Team Effort

Hello, readers! Gee, I’ve missed you. Hoping you’re still out there and as happy as I am to see RLB up and running again. Allow me to let you in on a thrilling new development……

Once upon a time I did not have full-time, regular employment. This was extremely convenient for life as a blogger. Time, time and more time were almost always on my side.

Nowadays I’ve realized that, in the wise words of Velma Kelly, I just can’t do it alone. Lucky for me, my bestie is Such. A Great. Writer. And smart as a whip! And she makes me laugh. Hence: Besties. In fact, she’s the bestest of besties because she has agreed to join the RLB team and reignite the former glory of this here blog. That’s right, glory. What other word is there for a blog that tells it like it is and aspires to help women everywhere feel f*ing spectacular about themselves? There is no other word. Glory.

Oh so very soon we will be posting Shannon’s first ever RLB editorial (Shannon aka Shan, S, Cacahuete – all appropriate names for said bestie), and you are really, really excited to read it. Trust.

Without further ado, here is Miss Shannon with a bit about herself:


About Shannon

In the words of a guy on the subway, “Girl, you are thick.” I sensed that he was qualifying this in his head: “Girl, you are thick – for a racially ambiguous person.”

Growing up, I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel about my looks – I didn’t see myself anywhere. Whenever my mom gave me a doll, it was sort of like, “Close enough.”

I saw a lot of girls trying really intensely to attain the perfect version of themselves that they saw all around them, but I could never become that, no matter how hard I tried. In this way, I was mostly able to reject the unattainable ideal, and thus moved on to working with what I got.

At present, I make peace with myself daily, and vow to not compare myself to others. When I find myself comparing myself to others, I sign out of Facebook and get on the subway, where I am reminded that I am thick, and that thick can be a good thing, brothers and sisters.

I encourage everyone else to do the same. I also encourage you to ask a little girl what she is reading and not about her dress.

The End of the Affair

About a month after I started my diet experiment, I have decided to stop tracking my calorie intake/output on a daily basis, and oh how the reasons abound….

1. I am at a healthy weight
The reality is that I was at a healthy weight when I started, but even the small adjustments I’ve made to my exercise habits and food consumption have resulted in extra fit and trim feelings. These habits, by the way, are not rocket science. Truth be told, I could have figured it out for myself (less alcohol, more protein and veggies, more workouts, less saturated fat…) but the calorie counter was helpful because it painted a very clear picture of how and why my body is affected by certain choices. I now see how this is an extremely helpful weight loss tool for people with grand goals and ambitions, and I raise a low-calorie smoothie in their honor.

Still, I don’t think I need to keep counting, and frankly I don’t want to. At least not every day. I really like the tool on workout days, because it gives me that Clear Picture of how I am doing right by my health, so I plan to still use it on those occasions. Otherwise, the lessons I’ve learned have given me a new awareness that I can access without the help of an app.

2. Food poisoning
Earlier this week I was struck down by food poisoning, and the days I have spent recovering and reacquainting myself with food gave me a lot of time to think. As the idea of food regained its appeal, I began to actually miss it. I missed food. More than ever, food and I have a spectacular relationship that I intend to cultivate and nurture for the rest of my life.

Paired with my new awareness of healthy choices, this renewed love of food brings me back to my standard way of living: the Snob Diet. I intend to be pickier than ever about where my food comes from, what’s in it, and its quality, substance, and flavor. And I don’t give a damn what other people have to say about that.

3. This Article
Remember how I opened up about my childhood struggles with weight? And how appalling it is to think about a child going through that crap at the tender age of nine? Well, this poor child is seven. SEVEN. The words she utters at the end of the article make me want to call CPS.

In the wrong context, Diet becomes a four letter word. The child, Bea, was plagued by the neurosis of her mother, Ms. Weiss, throughout a traumatic year of weight loss (all culminating in a shiny Vogue photo shoot, because skinny people get to be in magazines!) What’s even more frustrating is that Ms. Weiss initially set out to help her daughter lose weight through what looks like a really sound program – Red Light, Green Light, Eat Right is all about educating kids and empowering them to make their own healthy choices. Instead this monster mom turned Bea’s dieting experience into fat-phobic mania replete with public humiliations. Only time will tell if you’ve destroyed your child’s sense of self-worth? Pretty sure you won’t have to wait very long…

This woman’s hypocrisy is at the heart of why Bea is now a thin and miserable first grader. Ms. Weiss ignored (and by all accounts is still ignoring) one of the most classic tools of parenting: Teach by example. Ms. Weiss herself admits she was a terrible candidate to aid her daughter through a weight loss program, due to her own lifelong disgust with her body. If I could turn the clock back and cut mommy dearest off at the pass, what I would say to her is: Your child is seven years old. Time is on her side. Fix Yourself First. You can help her After you have succeeded in developing a healthy, positive relationship with yourself and your own body. The inverse will only result in disaster.

Sadly, I have no time machine and CPS doesn’t rescue children from well-to-do body shamers. But if I can’t help Bea, I can at least do my best to help the girls whose paths I do cross. By setting my own example of a healthy, vibrant relationship (dare I say… love affair?) with food, and living by principles of health and wellness, I hope to teach the girls I meet that what you look like is merely a result of genetics and how you choose to live. As for me, what I choose is love, gratitude, compassion, faith in myself, and exquisite, delicious food.

To Wit: My first-ever homemade chocolate soufflé. (It didn’t fall!)

So it’s been awhile since I’ve written, but a small series of events has demanded this post. Okay, two events. Related in my mind due to the following:

The other day I had a brief mini-meltdown about my physique. Nothing drastic, nothing debilitating, and sadly nothing new. It was one of those Just Started My Period So I Feel Like A Whale moments that you Know is an absurd moment but you have it anyway. And it left me wondering – yet again – Why? Why does this happen, without fail, at the very least once a month? I eat well, I exercise, and almost every other day I feel downright great about the way I look. I write a blog about positive body image, for goodness sake!

Then today I saw this post on Jezebel:


Really? Her PELVIS has been airbrushed away. How in the name of all that is good and decent is a woman supposed to avoid days of feeling like a bloated behemoth when already impossibly thin models are having their skeletons digitally altered? It’s laughable. It’s bad enough that certain mannequins and most Barbies wouldn’t be able to menstruate if they were live humans, but if the digital alteration of this woman were performed as an actual surgery, she’d be wheelchair bound at best.

Nice confidence builder.
So on that note, after the holidays I’ll be back with a vengeance.