I read Jaclyn Friedman’s What you Really Really Want when I was 26 years old. Even though I went to the type of small liberal arts college in Iowa where suburban young women discover feminism, I didn’t stumble into contemporary feminist culture until I’d finished grad school. It set my brain

It started innocently enough: I absent-mindedly double-tapped an Instagram photo of a friend drinking a smoothie. Within 24 hours, she sent me a Facebook message: Wouldn’t I love to try the (expensive) protein powder in that smoothie, which she apparently sells as a side-gig? It’s delicious and

I've been fighting a war against my body for as long as I can remember. As a teenager, I was put on birth control because my mood swings were negatively impacting my quality of life. But even through my uncontrollable crying spells, heightened fits of rage, bouts of depression and ...Continue

I am terrible at dieting.My story is not unlike a majority of white middle class American tweens: Dieting was a rite of passage. As a neurotic ballerina -- wearing next to nothing and obsessing over my form in a mirror for hours on end -- I tried to restrict, but always failed in the end.

When I reflect upon New Year’s 2010, I don’t think of the sprawling nightclub in midtown Atlanta where I spent a whirlwind night with a dear friend. I don’t think of the many men who approached us and the silent nods of approval we gave each other. I don’t think of the midnight countdown and the