You better listen to the radio…

A Review of Viktoria Minya Hedonist

Dear Reader:

While I am here in Africa, I have a surprising amount of time on my hands. First, this is the longest vacation (roughly two weeks) I think I've taken since at least 2009. Second, my lovely host Ashley has to work some of the time I am here. While eventually I will figure out my way around enough to go out on my own a little, today was only day three of my adventures, so I stuck close to home.

One of the things I brought with me was a hard drive full of music for Ashley to keep. In point of fact, I brought what probably represents about eighty-five percent of my entire music collection. If you know me, you already realize this is a lot of music (close to 70,000 songs). I brought a second drive in my bag, copied the files, and the former is staying with Ashley, leaving her comfortably soundtracked for the next few years while she is in Kigali on her fellowship. Given that the only radio we can really get is the Armed Forces Network, Ashley was desperately in need of this particular gift. Now my job is to meet her demands to set up playlists for her before I go. Such is the life of the traveling mixed cd specialist. FN1.

Right now, I am playing one of my personal Top Five, All-time, Desert Island albums, The Very Best of Elvis Costello and the Attractions. This album has remained on my top five list since I was nineteen, so I think it's safe to say it is never going away. FN2. If I were pressed to name the rest of the top five at this very moment, it would include: The Mountain Goats All Hail West Texas (though tomorrow I might say Tallahassee or The Sunset Tree); The Magnetic Fields 69 Love Songs; Lana Del Rey's Born to Die; and Neko Case Middle Cyclone. FN3.

Other things I overpacked: I think I have twelve different lipsticks, which was probably two more than needed; six pairs of shoes, which I think was acceptable but others might not (honestly, I wish I'd brought a few more); and of course, perfume.

I brought mostly samples with me, reasoning that now was a perfect time to work through some of my overwhelming backlog and get to some reviews. I know, I know. Even when we are far apart, dear reader, I am always thinking of you.

Aren't you lucky?

Today, I am wearing Viktoria Minya Hedonist because it seemed strangely in keeping with my blog themes of late. Luckyscent describes Hedonist as follows:

Remember when Rossano Brazzi sang “Some Enchanted Evening,” how he fell in love across a crowded room on a tropical Island? If you’ve ever want to be that girl that stops the party, this bold debut from Victoria Minya is your next must-have. The hedonist who wears this intoxicatingly sweet floral, loaded with ripe peaches and rum extract, is unquestionable a pleasure-seeker, but she also a lady. She’s the center of attention without raising her voice. She enters and heads turn.

In this perfect orchestration, peach melds with vanilla, osmanthus, jasmine and soft tobacco in a classic example of feminine flirtation, a beguiling expression of skin that wants to be touched. In presentation as well, the fragrance captivates. The handmade wooden box opens to reveal a beautifully crafted bottle filled with hundreds of Bohemian crystals that sparkle in the champagne colored liquid. Strikingly sensuous, wearing this will make you feel gorgeous, confident, and undeniably enchanting.

Notes: Rum, bergamot, peach, osmanthus absolute, jasmine absolute, orange flower absolute, tobacco, vanilla, cedarwood, vetiver

Tobacco, rum, vanilla, and osmanthus all run high in the opening. I get no bergamot, which I would definitely notice because it's one of those notes that rarely works for me. The peach is there, but not in a ripe fruit way. On me it's more like a flowering peach tree before the fruit begins to form.

In the dry down, I start to get more of a fruity peach element. I also get plenty of vetiver and some cedarwood, giving Hedonist a dry clean base that reminds me of the smell of a new suede jacket. It has that sort of texture to it, soft and smooth under your skin. This base still resides under the sweet top, though, which is neither entirely foodie or floral on me, but a sort of melded sugary scent. Later I get a tobacco that is more like raw news leaves than aged sweet ones, which adds an interesting dynamic to the middle. The end becomes gently sweet on me, more floral than food now, and resides close enough that I can only smell it when I press my nose to my skin, but that's after a full day's wear.

A lot of reviews of Hedonist commented on the complexity of this fragrance and I have to agree. There's a lot to be had in Hedonist, and it changes again and again as it wears. It's pretty, it's interesting, and it's a challenging scent. You have to be willing to engage and reengage to truly experience it. It's one of those I'd recommend a newer nose get a sample of, try, and then set aside for six months or a year to try again.

As purple as the prose of the scent description is, I will agree with Luckyscent on at least one point – it is definitely a presentation of skin that wants to be touched. This is a pretty sexy perfume. Hedonist, as presented, is decidedly feminine. I doubt there are a lot of men who want to smell this starkly sweet because Americans just don't think of sugary as being particularly male. That said, on the right man, it might be completely beautiful. This is, once again, one of those times when I want to wait until David falls asleep and test things on him unawares. FN4.

Since I'm using a wand sample I can't give you a good sense of sillage, but I'd bet it would be on the higher side. In terms of longevity, it was still hanging around close to the skin almost twelve hours in, so that's a big plus if you want to wear something for the whole day. When I woke up, a good eighteen hours after application, there was still a tiny hint of it on my skin. That's some seriously high quality perfume.

Hedonist is available in a 45ml for a whooping $210. Now let's be frank: that is steep. That is By Kilian levels of steep. There is very little I am going to pony up for at that price point, and this would not be at the top of my list (again, see By Kilian or some of Ayala Moriel's more expensive parfum). That said, it's a complicated lovely scent and if you find it to be your Holy Grail of some category or another, it might be worth shelling out the big bucks for this one. My recommendation is to try a sample to make sure you love it before you buy.

Want more? Try:
~ a review from The Non-Blonde
~ a review from Kafkaesque
~ a review from The Candy Perfume Boy
~ a review from Perfume Shrine
~ a review from Epiphany
~ a review from Ca Fleure Bon

Some of my friends sit around every evening
and they worry about the times ahead,
while everybody else is overwhelmed by indifference
and the promise of an early bed.
You either shut up or get cut out
they don't wanna hear about it –
so many inches on the reel to reel.
And the radio is in the hands of such a lot of fools
trying to anesthetize the way that you feel.
~ “Radio,” Elvis Costello and the Attractions
___________
FN1. I would like to also note, as a tiny ego stroke to myself, that Ashley carted the mixed CDs I have made her over the years all the way to Africa! Yep. That's right. My mix cds are not to be trifled with. FN2. Breese, if you're reading this, I will thank you again for your excellent taste in music. I doubt any other single person has added as substantively to my musical preferences as you have. And yes, Talking Heads' Sand in the Vaseline would have been my sixth choice, and often makes the top five even to this day. <grin>
FN3. For those of you long time readers who cannot believe that Tori Amos, Aimee Mann, Ani DiFranco, or any other number of women (Lucinda Williams, Brandi Carlile, Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, The Pretenders, Joan Jett, Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, I really could go on and on) have all been bumped from this list – sorry. These are the albums that I can't imagine living without right now. It is entirely like I will wake up feeling differently tomorrow. The truth is, Elvis Costello is probably the artist I have been most loyal to over the years. It's just a fact. That Very Best Of album never fails to make the list.
FN4. For the record, I have never done this, but I always want to. The fact that he wears a lot of sandalwood makes me always want to try super sweet scents like this on him when he's not looking.

That's some crazy strength.

Neko Case has a new album out. I love her, so I bought the album the day it was released. The next morning, I was playing it as I got ready for work. All of the sudden, track six, “Nearly Midnight, Honolulu” came on, layers of a cappella singing ringing round the tile and mirrored room.

Hey, little kid that I saw at the bus stop one day.
It was nearly midnight in Honolulu.
We were waiting for the shuttle to take us to the aeroplane
when your mother said, your mother said,
like I couldn't hear her, she said,
"Get the fuck away from me!
Why don't you ever shut up?
Get the fuck away from me!"

I was struck silent and still by these lines. There was something so painful and familiar about those words. I can't remember if those exact words were ever said of me. I'm missing a lot of time. But I know the sentiment was there, often enough, in both my parents, when I was a kid.

Recently, I was talking with someone who seemed not to understand what it means to be haunted, literally, by your own past. To be stalked through your dreams by loved ones trying to kill you, reliving moments that are like something out of a scripted nightmare or a gritty after-school special. Even today, I live with a hyper-vigilance, and it isn't against my triggers anymore as much as it is against myself.

I am constantly afraid of my own body, of the way a song or TV show will cause my breathing to catch or my hands to shake or my body to shudder out of control. In that moment, my own nervous system will betray the cool, calm, collected professional exterior I manage ninety-nine percent of the time and I won't even be able to breath, tears rushing down my face and words I don't want to say aloud tumbling from my mouth. I can't stop it when it happens. I have to just sit there until I calm down. Sometimes it takes a while. And the whole time, I wish for nothing more than for it to stop.

I live with the constant fear that this will happen in public. That it will happen in a movie theater. In a restaurant. At work. I am sitting in a coffee shop in Nashville right now, and as I write this to you, I am crying. I wonder what the lady sitting across the table from me thinks of the tears I can't contain as I write this.

Well, I just want to say that it happened,
'cause one day when you ask yourself,
"Did it really happen?"
You won't believe it, but yes, it did.
And I'm sorry.
And I'm sorry
'cause it happens everyday.

There is a tendency, particularly in people complicit in abuse by their silence, by their ignorance, or by their reluctance to intervene, to deny its reality. Though they are doing what is natural, protecting themselves from the brutality of the world, their denial gives them a role in that abuse. They contribute to its perpetration, its perpetuation, its prevalence in the lives of otherwise bright and hopeful beings, sometimes long after the abuse has ended.

This denial of what has happened has a tendency to eat away at survivors. Our abusers are already skilled at crazy-making, brilliant liars and manipulators whose strength depends on communal silence in the face of horror and our isolation as victims. It takes a lot to admit what has happened to us. Our abusers condition us to keep our mouths shut, to deny it if asked, and society furthers that effect by its tendency to ignore and marginalize. That those around us, even years later, will minimize, deny, or otherwise ignore the truth of our past compounds that pain, makes it difficult for us to name the ghosts in our heads, in our hearts, even after we've long since accepted and acknowledged the truth of them.

They won't believe you
when you tell them.
They won't believe you
when you say, "My mother, she did not love me.
My mother, she did not love me."
No, no, no, no.
No, no, no, no.

If you are ever confronted with a survivor, do us a favor. Don't pretend it didn't happen. It happened. You don't have to like it, or like your role in it, but don't pretend it didn't.

Also, don't pretend you know what we've been through. If I've learned anything from my own abuse, it is that this kind of horror is deeply personal. Even two people – a mother and child, a brother and a sister – experiencing the same abuse, won't experience it the same way. Don't assume that your pain looks or feels like what ours looks like.

Just accept what we tell you. Say it's horrible. Say you're sorry it happened. Say you're proud of who we are now. But don't deny us, or say you know how we feel.

You don't.

And I, for one, am glad you don't. I wouldn't wish my bad days and terrible nights on you. I don't want this kind of suffering for anyone.

Some days you feel like a cartoon
and people will rush to make excuses for you.
You'll hear yourself complain
but don't you ever shut up; please,
Kid, have your say...

I recently dropped something about being an abuse survivor in passing conversation to someone I thought already knew my backstory. We've known each other for the better part of a year now, and I just assumed it had come up already. When I realized I'd just dropped a bomb, I gave him the shorthand run down. “I had no idea,” he said. “I would have never guessed any of that.”

I hear that a lot. When I left the DV unit at the DA's office, I sent out a thank you to everyone in my department. I'd been there for over nine months and I'd never told most of them. When I wrote that they'd helped me heal and that I wanted them to know that there was at least one survivor who saw how committed they were, how hard they worked, how much they tried, and was grateful, some of them were shocked. “We didn't know,” one said, surprised etched across his serious face. “We had no idea.”

Of course not. You'd never know it to meet me. You can know me for months and months, maybe even years, and never know. Not anymore. I'm glad of that. I'm glad that you can't always tell just by looking anymore. But just because you can't see it, that doesn't make it any more or less true.

The friend I told recently speculated in passing that being survivor had shaped my feminism. “Of course,” I said. “How could it not?” Truthfully, though, it shapes everything. I don't always say that it does, but I know in my heart of hearts, the experience is indelibly imprinted on who I am and how I see the world as much as those unseen bruises used to be.

I've occasionally run into people who are curious as to why I would ever tell anyone, especially when I can hide it if I choose. They ask: “Aren't you passed it?” and “Don't you want to be passed it?” and “Aren't you worried that continuing to talk about it continues to allow it to victimize you?”

No.

God, yes.

Absolutely not.

The truth is, I can be healthy. I can be happy. I can be a functional, contributing member of society. I can be, by any measure of the word, a success in life. But I will also always be a survivor. I will never stop being a survivor. And there are a lot of us out there. I have lost count of the amount of my smart, successful, educated friends, most of them women, who are all those things despite being abused and assaulted by someone they believed was safe and trustworthy, someone who was supposed to care for them. I can tell you that when I tote up their numbers, the survivors outweigh those that aren't, and that's just the ones I know about.

The truth is, we are all around you, every day, and you may never know it. And as an adult with a happy life and a healthy relationship, I write these pieces because I know how scared I used to be of my own voice. I know how many people ignored all my not-very-subtle cries for help. I know, from working with survivors first-hand, how many of them feel like I used to: feel crazy, feel ignored, feel like no one will listen, and even if they do, that they still won't believe.

I am an educated, upwardly mobile, full-abled, cis-gendered, relatively young, relatively attractive white woman in the first world. I live in a privilege position now, socially speaking, and talking about my experiences is one of the ways I take what happened to me and I make something good out of it. I speak for those who right now cannot speak for themselves. I speak for those who are still too afraid to. I speak so that we are not invisible, and in the hopes that someone else will hear me and know they are not alone. That they know they will be believed if they talk to me. That I am here, and I can help. That they can get through it and get past it and make something fine from their lives.

Every time I do this, I don't feel revictimized. I feel empowered. I feel my own strength. And those ghostly shadows in my life grow a little smaller compared to the truth of what was then and what is now. And by talking about it, I also acknowledge the ways in which I am still a work in progress, and the areas I still have to work on. It keeps me humble. It reminds me that there are still miles to go. And, I've found, far more people believe me than I ever would have imagined. Far more people love me despite my flaws and my fears and my demons than the abused little kid I once was ever would have believed. In acknowledging the truth, I find acceptance. I find a kind of peace.

'Cause I still love you
Even if I don't see you again.

“That's some crazy strength,” my friend concluded when I had finished telling him my story.

“Yep,” I replied, because that's the truth.

That's some crazy strength.

Every survivor I know has it, whether we feel it every day or not. I have it. You have it. And we are successful despite everything that has happened. That is our true secret superpower. We are not defeated, and every day that we get up and keep going, we are demonstrating a kind of super-human strength.

So if you're reading this, and you feel alone, or broken, or lost, know this: It really happened. It may still be happening. But you are a superhero. Every day that you go on breathing in spite of it, you are a success. You can get out. And, in spite of it, you will be okay. Even when you're not. You will still be okay.

Because I believe in you.

And I did it.

And you can, too.

And I love you
even if I don't see you again.

BREAKING NEWS! Emergency Posting in Response to Developments in The Lizzie Bennet Dairies

{SPOILER WARNING! If you are just starting/have not yet started The Lizzie Bennet Diaries follow NO LINKS.  NONE OF THEM.  Start at the beginning, right here. For the rest of you, read on.}

Dear Reader:

I must interrupt this week's run of plague-related musings to bring THIS EMERGENCY UPDATE wherein I share, in GIF form, my reactions to yesterday and today's developments in The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, generally relating to the rogue known as George Wickham and his dealings with the totes adorbes Lydia Bennet, aka THE LY DEEE YAAAH!

Here, in graphic form, are my various stages of coping with the wickedness of Wickham following yesterday's reveal:

THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING!

SERIOUSLY? IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?

And then while externally I am doing this...

...so my housemates don't realize I am genuinely unhinged

 over the twists in a story I already know the cannonical ending of, inside? 

I feel like this...

...which quickly becomes this...

...and also this....

So then I turn to my other LBD fans for comfort.

And they help me...or at least, they try.  

But really? We're all SIMULTANEOUSLY 

FREAKING THE F*** OUT...

...so it ends up being more like this.

At times like this, there's only one thing left to do:

And when it comes to saving Lydia, we all know who we need:

Though is this particular case it's more like...

And when I remember to have faith in Darcy, I feel like this.

And there you have it!  All the stages of my Lydia/Wickham-related freak out.

But remember ladies, here in the really real world, don't be too swept up in your Darcy-worshipping. Instead, keep these fine words from The Doubleclicks (aka my college friend Angela and her talented sister Aubrey) in mind when deciding whether the boys of your current daydreams has the good Darcy qualities or the....less ideal ones:

(Ed. note: Apparently when I am emotionally unhinged, I cannot spell the word 'diaries.' Fixed now.)

Observe the blood, the rose tattoo, of the finger prints on me from you.

Aftelier Perfumes Wild Roses EdP

Dear reader:

I am currently captivated by a song called "Marlene On the Wall." Suzanne Vega wrote it about a poster of Marlene Dietrich she kept on her bedroom wall, and what Marlene might think of Vega's life if Marlene could talk. It is an intriguing song about the elegant and coldly beautiful Dietrich's observation of Vega being her own worst enemy in love:

Marlene watches from the wall.
Her mocking smile says it all
as she records the rise and fall
of every soldier passing.
The only soldier now is me.
I'm fighting things I cannot see.
I think it's called my destiny
that I am changing.

The song is about a woman with serious trust issues, a woman who's inability to connect is makes it impossible to know when/if she's met someone she can really trust. Though she seems to be breaking out of this pattern, it is unclear how that will effect her current relationship. I've listened to the song more than a dozen times, and I settled on two different and conflicting meanings.

In the one sense, Vega seems to be unable to reach beyond her own boundaries, the walls she constructs for emotional safety, to reach a deeper connection. The song seems to ask if she will be able to muster to the courage to be vulnerable with her current paramour, to allow him to reach into the heart of her, not keep him at arm's length.

My second reading is of a woman who cannot break out of a bad pattern with a man she loves, but whom she remains in a self-destructive loop with. Whether that loop is one she repeats with different men who are all lacking in the same specific way or the same man she can't break free of seems ambiguous. The point is that, whomever the soldier(s) is/are, he is interested in Vega for her body only, and Vega cannot keep herself from falling into bed with a man/men who have no interest in her beyond what he/they can get from her physically.

I love the tension in the song. Will she be able to love? Will she think well enough of herself to demand love in return? If she is changing, is it for good or for ill? The narrative arch, left unresolved, allows the song to contain both hope and hopelessness in tension, both the bitterness of betrayal and the disappointing knowledge that one has allowed oneself to lose something potentially stunning out of fear.

I also enjoy the (admittedly mildly) feminist overtones I find lurking in the text.

"Don't give away the goods too soon," is what she might have told me.

I consider myself a sex positive feminist. I generally think that talking about sex clearly with your partner is good, that reproductive freedoms are fundamental, and that shaming people around sex is counterproductive to health and safety. At the same time, I think it's worth admitting that, emotionally and physically, we have a tendency to give ourselves away sometimes thoughtlessly to people who neither respect or deserve what we have to offer. I think women in general are often inclined to do this for a variety of reasons that revolve around the historical commodification of women's bodies, mass media messages about beauty image that are anathema to self-esteem, and competing messages about the value of virginity and the desirability of sexual prowess. There is something to be said for thinking highly enough of yourself to believe - regardless of whether this is your first, fifteenth, or fiftieth partner - that you are worth of love, attention, admiration and respect on your own terms. Virginity isn't magical, but human intimacy is a valuable experience, and not one worth wasting, as Laini Taylor's surrogate father Wishbone so accurately puts it in the terrific YA novel Daughter of Smoke and Bone, on "inconsequential penises." Or inconsequential partners, for that matter.

I like the idea that Marlene Dietrich, if she could talk to Suzanne Vega, would tell her, "if he's using you, don't give in, or at least have the good sense to be aware of what he's using you for." I always think of it as the Norma Jean approach to navigating the sexual pitfalls of modern pop culture commodification. You only have two options: don't play at all, or decide what you want to get out of it and play on your own terms. While I find it odious that the world constantly decides a woman's value based, at least in part, on sex appeal, I have a hard time telling the girl who would be Marilyn that she's a sell out for attempting to harass her own sexual agency for benefit and profit. Instead, I'd rather tell her to keep in mind that you have to know what your giving and what you're getting in return, and you better be sure it's worth it it in the end. Also, stay away from the Kennedys.

What does all this have to do with Mandy Aftel's new perfume, Wild Roses, well, in my mind, a lot actually.

If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times: I love rose scents. Roses and vanillas are the two kinds of scents you can almost bank on my running toward. As a result, I've smelled a lot of roses on the market at a lot of different price points, from low dollar minis of Demeter Fragrances Pruning Sheers to L'Artisan Voleur de Roses and Drole de Rose to niche scents like Teo Cabanel Oha, Agent Provocateur EdP, and Juliette Has a Gun Lady Vengeance to true independents like DHS Perfumes Beach Roses and the now sadly defunct American Beauty. And that's just naming the ones I can think of off the top of my head. Name a rosy category -- patchouli roses, dirty roses, leather roses, powdery roses, realistic roses -- and I've probably got a fav or two.

So when I tell you Mandy Aftel has created in Wild Roses an inventive take on the rose that might merit the creation of a new subcategory, it's worth taking note. Aftelier Perfumes describes Wild Roses as follows:

I wanted to capture in perfume the experience of walking around my garden and smelling each rose, as their perfumes blended in my nose. Wild Roses perfume evokes the garden in our imagination and memory -- the book of a hundred petals unfolding: balsamic, spicy, apricot, and honeyed roses, mixed with the smell of warm earth and herbs.

The apricot-rose heart is perfectly rooted in a base of tarragon absolute -- its herbal round anise aroma giving a nuance of both earth and leaves. The balsamic vanilla absolute and the whiskey-ness of aged patchouli support tarragon’s warm, powdery aspect. Indole contributes the almost animal aspect of ripeness in a rose. The heart is punctuated by pimento berry, lending its nuances of clove, ginger, and cinnamon. The candied-orange flower aroma of methyl methyl anthranilate, the soft powdery floral of heliotropin, and the slightly floral citrus of bergamot contribute a modern freshness to the opening.

Top: rose CO2, heliotropin, bergamot, geraniol, m-methyl anthranilate, damascenone.
Heart: apricot, Turkish rose absolute, pimento berry, p-ethyl alcohol, rose petals attar.
Base: tarragon absolute, vanilla absolute, indole, aged patchouli.

Upon application, Wild Roses is a sweet, dark cocktail of rose petals swirling in a sweet berry liqueur and strong shot of vodka. Slightly stringent or medicinal, this largely candied opening slides across the olfactory palette like a good drink or a terrible poison, the kind one imagine was concocted by a dark Queen with a serious grudge. It is a kind of biting sweetness, a traditional beauty that cuts, the thorn of the proverbial rose that, pricking a finger, sends one off to a dark sleep. As it ages on the skin, the medicinal aspect fades, leaving a berry-oriented jammy rose.

Wild Roses has a realistic quality, but clearly isn't meant to be exactly like a smelling a rose. It's more wearable than sticking a bloom in your hair. It's a rose plus a sweetness that draws you closer so it can take a bite. It manages to be both pretty, strong, alluring, and vulnerable, but without the direct sexiness of a patchouli rose or the delicate femininity of a powdered rose. 

Lots of terrific samples!

And the reason I told you that whole thing about Suzanne Vega and her Marlene Dietrich poster and my general sex positivity being tempered with a desire that we simultaneously promote sex respect is this: Every time I tried Wild Roses, I heard the song in my head. I imagined this vulnerable woman acting tough and trying to protect herself from being hurt and acting like she doesn't care when she really does, and this is what she smells like.

Beautiful. Vulnerable. Strong.

It's a heartbreakingly lovely audiolfactory experience.

So let's all welcome the new world of the candied rose! It's decidedly worth trying. Wild Roses EDP is available direct from the perfumer in 30ml for $170. Samples can be purchased $6.

And even if I am in love with you,
all this to say:
What's it to you?
Observe the blood, the rose tattoo,
of the finger prints on me from you....

Other evidence has shown
that you and I are still alone.
We skirt around the danger zone
and don't talk about it here.

I tried so hard to resist
when you held me in your handsome fist
and reminded me of the night we kissed
and why I should be leaving.
Marlene on the wall...

___________________
In the interests of full disclosure: this perfume sample was provided by the perfumer.

Sunday Night Sad Bastard Music

Jessica Lea Mayfield Edition

No new blog today as I am in the midst of NaNoWriMo and trying to catch up, but you can expect some postage later this week.  I'm thinking -- a little perfume writing, a little holiday shopping recommendations, a little music, and of course, a little pop culture feminist critique, because this is Feminine Things, dear reader, and you know I cannot help myself. <g>

I'll probably also write something about writing itself at some point in the next month or two. Until I grace you with my multitude of ramblings, however, enjoy the beautiful darkness of this song, from the AH-MAZING 2011 album from Jessica Lea Mayfield, Tell Me. I'm mildly obsessed with it right now. If you don't have it, and you are feeling impulse shop-y, grab this while you're at it.  You won't be sorry.

Hate has brought me up the stairs into your house.
I will not let hate 
be the one to make me naked for you.
My self-esteem is heating up the room.
You're intimidating as all hell, 
but I ain't scared of you.

I know how you work;
I am just like you.
No matter what you say, 
our hearts are wrong.
Our hearts are wrong.

Love has brought me down 
like love's been known to do.
I try to deny with all my heart 
that I'm in love with you.

"I don't really care."
You knew that's what I'd say.
The only time I miss you is every single day.

I know how you work;
I am just like you.
No matter what you say, 
our hearts are wrong.
Our hearts are wrong.

~ Our Hearts are Wrong," Jessica Lea Mayfield

Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn...

On moving, the Aurora, Colorado shooting, and DSH Perfumes Vanille Botanique

Dear reader:

This is a three-part post. It is long. (What can I say? I missed you!)  Feel free to skip ahead to the perfume if you want. Everyone else, hang on, and remember: keep your arms and legs inside the car at all time. <g>

Part One: On Moving.

That's great! It starts with an earth quake, birds and snakes and airplanes. Lenny Bruce is not afraid.
~ "It's The End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)," R.E.M.

My old original LC mail box!
Goodbye forever!

Rejoice and glad tidings, for I have a place to live! For those of you who know nothing about the Portland real estate market, let me tell you a harrowing tale of a town where young people come to retire, no one wants to buy, and the rental market is a brutal, awful place. Luckily, David and I found a lovely house with a week to spare. We have to be off campus on August 1, so we are in the midst of a massive move. Like everything else in the new economy, we found the house through friends, and we are living with friends because (1) he's starting school so we could use the rental discount, and (2) after being in a fishbowl, we would probably die if suddenly we were locked in a room with just each other day in, day out after a decade of constant visits from friends. We need some transition time.

We are moving into a lovely one and a half story. We have a deck. We have fruit trees (green apple, plum). We have a fireplace, dishwasher, and a clothes washer/dryer of our own. There are flowerbeds for me to plant and walls for me to decorate and at the holidays, I can actually put up decorations people can see. I will finally be able to get a welcome mat.

Moving is tiring...

Group house or not, I feel awfully grown-up all the sudden. FN1. It's not quite how I imagined my life as a kid. I mean, I remember my parents when they were my age, and I am still a lot less 'grown-up' than they were at the time. But I'm a lot happier and my life is full of good friends and laughter and love, so as far as I'm concerned, I ended up in a much better place than the place I thought I wanted to be.

Hmmmm. I believe there's an Amanda Palmer song in there somewhere. FN2. That's appropriate, since I saw her last weekend. It was a small venue show to raise money Literacy Bridge, an organization that provides a "talking book" to help spread educational programming in Africa (best practices for pre/post-natal care, subsistence farming, etc.). The whole thing was terrific, especially the cause involved. The tickets were a belated birthday present from El Hubs, and it was a great night/gift and our local friends, The Doubleclicks, were the opener.

Part Two: On The Aurora, Colorado shooting.

"Sometimes I feel like I can't even sing. I'm very scared for this world."
~ "You are Everything," R.E.M.

Before I get to the perfume in this post (and yes, I'll eventually get there), I wanted to say a few words about the Aurora, Colorado shootings. I bring this up in part because Amanda talked about it a lot at the show, and also because I'd be thinking about it regardless.

Depending on how you count, this is the fifth, sixth, or hundred and twelfth mass shooting since Columbine. FN3. FN4. I know we spend a lot of time on the "why?," but if we are trying to figure out what makes someone crazy and destructive, while that question is worth exploring, it is probably besides the point. There have always been and will always be crazy people, destructive people, people who are not satisfied with killing themselves and want to take others with them. Why would they hurt others and/or hurt themselves? There are socio-cultural debates about the state of mental health care, hopelessness and disconnection in the digital millennium, and the fetishization of violence that we could talk about for hours. Me? I just keep hearing, "I Don't Like Mondays" in my head. Stupid, but true.

Ukuleles save lives!

We keep asking these questions because we all want answers. We want a solution, something that makes us feel safer and helps the world make a little more sense. We want to feel like there is something we can do, actively do, that gives us back our power over the insanity of the world. I get that, too. I feel it as much as the next person.

The question is: what concrete thing can you and I do to make a difference?

When you sit and ask yourself, "Why is this happening so much now? Why is the impact so much larger now than when people went crazy in the past?", I think we all have to own the fact that the proliferation of guns, specifically automatic and semi-automatic guns, is 80% of the answer. I'm not saying someone can't do a lot of damage without one six round revolver, but if you want to know why the number of injured and dead keeps going up and up, I think we all see this is a huge part of the problem.

Now, I am not anti-gun. Yes, you read that right. Not against personal gun ownership. Given my general leftie swerve, this probably surprises many of you. Part of it is my upbringing, as I was raised in a world where every man I knew was a cop, or in the military or a sport hunter or a combination thereof. In my mind, it felt like gun ownership was something that came with adulthood, like getting a driver's license or drinking alcohol. Grown-ups had guns. All of them. FN5. My house came replete with a plethora of guns, including an AR-15, one other guns we know was used in Aurora.

This assault rifle, which had *no business* in my suburban home for a lot of reasons, was used throughout most of my life to prop up a fan next to my parents bed so the fan blew directly on my father while he slept. "Be careful getting out of bed on that side," they'd tell John and I, "there's a gun over there." John and I were raised with what I believe was a healthy if somewhat non-specific fear of guns, taught to think of them with the same kind of fear one treats a poisonous snake; it lives over there, stay away and don't even come close to it, it could kill you if you touch it.

The result of this upbringing is: I know how to shoot a gun. I do not own or carry one, but if I felt compelled to, I'd be fine with it. David doesn't have a gun, but it would not have been a barrier to our relationship if he had. Having a gun in a home doesn't scare me or worry me; I just don't really see the reason to have one. I don't need it for work, like most of the people I grew up with, and I'm not interested in sport hunting, like the rest of the people I grew up with, because I have other hobbies. In my mind, a gun is a tool for a specific purpose, and since my life does not contain such a purpose, it doesn't contain a gun. If that were to change, I'd be fine with it.

So when I tell you that the solution is the complete ban on the sale of some weapons to the general population, I need you to understand that it has nothing to do with me hating guns or wanting to take your guns. When I tell you that background checks and gun control laws and waiting periods are the key to a better world, it is not because I am some knee-jerk reactionary hater when it comes to guns. I just generally believe that it should not be easier for me to go buy a gun than it is to buy Sudafed. I believe those who have a documentable propensity toward violence or mental instability do not need 24/7 immediate access to fast-firing, high volume weaponry.

This doesn't seem like a political issue to me. It seems like common sense. It has become a political issue because gun manufacturers have a lot of money and they know how and where to spend it. We have ways to fight them, though. It's our vote. Politicians don't like being laid off any more than the next person. If you believe in gun control, tell you elected representatives that this issue matters to you and will be an issue you follow when it comes to their donations and voting record. You can find out who your reps are here (Fed and State), and check their voting records on any issue here (Fed) and get their record as it relates to gun control (and any other issue) through their organization report cards here. Your voice does matter, and let's face it: all the money in the world can't save a politician we choose not to vote for.

Though I don't think Jim Morrison meant it quite this way, I am reminded in this moment: "They've got the guns but we've got the numbers." Or, to put it another way, "I believe in peace, bitch." Thanks, Tori Amos. You always know how to say what I'm feeling with a twisted flair.

We need more gun control. More guns will not result in less violence. And for anyone who thinks armed civilians in the theatre could have stopped this incident, I will only note the following: 1. the theater had a sign up telling gun owners to leave their weapons in their cars, so any law abiding citizen would have been unarmed anyway; (2) two members of the military were shot and killed in the incident. All the training in the world, including how to avoid live fire, isn't going to save you in a crowded, smokey stampede; (3) even the best trained people will struggle with a surprise attack requiring a response that includes accurate shooting in a moving crowd in a smoke filled room. More guns would have meant more people shot. Again, we're not talking about rocket science. This isn't a movie; it's real life. Common sense says more shooters, no matter how well trained, experienced, and/or armed they were, would have meant more wounded, more dead.

The answer isn't more guns. It's fewer guns.

Well, that was decidedly non-perfumey, wasn't it? So let's talk about what I'm wearing right now.

Part Three: A Review of DSH Perfumes Vanille Botanique, aka "Dear gods in the ether, where have you been all my life?"

The world is collapsing around our ears. I turned up the radio but I can't hear it..."
~ "Radio Song," R.E.M.

As we make our move today, I am currently sporting Dawn Spencer Hurwitz's Vanille Botanique, a 100% botanical designed for Indiescents. DSH Perfumes describes it as:

Vanille Botanique is a luscious, balsamic vanilla in the classical style. A soft jasmine heart and bergamot top note balance and round out the bouquet. Such deliciousness! 

Top notes: Bergamot, Lemon, Rosewood (bois de rose)
Middle notes: Bulgarian Rose Absolute, French Beeswax, Grandiflorum Jasmine
Base notes: Australian Sandalwood, Buddahwood, Civet, Labdanum, Peru Balsam, Siam Benzoin, Tahitian Vanilla, Tolu Balsam, Vanilla Absolute

Indiescents' description adds the following: "Rich, decadent vintage style vanilla perfume; all botanical. Subtle citrus in the top, warm, sensuous florals mixed with rich gourmand notes in the heart and luxurious base of balsams, resins and of course vanilla."

So now we have the perfumer's description, some notes, and some ad copy, let's talk vanilla perfume for a second, shall we? Lots of houses make vanilla perfume. It's, ummmmm, how do I say this....abundant almost to the point of being unwieldy. People love the way baked goods and old books and sweet cocktails smell, and every tom, dick, and bath and body place in the mall will tell you that this or that vanilla is a well-paced selling standard for them. I think most fragrance and flavor companies would bear me out when I tell you that vanilla/vanillin, real or synthetic, is a primary note available in abundance.

Because of that, it's a crowded field out there -- good, bad, and ugly. So I'll tell you right now that are already a number of good vanillas to be had. My personal favs are, in no particular order: Annick Goutal Vanille Exquise, Atelier Cologne Vanille Incenseé, Guerlain Spiritueuse Double Vanille, L'Artisan Vanilia. I am happy to report Dawn Spencer Hurwitz has once again found a way to seperate me from my hard earned dough with Vanille Botanique, which will round out my All-Time, Top Five Des(se)rt Island vanilla scents. Releasing at Number Five, with a bullet.

Why am I so quick to proclaims its supremacy? In keeping with the theme, here are my top five reasons.

1. Vanille Botanique is so warm! Vanille Botanique is almost a hot scent on my skin. It works the way I'd expect a hot pepper taste to translate into perfume. It rises in smexy wafts from my arm in a way that is decidedly unfoodie. I bet it's the civet in the base that's making me feel all ha-cha-cha about it, but about a half hour in -- wow, do I want to have sex wearing this perfume. (There, I said it). It smells the way I'd write a scene with people licking vanilla frosting off each other. I know, I know. You're taken aback by my frank dirtiness, but there it is. What can I say? I learned it by reading you, Chandler Burr.

Spray sample from Indiescents.
GET ONE TODAY!

2. Vanille Botanique is strong. I mean this in a good way. Not like, "Hi, I'm here to knock you down with my perfume," but more, "Who was that masked woman leaving a terrific scent wake behind her!?!" When it comes to Vanille Botanique, a little dab (or spray) will do you; the scent keeps blooming. Vanille Botanique is a scent that will love you for a long time (seriously, why am I being so dirty!?!), and for me that makes the price point totally worth it. I'll buy a bottle and it will last me forever. FN6.

3. In no way does Vanille Botanique smell fake. There are so many vanillas out there that smell like cleaner, or bathroom spray, or cheap candle, or floor wax. This is definitively not one of them. It smells beautifully natural, and if you were trying to sell me on the differences/purposes/superiority of pure botanicals, this would be a good scent to point to.

4. Vanille  Botanique is vanilla, yes, but so much more. It's not foodie. I can't believe it is so strongly vanilla and I do not get food at all. No candy, no cocktail, no baked goods. It's -- dare I say it? -- floral, but without being very green, like L'Artisan Vanilia is. The opening is lemons and roses and vanilla bean pod skins, not something to put into food and drink. It is more something I'd expect to get from a beautiful floral centerpiece. The middle is dry and light, without being angular and open like Vanille Incenseé. Some aspects as almost...I don't want to say soapy because it has potentially negative connotations, but yes, soapy. This is not the vanilla of your local bakery or your mom's kitchen, and even if you think it is, I challenge you to smell deeper, because there is simply something more about Vanille Botanique.

5. Vanille Botanique is the vanilla you've been searching for. If you're one of those people who always tries a vanilla, especially ones that get continually high praise, and think, "This is close to what I want, but not exactly what I was looking for," I bet this is your huckleberry. It is just so damned beautiful that I keep thinking, "How did I not know I wanted this?" But that's the truth. As someone who loves vanillas and tries them at all price points and in lots of forms, I didn't even know vanilla could smell like this -- dirty and hot and sexy, of earth and sweat and skin and very much alive. Perfume is amazing that way, isn't it?  You think you know what there is to know about a thing and then, bam! A whole new world opens up.

Bottom line? Get some DSH Perfumes Vanille Botanique. It's terrific.

Five Nods. No question.

Vanille Botanique sells from Indiescents at 30ml for $130.00. You can also get samples there. You can also go straight to DSH Perfumes, where the scent is available as a body wash, shea butter body cream, body lotion, massage oil, a water-based spray concentrate, and in a couple of EdP sizes.

Want more? Try....
~ a review from Perfume Pharmer
~ a review from *jen at This Blog Really Stinks!
~ a review from CaFleureBon
~ a review from Victoria at EauMG
~ a review from Trish Vawter in The Perfume Magazine

______________________
F1. Also all our roommates are 26 or older, so this isn't your typical college-aged group house.

FN2. Video of said song...





FN3. I seriously do not understand how people can remember Columbine, Virgina Tech, Congresswoman Giffords, and Batman, but somehow forget that time a woman-hating lunatic used three guns to shoot up an LA Fitness in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I think it is because only three people died and nine were wounded, because otherwise it was an equally terrifying attack on a benign public location where people generally do not expect to be attacked and believe they are safe. Also, the shooter killed himself, so there was no meal of a trial for the 24-hour news cycle to feed on. But seriously? Dude killed several women and would have killed several more because 1. he was crazy, and 2. he couldn't get laid. (No, really. That's the reason. He said so in videos and letters.) In my mind, this is also a huge tragedy.

FN4. The cynical feminist in me requires I also tell you that part of me believes the reason no one cares about this shooting was because it was a clear example of misogyny, and no one in America cares about that, because our society is perfectly fine with hatred and violence against women, even when it costs women their lives. She needs to say that, just for the record.

FN5. Don't ask me how it escaped my attention that few women I knew had guns. They all knew how to shoot them and had access to them in their homes, so I guess I always felt like they 'had guns' in the same way that two people sharing a car both 'have a car.'

FN6. Incidentally, I will say that I find this almost universally true with my DSH perfumes. They have great longevity and good sillage and I have never regretted a single purchase, which is impressive since I went nuts during the site redesign sale and now have about 12 different scents in roller form.

All photos were taken by me. The video belongs to Amanda Palmer.

Saturday Mix: Idealized Into Powerlessness

Saturday Morning Musical Musings...


This Is What Makes Us Girls - Lana Del Rey





I can't find the album version anywhere I can post for you, but this is still a pretty awesome version of Lana Del Rey, "This Is What Makes Us Girls."

 I love this song for a bunch of reasons, but mostly because it reminds of this quote by Evelyn Cunningham: "Women are the only oppressed group in our society that lives in intimate association with their oppressors."

This is not to say that any one man in particular is the oppressor (though some are), so much as all of them are, to some degree, the unintentional (at at times entirely ignorant) beneficents of the things that are routinely taken as for granted as to be their purview, and to challenge that paradigm is to be at war. As women, our loving relationships with the boys and men in our lives, and even our fairy tale fed aspirations for that kind of life,  often separate us from other women  whom we come to see as taking from our coupled-units/the men we love, instead of seeing the shakes and quakes of change not as a threat to 'our' men, but rather a threat to the systematic dominance of women.

This is what makes us girls:
We all look for heaven and we put our love first.
Somethin' that we'd die for, it's our curse.
Don't cry about it; don't cry about it.
This is what makes us girls:
We don't stick together 'cause we put our love first.
Don't cry about him; don't cry about him.
It's all gonna happen.

If I Were a Boy -  Beyoncé Knowles





Released as the b-side for the hit single, "Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)," "If I were a Boy," was written by BC Jean, and is the only song on I Am...Sasha Fierce that isn't written in any part by Beyoncé. The videos were released simultaneously.  Though very low production, the "Single Ladies" video became iconic.  The Video for "If I Were a Boy," fell by the wayside in the wake of the "Single Ladies" success, though Knowles acknowledges putting more time and money into the latter in interviews. I think the song/video is an incredible commentary, particularly visually, of the kinds of behaviors that seem normal for men but would seem off-putting and inappropriate for a woman.  It allows us to look at the behavior and see in a vacuum, that is inappropriate regardless of the sex/gender expression of the person in that role.


One Girl Revolution - Saving Jane

Yeah, I love this song. This video is a live-performance, which I find particularly powerful.

"Raise your hand if your lipstick

doesn't make you a dumb chick.

Raise your hand if the shape of your hips

Don't compare to the shape of your mind...

I'm here to start a one girl revolution.

I'm not a barbie doll, shopping mall, silicone substitution.

I thought I told ya: I'm a soldier

and I'm not leaving til the battle's over.

One girl revolution."

Stronger Woman - Jewel

This is from one of Jewel's later albums, but proves that even as a pseudo-country rocker, she still has interesting things to say. I like the imagery in this, the official video, (though I'll be the first to admit that the obvious effort to be multicultural may not land in the positive ways I think Jewel was hoping for) particularly the locks on the corset.

No Man's Woman - Sinead O'Connor

Older, but still totally appropriate and powerful.
"Women are the only exploited group in history to have been idealized into powerlessness." -- Erica Jong.

VAWA Reauthorization: A Personal Plea for Action

As some of you know, I spent my 2L summer and 3L year of law school clerking for the local DA's office. Nine months of that life-changing, soul affirming year were spent prosecuting domestic violence offenders. I could tell you one hundred terrible stories from my time there, but for every bad story I have two stories that made me feel better about the world I lived in. It is not an exaggeration to say that the attorneys I clerked with were some of the most passionate and hardworking people I have ever known. They truly worked to give a voice to the voiceless to empower victims of domestic violence of all stripes, to take control of their lives and their safety, to harness a network of resources to lead survivors to a better future.

Some of those attorney's positions were funded (in part) by VAWA (Violence Against Women Act), a federal funding program that provides $1.6 billion to enhance investigation and prosecution of violent crimes perpetrated against women, imposed automatic and mandatory restitution on those convicted, and allowed civil redress in cases prosecutors chose to leave unprosecuted.

VAWA funds a tremendous amount of good in local communities. It helps ensure individuals fleeing domestic violence can find shelters, food, clothing, job training and support, safety planning and more. It helps fund programs to train police officers and to staff special positions for DV investigators and prosecutors within cash-strapped departments so 'minor' incidents, like protective order violations, are follow-up on and prosecuted before they develop into greater tragedies. FN1. Through VAWA, survivors can get access to:

~ Community violence prevention programs
~ Protections for victims who are evicted from their homes because of events related to domestic violence or stalking
~ Funding for victim assistance services, like rape crisis centers and hotlines
~ Programs to meet the needs of immigrant women and women of different races or ethnicities
~ Programs and services for victims with disabilities
~ Legal aid for survivors of violence

FN2. VAWA helps women change the locks on their doors, buy a bus ticket to a family member who might provide them shelter in another state, gives them a hand to hold during a SAFE kit examination following a sexual assault. FN3. It provides funding for programs that allow for the safe exchange of children and supervised visitation. FN4.

VAWA, despite its name, does not only serve women. It provides funding for positions that assist elder abuse victims receive assistance and protection. FN5. It assists those with disabilities, who face special difficulties in reporting but also with safety planning and prosecution. FN6. It helps same-sex survivors get the protection they need, rather than have incidents of intimate violence written off as simple assaults. FN7. It provides appropriate counseling and other resources for additional vulnerable populations, like immigrants and non-native speakers. FN8. FN9. The current bill also seeks to extend those protections to Tribal communities, which are in desperate need of resources and education on issues of intimate violence. FN10. FN11.

Is VAWA expensive? Not in comparison to the money it saves. A 2002 study found that VAWA saved an estimated $12.6 billion in net averted social costs in its first six years alone. FN12. Even small investments in VAWA have been shown to make a difference on the ground. FN13.

VAWA was initially drafted by then-Senator Joesph Biden in 1994. At the time it was called "the greatest breakthrough in civil rights for women in nearly two decades." It has been reauthorized several times, and each time there has been mounting opposition. This latest reauthorization comes at a time when women's autonomy is under attack in a number of ways, and this one is critical to the lives and safety of literally thousands of women, men, and children.

Today, I am a strong, proud and successful woman, but back in 1994, when VAWA was first created, I was a scared sixteen year old girl whose life was threatened on a daily basis. I reached out over and over for help -- for me, my younger brother, my two elderly and disabled grandparents. There were four victims in our house, two women and two men, two young and two old, two disabled. We all needed help, every last one of us, and we were all captives to violence and silence. It is not an exaggeration to say that there were days that I literally begged for my life, for all our lives. I came out of that circumstance with a dim view of government, of whether anyone could have helped me.

Working in the DA's office in the Domestic Violence unit showed me that there are people who spend every day of their lives trying to protect and save people like me. It healed something in me that I didn't realize was broken. It gave me solace. It gave me hope. I believed that, in another time and place, someone might have helped me, could have helped me, if only the could have reached me.  VAWA helps people like the men and women I worked with reach people in need, people like I once was. I am eternally grateful to the wonderful men and women who do that work, and I pray every day for their continuing strength and their success.

VAWA is not a "boondoggle" or "feminist slush fund." It provides critical funding for services desperately needed by survivors. Please call, write, email, text, whatever works for you. Please, contact your Senators and ask them to support VAWA.

I am asking you, today, please, take five minutes of your time, and help those advocates, prosecutors, police officers, counselors, and survivors. Please. I implore you. Especially, if you feel your representative is against VAWA reauthorization and funding. Let them know you care about VAWA, you are watching their votes, and that you will take it into consideration the next time your current Senator is running for office. If your Senator is supporting VAWA, also please take the time to thank them. They need all the thanks they can get, and reassurance in this tense time that they are on the right track.

VAWA could go to the Senator floor for a vote as early as next week. Time is of the essence.  Please act now! You can find out more how to contact your Senators here.

You could be saving the life of someone like me.

Thank you.

__________________________________
FN1. Grants to Encourage Arrest Policies and Enforcement of Protection Orders.

FN2. Violence Against Women Act, Wikipedia, [Viewed March 15 2012].

FN3. Sexual Assault Services Program (SAPS).

FN4. Safe Havens.

FN5. Enhanced Training and Services to End Violence and Abuse of Women Later in Life Program. This funding stream expressly states "individuals who are 50 years of age or older" and does not address sex or gender of the abused.

FN6. Education, Training and Enhanced Services to End Violence Against and Abuse of Women with Disabilities

FN7. "Let me put this on the table," said Sen. Dianne Feinstein, D-California. "This bill includes lesbians and gay men. The bill includes undocumented immigrants who are victims of domestic abuse. The bill gives Native American tribes authority to prosecute crimes. In my view these are improvements. Domestic violence is domestic violence." Ted Barrett, Accusations fly in Senate over Violence Against Women Act, CNN.com [Viewed March 15 2012].

FN8. Legal Assistance for Victims Grant Program.

FN9. Culturally and Linguistically Specific Services for Victims Program.

FN10. Grants to Tribal Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault Coalitions, is only one of several VAWA grant funding streams.

FN11. "One of the provisions in the act would allow tribes to prosecute offenders who are not Native American or Alaska Native when their victims are and the violence happens on a reservation." Tribes seek support for VAWA act, The Jamestown Sun, [Viewed March 15 2012].

FN12. Clark, K. A, Biddle, A., & Martin, S. (2002). A cost-benefit analysis of the Violence Against Women Act of 1994. Violence Against Women, 8(4), 417-428.

FN13. Boba, R., & Lilley, D. (2008). Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) funding: A nationwide assessment of effects on rape and assault (No. NCJRS 225748). Violence Against Women, 15(2), 168-185.

Recommended Viewing: Bad Romance (Suffragette Parody)

Both historical and pop cultural, a fantastic video, and a great reminder that your most powerful tools as a woman are your voice and your vote.

This November, and ever time you get the chance, stand up and be counted. 

Happy International Women's Day from Feminine Things!

UPDATE: Also, this post from Ann Friedman is pretty freaking Feministastic excellent, too!

The Will of Instinct.

On Amanda Palmer, Nirvana, and the Language of Violence in Popular Culture

**TRIGGER WARNING.**

This is not about perfume. No, this is about AMANDA FUCKING PALMER (aka AFP), and intimate violence and sex/gender politics.

I remember the first time I heard Nirvana’s “Polly.” I was, I don’t know, fourteen, I think, but already deeply familiar with the idea of being trapped in a cage by someone violent who thought they loved you. FN1. I remember having a visceral and negative reaction to “Polly” in the same way I had negative reactions to the fetus tree imagery in “Heart Shaped Box.” I remember thinking at the time that Kurt was an angry dude who did not like women, and who seemed to blame his feelings of inadequacy as a man not on patriarchy and misogyny, but on the women in his life and at large. I distinctly remember having an argument with a boy I was dating over this feeling and being completely without the language I needed to express my reactions to some of Nirvana’s work, particularly “Polly,” in a coherent way.

Let me say that I know very little about the Patron Saint of Grunge. I haven’t bothered to study him. So when I talk about all this, I’m not talking about Kurt, the man, or Kurt, the artist’s intent made real. FN2. FN3. I’m talking about how I, as a young abused girl without the language or strength to describe what was happening to me, had been happening to me, was continuing to happen to me, seemingly with the world’ s knowledge, permission, and tacit approval, felt about his work in the moment.

To me, Kurt seemed angry, and the angry in his music appealed to me. The chords that struck me as wrong, however, were the thinly veiled digs at women, the idea that women were a “tar pit traps” or leeches, sucking the life out of otherwise good men, as if women are the enemy and not the trap of rigid gender/sex roles. It’s the same gut level reaction I have to a lot of Kerouac’s work. Any time I hear the words, “pretty girls make graves,” I want to punch someone in the face.

It’s possible that Cobain, and Kerouac before him, meant to put a spotlight on the ways misogynists justify their wholesale use and abuse of women rather than representing a position the artists themselves held. Certainly the history of the song’s origins provided by Nirvana’s surviving members seems to imply Kurt was more interested in understanding the psychology of someone who brutalizes another person at the intersections of sex, violence, and control than identifying with them.

Who Killed Laura Palmer?
"All you good people..."

The problem with this kind of approach to feminist critique of violence is that the work sits out there afterward, speaking for itself, without a narrator standing by to anchor it in context. It finds its way into the bedrooms of girls like me who hear it and only hear  the world’s (at the time) most popular band reveling in a kind of sadism she is beginning to know personally. I was that girl, the girl who hears the words and thinks to herself, “Is this how the whole world is? Is no one stopping what is happening to me because the things my abuser tells me are true, and this is just the natural order of things?” No amount of in-depth documentary histories or "VH1 Behind the Music" interviews or tell-all biographies will ever change the visceral experience of hearing "Polly" and thinking, “I am trapped, just like her. I’m going to die here. I’ll never get out.”

That is why I am so GLAD there are women out there like AMANDA FUCKING PALMER who take work like this, reframing and reclaiming it to show how terrifying and violent and awful and tragic and sickening and inhumane the ideas lurking beneath the riff are,  no matter how they are intended by the artist to be taken by the listener. Much like Tori Amos’ chilling rendition of Eminem’s “ ’97 Bonnie & Clyde”, AFP’s newly released video for her cover of “Polly” is heartbreaking and so resonant with real life that it took me less than one minute to find multiple examples of the ‘fictional’ events in the video happening to women here in the first world in the last two to three days. FN3. FN4.

You can see the video here, in all its disturbing and terrifying realness.

I sobbed when I finished AFP's video the first time through because all I could think was, “This is what I’ve always imagined feeling/happening when I heard this song.” Polly, the caged bird/girl, attempts to appease until she can be free, focusing on nothing but surviving one more moment.  She is like an amalgam of Twin Peaks’ Laura Palmer and Waldo, the caged Myna bird who is one of the only witnesses to Laura's kidnapping.  Both Laura and Waldo end up dead, sacrificed on an altar of patriarchal culture that still believes women can be kept like pets, treated like animals, and are worth nothing more than their purity, their womb, and their service to male pleasure.

The difference between the “Polly” story in my head and AFP’s video is this: I never imagined Polly escaping, never thought a woman like Amanda would be there to save her if she tried. I cried in part because it was a better ending than I ever imagined for Polly, and I am grateful to Amanda Palmer for giving it to me, new salve for an old wound.

Laura: The Will of Instinct.

There is one line from “Polly” that chills me to the bone because it has always rung entirely true for me: “It amazes me, the will of instinct.” The Will of Instinct. The drive and desire to survive, to move on, heartbeat to heartbeat, waiting for one chance out between two worlds, Madonna or Whore, life as a victim or death. The Will of Instinct. To keep going, to keep pushing, to never give up or slow down or give in, to have any sense of self-worth or pride or strength to fight after another brutal day.

The Will of Instinct.

I admire the generations of intimate violence survivors who have stood up and continue to stand up and fight for their lives and their humanity for so many reasons, but most of all, I admire that they keep fighting. And I admire awesome feminists like Amanda FUCKING Palmer for taking the language of the abuser hiding in our culture as entertainment and focusing our attention on it, showing it in all its horrifying and terrible truth.
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FN1. To be perfectly clear, because I think clarity is important, I can only partially identify with the personal experience of this story.  I am a child survivor of domestic violence and have personally experienced being held against my will while my life was repeatedly threatened. I am not a rape or molestation survivor, though I have experienced enough forcible sexual contact in my life to give me the tiniest silver of a fraction of understanding of what the survivors I do advocacy work for have been through. I have known and loved many survivors, though, and I have lived with them through the aftermath.  I can tell you it is brutal and awful and can destroy a life, and every person who survives to go on and thrive and be good and decent is a testiment to human resilence.

FN2. There are clearly feminists who think Kurt is awesome and had a ‘feminist world view.’ The line that kills me in this article, btw, is

Many of the women interviewed initially found “Rape Me” an unsettling song, but eventually came around to seeing it as Cobain’s clumsy but well-intentioned attempt to incorporate feminist theory into his worldview.

Riiiight. Those feminists just needed to get to know Kurt personally and/or transcend their personal, visceral reactions to his songs to see that his works were absolutely intended to be feminist. I must have missed that memo while someone was beating the crap out of me.

FN3. Okay, no. The thing that kills me most is the ACTUAL ARTICLE TITLE. "Nirvana's Secret Feminism." Wow! How progressive! You're a secret feminist. Does that come with a decoder ring and spy magnifying glass?

FN3. I actually wrote an entire paper about the Tori Amos cover in college I had so much to say about, so I won't go into it in depth here. To keep this short, let me say  I acknowledge “’97 Bonnie and Clyde” differs from “Polly” in a number of ways, the most important being that Eminem was actually expressing a desire to kill his (ex)wife. Whether Cobain intended to exercise internal demons through verse or to spotlight systematic violence against women is something only he would know, though it seems he intended the later, making the intent of his work more closely aligned with Amos and Palmer than with Mr. Mathers, even if it ultimately fails to translate to into that kind of critique in the form it was recorded and presented by Cobain himself.

FN4. And let me point out, these are just the stories that make it into the newspapers and AP wire and only represent a tiny fraction of the women being kidnapped, raped, and murdered all around the world as a matter of course, for war, for male pleasure, for male power, and for profit.