SHEro

I didn't get a lot of mothering as a child, but when I did, it was from her. She taught me how to sew, how to crochet. She taught me how to stand up for myself, to be tough. She taught me how to make fried chicken and fried okra, which I will never make, because it's fucking gross.

When I was in third grade, my parents got divorced. My mom went back to school full-time in the hopes of beginning a new career that would support us. Oddly, this was one of the richest years of my life; my world split and shifted on its axis, and yet somehow didn’t knock me over — thanks to a SHEro (or two).

It isn’t until I actually sat down and thought about it that I realized that the badass feminist babe I am today is predominantly the creation of a mixed bag of women I’ve encountered in my life.

I understand that a lot, if not all, of the incredulity at the femmes who fancy themselves up is veiled insecurity about alternative forms of self-expression. But I hereby solemnly swear that I do not and have never viewed my female friends who choose the path of fewer accessories as lacking in feminine graces. There are so many ways to be a woman. I feel like that’s so essential that it should be a mantra, a giant blazing sign in the sky: There are so many ways to be a woman.