If you are a feminist and/or LGBTQ writer and would like to gain exposure on a lesbian feminist blog by submitting a guest article (either a fresh one, or one that you have lying around that could be cross-posted), the time is now!
ToughxCookies is now accepting guest submissions for October and November. See here for more information.
If you are a feminist and/or LGBTQ writer and would like to gain exposure on a lesbian feminist blog by submitting a guest article (either a fresh one, or one that you have lying around that could be cross-posted), the time is now!
ToughxCookies is now accepting guest submissions for September and October. See here for more information.
By Genine (blog)
Guest Contributor
Yes, women like nice guys. Guys also like nice women. For argument’s sake, everyone likes people who are nice. Aye, but here within lays the rub: nobody likes someone who’s pretending to be nice or uses it as a manipulative device to get their things to go their way. What makes a person the latter “nice guy” and not a genuine nice guy?
By Jenn Anderson
Staff Writer
She had been experiencing pain for a few days, but it wasn’t until the fourth day that it became unbearable. She arranged for a family member to watch the baby and went to the hospital. The nurses found her a bed and every once in a while checked back with her to gauge the level of pain she was experiencing. After three hours, one of the nurses offhandedly remarked, “If you were a guy, you’d already be in surgery.” Apparently, it is common knowledge between the nurses that many men who come in with pain don’t do well with having to wait and endure before being treated. Instead, they are very vocal about being in pain, and insistent that they be treated right away.
By Emma Jenkinson
Staff Writer
I am desperately trying not to become a sniveling heap of—well—desperate, at the moment. In the space of a month, a majority of my life collapsed in on me: someone I love died, I didn’t pass my degree (and have to now retake several exams for it), I failed at getting a job, and on top of that, my relationship petered out into nothing. This left me bursting into tears for nothing at all (or nothing that the naked eye could see), withdrawn, and mostly pathetic. I found myself sitting in my bedroom, back jammed into a corner, staring at the door, and crying.
By Melissa A. Fabello
Founder & Editor
“Well, can I ask you something, then?” She said it in a hushed tone, her eyes squinted. She was leaning down on the table on her forearms, and when she looked up at me, she had to do so over the rims of her glasses.
“Sure,” I said, taking a sip of my iced tea. I hadn’t put enough sugar in it.
“How do you attract women, then?”
By Maddie McClouskey
Staff Writer
Dear Marcus from the A Train,
First off, I’d like to say that I have never written a letter like this. Also, I truly hope this doesn’t read like a Craigslist “Missed Connection.” Anyway, thank you for hitting on me the way that you did.
By Samantha Wilson
Guest Contributor
By Emily Smith
Staff Writer
It’s safe to say that the mainstream media loves mannequins. Mannequins don’t have eyes, lips, or ears with which to function, or protest; rather, they are blank slates with the sole function of conveying an image. Women exhibit the image of a child-bearer, and virtually disappear from media and pop culture after their expiration dates – that is, menopause. Notably, only 26% of women on TV are over the age of forty.
Read more.
By Alicia Dillon
Staff Writer
For three years, I performed in a burlesque group. It was the time of my freakin’ life. I always bounced between insecurity and a desire to take the stage, and burlesque was the perfect avenue to use that desire and kick my insecurity right in the ass. You see, I was always chubby, and I never grew breasts. These two factors led me to believe my body was the opposite of sexy. I loved to watch burlesque; I was enamored with the extreme, retro, femme-y glamour, the vaudvillian performance aspects, and the bare ladyflesh that matched my preferences in a way mainstream media never would. I was thrilled when a burlesque troupe sprung up on campus. Granted, I was too terrified to audition, and I came in through the back door. I emceed my first show, proving to the troupe and myself that I could hack it onstage.
