$30 Project |
I'm Lindsay and like most freelance writers, I'm broke! In 2010, I didn't spend more than $30 on a single clothing item for the entire year. In 2011, I kept my budget to $100 per month. In 2012, I can spend $1,200 whenever and wherever I choose. Questions/Concerns can be addressed care of thirtydollarproject@gmail.com or tweet me! @30dollarproject for outfit updates and @LindsH for the various musings of my everyday life. |
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Notes"w h o k i l l is at its most compelling when Garbus unleashes her most primal desires—the “jungle under my skin,” as she calls it—particularly those that don’t jibe with stereotypical understandings of bodily empowerment. On the sultry slow jam “Powa,” she confesses her preference for ceding control in the bedroom, punctuated with the confession “my man likes me from behind,” before collapsing into a gorgeous orgasmic wail. She one-ups even this on “Riotriot,” admitting an erotic attraction to the Oakland cop she watched handcuff her brother. It’s a quietly stunning moment to hear an artist, especially a woman, so bluntly admit the most repressed form of desire: that which arises when encountering a source of power well beyond your control."- Eric Harvey’s “tUnE-yArDs, PJ Harvey, and St Vincent Get Physical”
If you read anything at all today, you should prioritize this article.
One of my stand-out moments from college was a revelation that I experienced (amongst many) in a Lit Crit 101 class. I was still struggling with the idea of structuralism when we moved on to more socio-political forms of theory and dug deep into feminism criticism.
We were somewhere between reading Butler and Gilbert & Gubar (most of this stuff is still one big blur in my head), and my professor was using descriptions from other texts to point out how underlying messages can sneak into the subconscious and create a scripted version of the Other.
Anyway, if you’re still following me, she started to point out the repetitious descriptions of women’s bodies as landscape; that which could be ridden and conquered. Or descriptions of women’s bodies as food; that which could be eaten and excreted.
My point is that there are a lot of male-centric descriptions of the female body that cast it as an object that can be owned or discarded. To watch a slew of female artists attempt to recreate this narrative with their own interpretations of their own bodies is powerful and beautiful and, if I may get sentimental about it, heart-warming.
Whenever the subject of “feminism” becomes a big old mess in my head (and it is often a big old mess in my head), I can listen to one of these ladies and be reminded that although I struggle with the personal view that I have of myself and my politics, there is a great deal of capability within me that I can tap into at any time.
And if that sounds corny, guess what? I DON’T CARE.
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