![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() I read, and eventually wrote, for small, smart, special publications: Bitch Magazine, the Hairpin, Jezebel, the Toast. As a teenager in 2010, and a college student in the following years, the feminist blogosphere kept me company and lit fires in my belly. It felt good to be a little girlboss in training, and it felt good to be a feminist. I believed in the other boats, other faceless, nameless women, I’d raise with my tide. Excitingly, this wouldn’t only be a win for me, someone destined to become yet another white girl with a bachelor’s degree, but, because I was determined to shatter a glass ceiling or two, a win for all of feminism! I believed in work: in its ability to set me free. I went to excellent public K–12 public schools, where most kids’ families had more money than mine and the clearest route to overcoming my modest circumstances was being a star student, getting into a great college, and landing a prestigious and high-paying job. I was a precocious, lonely kid who loved to read and write - somebody already prone to think she’s the main character - and I dreamed of winning a Pulitzer Prize and escaping my parents, whichever came first. ![]()
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