Author Archives: Carrie Hillman

About Carrie Hillman

Carrie Hillman is Curiata.com's resident feminist. She writes the weekly feature A Feminist Sensibility and serves as Managing Editor for the publication. She is married to fellow contributor and editor Mike, and they live in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, with their dog, Beaker.

Men still rule in sports, if they dominate on field or not

The airwaves have been dominated by male-dominated sporting events over the past few weeks. Those who follow all types of sports know that the men’s 2014 FIFA World Cup has just come to a close, and we are currently in the throes of the yearly Tour de France competition. These two areas have been dominated by males for the better part of the last century, and I, for one, would like to see that change.

First, let me state that I am a huge soccer fan. I came of age during the 1990s, when the American women dominated the 1991 and 1999 women’s World Cups, putting soccer on the map as the ultimate expression of girl power. When I tune in to soccer, I prefer to watch the women’s matches over the men’s because, let’s face it, the women actually win. The U.S. women’s national team is currently ranked number one in the world by FIFA and has won two World Cups as well as four Olympic gold medals. Conversely, the U.S. men’s national team has yet to win a World Cup despite their participation in the competition since its inception in 1930.

I tell you all of this to set the stage for my outrage. I was sitting in a local pub, enjoying the World Cup and identifying the flags of the competing countries. While imbibing some celebratory libations (read: beer), I struck up a conversation with another gentleman at the bar. I told him I was a big soccer fan, but that I preferred to watch women’s soccer because I found their playing technique to be cleaner and, therefore, the competition to be more exciting. The guys said to me, “Oh, is there a World Cup competition for the women?” I politely told him yes, and that they were two-time World Cup champions and were successful in several Olympics.

Inside, I was seething. How could this guy, who considers himself to be a “soccer fan,” not be aware of the women’s team? How could he not know about the great players of the past like Julie Foudy, Mia Hamm, and Brandy Chastain, or even heard of the players of today including Alex Morgan, Abby Wambach, or my newest favorite, Sydney Leroux? More specifically, how does a soccer fan who is older than 24 not remember the epic women’s World Cup win in 1999 where Brandi Chastain ripped her shirt off in celebration after scoring the winning goal?!

I know the women are further behind in terms of recognition in this sport. The first women’s World Cup wasn’t held until 1991, and that competition was only recognized as the first World Cup in retrospect. However, despite the many issues I have with FIFA, I applaud the association for one thing: recognizing the need for a women’s competition and filling that gender hole.

It is my hope that, someday, we will see the organizers of the Tour de France come to this same conclusion. I wouldn’t consider myself an avid cycling fan, but I do love watching Le Tour every year. I hold my breath during the mountain phases, especially through rainy descents like the one that took Alberto Contador out of the competition yesterday. As much as I enjoy the Tour, I wish I could also see competitors who look like me. The only time I get to watch women’s cycling is when it breaks into the mainstream every eight years during the Summer Olympics.

Rest assured I will be watching July 27 when women will finally get a chance to ride down the Champs Elysees during their one-day La Course race. Could I seek out more women’s cycling? Absolutely, but my point is that I shouldn’t have to. Women athletes work just as hard as men in terms of training their bodies to compete in these sporting events. Why should they not receive equal airtime?

To be sure, I don’t always advocate for the women’s team by default. Honestly, when it comes to basketball, I find the men’s games to be more exciting and at a much more enjoyable pace; to me, the women take too long to run their plays and they lose my attention. However, during March Madness, I can easily find men’s and women’s basketball and choose for myself which I would rather watch. I would like to see the cycling community make similar efforts as FIFA and the NCAA: give the women equal airtime and put the competitions on prominent stations during a decent hour (i.e., not 3 a.m.).

Race organizers of the Tour state they simply can’t hold another race because it’s too much work. To that, I say: tough. You seem to manage the logistics when it comes to running a men’s race.

My Nerd/Wise brother-in-law always asks me what we “can do” to make this world a little bit more feminist-friendly. In honor of his request, I have a suggestion: start supporting women athletes. Watch their competitions, cheer them on, root for the U.S.A. in any event and for any gender. Let’s not squander away the four years between the Olympic competitions to show our girl power!

Hobby Lobby decision shouldn’t surprise any woman

Since my last article apologized for my absence here on Curiata.com, I’m not going to waste time saying sorry for my lack of articles over the past few weeks. I’ll just say: I’m back!

This week, I’d like to talk about the Burwell v. Hobby Lobby case decided last week by the Supreme Court of the United States. I know, you’ve probably already read a thousand articles expressing rage and disbelief over the Supreme Court decision. For anyone who has been living under a rock (or has been working such an insane amount of hours that you don’t even know what day it is), the Supreme Court ruled that closely held corporations (i.e., Hobby Lobby) are allowed to refuse insurance coverage for specific types of birth control due to their religious beliefs.

*cue the outraged cry of the feminists*

I have so many problems with this ruling, I don’t even know where to begin. First and foremost, it singles out one specific type of medical treatment. The Court even said that this ruling could not be used as a basis for refusing coverage for blood transfusions or vaccinations. It’s mighty convenient that we are basically invalidating some religious beliefs while catering to others.

Secondly, the Supreme Court ruling, either intentionally or not, put the values and ideals of a corporation above that of an actual person.

Third and finally, the ruling continues to muddy the waters between birth control and abortion, a line that science has clearly drawn.

In the week following this ground-breaking decision, I had a chance to talk to a lot of my friends and colleagues about the ruling. Not surprisingly, I found that most people were outraged and were planning boycotts of Hobby Lobby. I even heard this sentiment from my self-proclaimed conservative friends. What is surprising is that, while everyone else was outraged, I found myself quite ambivalent about it.

Day after day, week after week, I think about the social injustice that just comes with the territory of being a woman. There are days when I come home, seeing red, because of some insensitive, sexist thing that some dude felt he needed to say to me. I’ve been sexually harassed. I’ve been told, point blank, that I have no idea what I’m doing because I’m a woman.

This may sound a wee bit jaded, but I was truly expecting the Hobby Lobby decision. I’m not surprised by it all. If I look at the way women are treated every day by the majority of men, it’s not surprising to me that a court dominated by old men made the “un-feminist” decision.

Now, before you all start slamming me with that #NotAllMen crap, I realize that not all men feel this way. But the truth is that, oftentimes, the men who claim to be feminist and supportive of these things are a rarity. I choose to surround myself with the type of men who are comfortable being called a feminist, so I often forget they are the exception, not the rule.

Until we live in a world where men don’t automatically assume I’m the secretary, or one where I don’t get cat-called to for wearing a skirt, or one where I can wield tools and not be told I have no clue what I am doing, I am not going to expect the men on the Supreme Court to prioritize our needs over those of a “closely held corporation.”

Confessions of a guilt-ridden feminist

Fans of A Feminist Sensibility will notice my radio silence over the past two weeks. Without being overly specific, my professional life has taken a little detour down Route Crazy and I’ve been spending most of what little free time I have trying to cope with this new reality.

I’m not complaining, mind you. I love my career and I’m extremely passionate about what I do. However, no matter how professionally stimulating the last two weeks have been, I’ve spent most of my time feeling guilty.

Why guilty? Well, because I have been traveling and working long hours at my job, I have been neglecting other things, like housework, time with my husband, and obligations like writing for Curiata.com. Now, being the modern urban gentleman that he is, Mike has not said one word about the dismal state of disrepair of our house, and he has, in his own way and by his own definition, done his part to keep it “clean.” He also works in the same field as I do (politics), so he understands that until the state budget is signed into law, I’m stuck working late nights.

Thankfully, even though I work long hours during the week, the weekends are my own. However, this does nothing to help the guilt factor. Last weekend, the MUG and I took our dog for a nice, four-mile jaunt in a local park that has some decent hiking trails. Instead of getting a head start on my duty to my legions of readers, I chose to spend time with my family. While I don’t regret that decision, I do, nevertheless, feel guilty that I shirked that responsibility to myself, my colleagues, and all of you.

I feel guilty for a whole host of other reasons, too — even something as menial as not making enough time in my life for fitness. I’ve always expected great things from myself, including impeccable time management skills. My mother once said to me, “Carrie, no one in this world would be as critical of you as you are of yourself. You have to learn to be kinder to yourself and let things go.” She was and is right. But learning to let go and accept that I can’t do it all is something that I still, obviously, struggle with.

In her book Lean In: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead, the chief operating officer of Facebook, Sheryl Sandberg, dedicates an entire chapter to the myth of having it all. Throughout the chapter, she regales us with stories about how she tries to balance a career and being a wife and mother. It’s stories like these that make me simultaneously feel better and worse about my frustrations. If someone like Sandberg has struggles, it’s acceptable that I do, too.

Then there’s that little voice inside my head that says, “but you don’t have kids yet … it’s only going to get worse.” And while that’s probably true, the fact remains that the childless and partnerless women in this world still struggle with the feeling of guilt. Women will either feel guilt because they don’t have a partner or children, or they’ll feel guilt because they are probably neglecting their partner and/or children in some way that is ruining their lives.

I could blame the media for inundating us with images that portray women who have it all. I could blame the advertising industry for telling us that if we just had X product, we’d be able to have it all. But in reality, while these things can influence us, they do not control us. Only I can control how I feel about things.

So from today forward, I invite all other women, whether they consider themselves feminist or not, to join me in resolving to be kinder to ourselves. I resolve to stop feeling guilty and beating myself up if I miss a workout, or dinner with my husband, or loading the dishwasher. I resolve to stop trying to “do it all” and will instead focus on “doing what I can.”

Let’s stop treating feminism like another ‘F’ word

In an interview with Time earlier this month, Shailene Woodley, star of the upcoming movie The Fault in Our Stars, stated loud and clear that she is not a feminist. In the comments that followed, it became apparent that it is Woodley’s misunderstanding of feminism that led her to her conclusion, not any substantive disagreement with feminism itself.

Woodley explained her position by saying that she doesn’t think she is a feminist because she “loves men.” I’m not trying to be rude or snarky, but I think someone needs to have a conversation with this woman about the difference between feminism and lesbianism. As a feminist, I’m quite fond of men, especially my husband.

Woodley further tried to distance herself from feminism by offering that she doesn’t think we should be taking power away from men and giving it to women. Here again, Woodley is severely mistaken about the definition of feminism. I also don’t think we should be “taking power away from men,” because, as a feminist, I believe in equality for all.

Creating equality doesn’t mean taking rights and opportunities away from any individual, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, or gender identity or expression. A great, easy example is the pay gap argument: I don’t think men should be paid less to close the gap; I believe women should be paid the same as men with the same skills and job descriptions.

What really makes my head spin is that, later in the article, Woodley goes on to explain that she believes in “the sisterhood.” In doing so, she describes a concept that sounds a lot like feminism to this Sensible Feminist: “women coming together and supporting each other and creating a sisterhood of support for one another versus hating each other for something that somebody else created.”

I know Shakespeare was a fan of the idea that “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” However, in 2014, there is something to be said for brand recognition. Using the word feminist to describe yourself gives a face to a movement, and that is crucial. Regular readers of this column are already familiar with my quest to reclaim the term feminist, but when I continue to see actresses in Hollywood getting queasy over the “F” word, I get a little bit annoyed.

One of the biggest female icons in history, Madonna, doesn’t consider herself a feminist either, waving instead her flag for “humanism.” I fail to see how these need to be mutually exclusive terms, or how Madonna’s strong, self-deterministic personality could be credibly distinguished from a feminist one.

I will concede that Madonna “came of age” between the second and third waves of feminism, so I can understand her initial hesitancy to declare herself out and proud as a feminist. However, the world has changed since the 1980s: Germany isn’t split into two parts by a giant wall, Like a Virgin isn’t really all that controversial anymore, and, thankfully, neon leg warmers and big hair have gone out of style (for now). Madonna should probably let go of her disdain for the second-wave feminist and get on today’s girl power train with the likes of Beyonce, Ellen Page (Kitty Pryde!), and Lena Dunham.

Woodley’s comments have lead to open letters and raised eyebrows in the feminist community, but is that enough? I know there are those out there who would excuse her naivete due to her youth, but she is 22. By the time I was 22, I was proudly sporting my “This is what a feminist looks like” T-shirt and was well on the path to fighting for gender equality. So my question is: at what point do we stop excusing these types of statements and start demanding that individuals are responsible for understanding the words they use?

I will say that I’m only focusing on Woodley’s comments because she is the the one in the news right now. As much as I like her, Taylor Swift has been guilty of making similar comments in the past, and if she had been the one speaking out, then I’d be ripping her arguments apart. Nevertheless, it is Woodley in the hot seat this time.

Perhaps because Woodley was born in the 1990s, she buys into the idea of a world where feminism is no longer necessary. It’s true that many post- and near-post-Millennials approach the world with more color-blindness, gender-blindness, and sexuality-blindness than their predecessors. In a vacuum, that is a great approach. But in the real world, assuming inequality has been eradicated when it certainly has not been only allows racism, misogyny, and homophobia to remain a part of the landscape.

It is time to have a real conversation about what the term feminist means. In light of last week’s Isla Vista killings, in which women were specifically targeted because of perceived slights by the entire gender against one disturbed young man, and the tone-deaf, ignorant, #NotAllMen response from some corners of the Internet, it is clear that there are very dangerous misconceptions to be corrected.

I hope this will be a learning experience for Woodley, as previous comments were for Katy Perry. Perhaps this fine young actress will join Perry and the rest of us, embrace the word “feminist,” and start using her fame to promote the equality she already believes in for all.

Did feminists fail Monica by standing idly by?

Sixteen years ago, the world watched in shock as a young woman announced her affair with the most powerful man in the free world. I’m talking, of course, about Monica Lewinsky and former U.S. President Bill Clinton.

For those who may not be aware, Lewinsky is in the news lately due to her recent interview in Vanity Fair. There, she talks about the affair, her embarrassment, and her thoughts of suicide, all while vehemently denying that the Clinton family had paid her to keep quiet all these years.

Now, not to reveal this feminist’s age too specifically, but I was definitely prepubescent when the Lewinsky/Clinton scandal broke in the mainstream media. I was so young that I didn’t quite understand the jokes about dry cleaning or cigars. So when a blog titled “Monica Lewinsky: Feminists Failed Me” ran on the Washington Post’s website last week, I had to stop, research, and remember the situation before I could evaluate whether Lewinsky had a point.

Lewinsky contends that she was left on her own throughout the media feeding frenzy of the scandal. Her image was destroyed, and she has been unable to find stable employment because of the stigma forever attached to her name. So is Lewinsky correct? Did the feminists of the time fail her?

Well, they certainly didn’t rush to her defense. But had they done so, Lewinsky may have found their support to be a double-edged sword.

In any affair, there are going to be winners and losers. In this particular liaison, two women were put at odds with one another; to support one was to alienate the other. Was it fair to ask feminists to choose a side and pick the paramour Monica or the wife Hillary? Despite the similarities, this wasn’t a soap opera storyline but rather real people with real-world ramifications.

Let’s say, hypothetically, that feminists had thrown unwavering support to Lewinsky. Would they, at the same time, have been demeaning Hillary and destroying any future political career for her? Furthermore, what about the Clintons’ daughter, Chelsea? The scandal had already put a large amount of stress on her family. How many people should have been destroyed in the name of feminism?

Obviously, the answer is none, but had raucous feminists rallied behind Lewinsky, this absolutely could have happened.

Another point I have made in the past is that not all feminists are man-haters. Jumping on a feminist bandwagon to trash the president would have made a bad situation even worse. Clinton wasn’t just any man, either. He had other big things on his mind, like running the country. The reality is that the most vocal feminists of the late 1990s who would have defended Lewinsky didn’t want to ostracize a president who was working to institute a legislative agenda that aligned with their political beliefs.

I’m definitely not trying to give the guy a pass. He should not have cheated on his wife. He should not have lied about it under oath. However, do I think a sex scandal (and really, we should be accurate in our use of language and call it what it was: an oral sex scandal) should have lead to an impeachment trial? Absolutely not.

But this article isn’t about my defense of Clinton. (Although, I will admit, in fourth grade, I desperately wanted to play the saxophone because I wanted to be like the president.) This article is asking if feminists failed Lewinsky.

I think there are two distinct instances where feminists could have spoken up a little bit more to support Lewinsky without collateral damage. The first: condemning the amount of slut-shaming that was directed at Lewinsky. This would not only have been the right thing to do for Lewinsky, but it is the right thing to do for women and young girls everywhere.

The second: attempting to mitigate the press coverage of her infamous makeover. By not calling foul when the media obsessed over Lewinsky’s sex life and new haircut, feminists allowed a college-educated young woman to be defined by superficial characteristics and private choices.

Both of these situations are areas where feminists could have stepped in, politely, without bashing either Clinton, and come to Lewinsky’s aid. Of course, hindsight is always 20/20, and this is definitely the case here.

Lewinsky wasn’t the first woman to be painted a Jezebel in the press, and she certainly will not be the last. But what we, as feminists, can take away from all of this is that our actions (or lack thereof) can have repercussions for years to come. So the next time you hear about an affair in your own circles (or in Hollywood), think twice before rushing to judgement of “the other woman.”

Bechdel test gives glimpse of inequities, not quality

This week on Curiata.com, many of our contributors are writing about Star Wars, given that Sunday was Star Wars Day. In honor of that spirit, I am going to examine, with A Feminist Sensibility, a topic at the nexus of cinema and feminism: the much-debated Bechdel test. For anyone who may be unfamiliar with the concept, the Bechdel test was created in 1985 by feminist cartoonist Alison Bechdel. She suggested a rating system for movies based on the following criteria:

Is there more than one named woman in the film?
Do the women talk to each other?
Is the conversation about something other than men (or one specific man)?

It’s easy to see how Star Wars — and many other classic films — can come under fire if the Bechdel test is the sole criteria for measuring the worth, feminist or otherwise, of a movie. At least, it seems Star Wars would come under fire based on the comments at bechdeltest.com. I don’t know for sure because, you see, I have a confession: I have never seen Star Wars. Well, I’ve never seen Episodes IV, V, and VI, but I have seen the prequel trilogy. I’ll give all of the Star Wars purists a chance to clutch their pearls and head over to Kevin’s article to tell him how wrong he is about the prequels.

Despite not having viewed the original films, most of the plot, characters, and controversies of the movies have pervaded mainstream culture and media. There are volumes written about the sexual portrayal of Princess Leia and the fact that she is the only female main character. And as I’m not personally knowledgable about the failings of Star Wars in terms of the Bechdel test, I’ll leave it to the folks over at Bitch Flicks, who already did a great breakdown of women in the Star Wars franchise.

Instead, I’ll talk about the Bechdel test in general and its effects on how we view and value films. Fans of Curiata.com will note that we take our movies seriously. All one has to do is check out our reviews from the Academy Awards, the 2014 Tribeca Film Festival, or even this week’s Star Wars coverage to see that is true. In my cinematic experience, I have discovered that there are amazing cinematic works out there that fail the Bechdel test miserably, and there are truly awful films that pass with flying colors.

A few weeks ago, our local cinema showed The Godfather on the big screen. This was my first time viewing the film in its entirety, and I was blown away. The Godfather is a true piece of cinematic art that is still amazing and beautiful to this day. The only thing The Godfather fails at is the Bechdel test.

Yes, there are several named female characters (Kay Adams, Connie and Carmela Corleone, Apollonia), but not once in three hours do they share conversation in a scene. Not only does it miss the mark on the critical Bechdel test questions, but the closing scene where Michael Corleone is conducting business and the door closes in Kay’s face made my feminist blood boil! I came out of the film both angry and awed; I declared it amazing, despite its chauvinistic tones.

(Note from the editor: The aforementioned scene sets up The Godfather: Part II, where the Michael/Kay tension is dealt with head-on. Incidentally, the featured image on this page is from the scene in The Godfather: Part II that allows that film, unlike the first installment, to pass the Bechdel test.)

Conversely, all five films in the Twilight saga pass the Bechdel test. I’m not trying to pick a fight with the Twihards, but I think we can all admit that no one came out of Twilight thinking, “Wow, that film really pushed the art of cinema forward.”

As an aside, I feel compelled to mention that I’m not arguing all modern-day blockbusters are terrible films. I’m planning to see a midnight premiere showing of X-Men: Days of Future Past. I realize that even though it is likely I will enjoy the movie immensely, I doubt I will come out of the theater with the same zen cinema-as-art feeling as I did after The Godfather. I’m also interested to see if Days of Future Past, with strong females including Mystique, Storm, Rogue, and Kitty Pryde, can match or exceed the Bechdel test success of previous X-Men films.

The point I’m making is that the Bechdel test is but one method of measurement. It does not inherently determine whether a feminist will find a film worthwhile. As a matter of fact, films that are, at their core, anti-feminist, like The Godfather, can give a feminist like me great enjoyment while reaffirming my dedication to the equality of women.

The Bechdel test gives us a place to start the conversation about the role of women in Hollywood. Are women under-represented in Tinseltown? Absolutely. According to a study by the San Diego-based Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film, women account for just 30 percent of all characters and a paltry 15 percent of the protagonists of the top 100 U.S. films in 2013. Not only that, but the same report found that women were less likely to be portrayed in leadership roles.

These are all issues that need to be discussed and corrected. The Bechdel test gives us an easily digestible, buzz-worthy platform to discuss these inequities. But the judgment of a film’s pro-feminism or its cinematic quality must be made by an audience tuned in to more in-depth criticism than the Bechdel test offers.

Feminism does not preclude common courtesy

The modern notion of chivalry (in contrast to its historical roots) prescribes certain ways a gentleman should behave toward a lady. The heavily implied traditional gender roles within this code of conduct can cause discomfort in feminist spheres. I don’t need a man to open a door for me or pull out my chair at the dinner table. Nonetheless, a rejection of an antiquated rulebook doesn’t mean there’s no place in society for a little kindness.

Regular subscribers to Curiata.com will know we recently spent some time in New York City covering the Tribeca Film Festival. Well, in reality, the hubs covered the film festival while I did other fun things, like check out the exhibits at the Museum of Moving Image in Queens, visit great coffee shops like Kaffe 1668 in the Financial District (their mascot is a sheep!), and hang out at La Casita Yarn Shop over in Brooklyn.

Over the course of the weekend, I had many opportunities to reflect on the interactions of the vastly diverse population of the largest metropolis in the country. There is no greater equalizer in New York than the subway. Nonetheless, there are rules of etiquette, some written, some not, that have become woven into the social contract of sharing such a small, enclosed space, hurtling at high speeds, with hundreds of your closest friends.

Despite having a rigorous festival schedule, Mike and I still made time for breakfast in the morning and a very late dinner. On Saturday morning, we boarded a relatively busy downtown subway to Chelsea. The train seats were full, so I had to stand. Normally, this doesn’t bother me; I don’t expect anyone to give up their seat for me. I am an able-bodied, healthy, non-pregnant female. As a good, equality-loving feminist, I do not think I am entitled to a seat just because I am a woman. In fact, not 24 hours before, I had relinquished my seat to a lady who was very pregnant and looked extremely uncomfortable in any position she was in.

Two seats opened up at the next stop, and two young men, I’d say between 18 and 25 years old, practically ran to fill the seats. I was slightly annoyed that they didn’t even look around to see if there was anyone else who might need those seats instead. The gentleman I was standing in front of saw the whole thing happen; he looked up at me, stood, tapped me on the shoulder, and told me to sit down.

This man appeared to be close to or in his 50s, and I would have never expected him to give up his seat for me. I thanked him, but said it wasn’t necessary — I could stand. He insisted, saying he “needed to stretch [his] legs anyway.” Not wanting to make a scene or be rude, I slid into the seat and pondered what had just happened.

Karma has a way of working itself out. At the very next stop, a family of five boarded the train. The three children were young but too big to be in a stroller. I’d say they were between the ages of 5 and 9. They stepped onto the train and stood in front of the two ruffians who almost mowed me over to get to those seats. As the train departed the station, the littlest one was having a hard time standing on a moving subway. (In her defense, it is a very hard skill to master, and I’m still amazed by the people that don’t need to hold on to the bar and are instead in some mystical “rail surfer” stance.) The mom stared down the two guys in the seats so hard that they finally succumbed to mom powers and gave up their seats for the kids.

All of this is a long way of saying: just because I’m a feminist doesn’t mean that I don’t expect a certain level of what some might call “chivalry.” I put that in quotes because I know there are people out there who think that these acts are just common decency, and perhaps they are right. That certainly puts me at odds with some feminists who feel the need to lecture anyone who would extend a courtesy to a woman. I’m afraid that sort of feminism only adds to the antagonism and unhappiness that brings us all down.

When someone holds a door for me, I say thank you. I’ve outgrown the need to make a statement about how “my arms aren’t broken and I can get it myself.” (On the flip side, however, if someone lets a door slam in my face, I do give them a snarky, “Thank YOU!” once I get through the door.) I think that this decency goes both ways. I will hold the door for you; I don’t care if you are male, female, or transgender.

I realize that there are rude people in this world, and let me tell you, they are everywhere. I’ve run into them in NYC, Philadelphia, Kansas, and even Curiata.com’s home base, south-central Pennsylvania. I do, however, have a suggestion. Why don’t we all just try to be kinder to one another, regardless of gender, age, race, sexual orientation, or gender identity?

Perhaps, by being polite, we may be able to move mountains on the path to equality. “Please,” “thank you,” and “excuse me” may not solve all of our inequality problems, but they sure will make the world a lot more pleasant while we try to sort it all out.

Whedon’s In Your Eyes about escapes, bonds

Joss Whedon’s latest creation, In Your Eyes, premiered last week at the 2014 Tribeca Film Festival. This film is the sophomore production of Whedon’s film studio, Bellwether Pictures, formed with his wife, Kai Cole, in 2012.

Fans of Whedon will remember Bellwether was created as a way to bring his unique and wonderful rendition of Much Ado About Nothing to the big screen. After seeing Much Ado in theaters twice, downloading the original score, and purchasing the Blu-ray Disc, I had high expectations for In Your Eyes. However, it’s unfair to compare the two films, as many reviewers have done so far.

In a role reversal from Much Ado, in which Whedon brought Shakespeare’s words to life, the man behind Buffy penned In Your Eyes and then turned the direction over to Brin Hill. While I’m a huge fan of Whedon’s writing, little can come close to the Bard himself. Comparing the quality of the two stories is, by extension, a silly proposition. Instead, In Your Eyes stands on its own as an interesting meld of science fiction and romance story. I don’t consider myself particularly well-versed in the genre of sci-fi, and this film was much more understated than the sci-fi I have watched in the past.

The plot focuses on Dylan (played by Cloverfield’s Michael Stahl-David) and Rebecca (played by Ruby Sparks writer and star Zoe Kazan) who live on opposite sides of the country, in New Mexico and New Hampshire, respectively. These two characters’ minds have been linked since childhood, allowing them to “tap in” and see the world, literally, through each other’s eyes. The connection was suppressed through their teenage years, manifesting only as vague feelings and impressions. But now, as adults, they have established a direct line to each other, enabling them to communicate at will.

Through his screenplay, Whedon created a world where the characters and story of Rebecca and Dylan were more important than any weird, mind-meld thing that was going on. That is to say that science fiction provided a frame to connect the characters, much in the same way that the setting or music might accent the plot — as a device to help tell the story. Interestingly, the screenplay never offers an explanation for the link, but honestly, that doesn’t bother me. In fact, leaving the reason for their connection unaddressed reflects how unimportant the sci-fi aspect really is. There are times when it’s better not to wrap everything up in a bow for the viewers, and I think this is one of those times.

When you look at the basics of the plot — boy and girl live 2,000 miles apart, but have a strange connection where they can look through each other’s eyes — it is easy to see how the director plays a critical role in making smooth transitions between worlds and helps the audience feel at ease with those transitions. Hill’s brilliant direction accomplished just that. I had to keep reminding myself that Rebecca and Dylan had never met in real life. Stahl-David spoke with Curiata.com on the red carpet prior to the premiere and discussed some of the measures Hill took to make the unusual interactions feel so real, even if it meant delivering lines to Kazan while hiding under a sink or a stool, off-camera. In the end, the result was seamless.

While all of the cast was amazing, one actor particularly stood out for me. Stahl-David’s portrayal of Dylan was so honest and heartwarming, it’s hard to see how he won’t win over audiences with this performance. Throughout the movie, we see Dylan struggling to fit in a place where he doesn’t quite belong. He’s a good guy who fell into a bad crowd. Dylan did jail time for some small-time crimes and is trying to make a new life for himself without ostracizing his long-time buddies who seem to be more interested in their next heist than in giving Dylan the support he needs.

Stahl-David brings out all the qualities of Dylan that make us root for him to escape the black hole of this corner of New Mexico. The allure of the local beer-drinking, pool-playing beauty Donna, played by Twilight alumna Nikki Reed, adds to that challenge.

Kazan also wonderfully plays a tortured soul, trapped in a suffocating marriage with a husband who is a doctor, convinced that his wife is in need of extreme treatment for mental health problems. (Husband Phillip Porter is played by Mark Feuerstein, who joked during the post-premiere question-and-answer session that he appreciated the chance to extend his acting range — from a doctor with good bedside manners to a doctor with bad bedside manners.)

There have been some less-than-stellar reviews of the film, including one that called Whedon a tad chauvinistic to have Dylan traverse the country to save Rebecca from peril. In light of my other work as a sensible feminist, I have to say that I think that Dylan traveled to save Rebecca because that is what that character needed to do, not because Whedon was trying to make a commentary on traditional gender roles. As matter of fact, Whedon has a proven track record of doing quite the opposite.

I was rooting for Dylan to get out of New Mexico because, no matter how hard he tried, it was evident that he was going to slip back into his old ways if he stayed where he was. Rebecca, on the other hand, had her own demons, but if she would have left her life in New Hampshire to rescue Dylan, it would have felt a bit heavy-handed, preachy, and out of character. And the chauvinistic analysis overlooks the fact that there were several times when Rebecca did rescue Dylan, albeit through advice and emotional support rather than physical presence.

In Your Eyes, although not destined to be a box-office smash like Whedon’s The Avengers, is still a beautiful film — and an intentional karmic balance to the blockbusters Whedon is now involved in. In pursuit of the mission of Bellwether Pictures, Whedon announced in a taped message played after the world premiere that In Your Eyes would be available for immediate download as a rental.

This decision is a step toward Bellwether’s goal to bring small budget films to the masses without the cumbersome expense of a traditional release. All too often, small budget films are unable to break through to the mainstream, leaving a hole in the landscape of film-as-art for the general public. Hopefully, if this new release method succeeds, we will see other companies trying the same model, inspiring more independent filmmakers and getting those films both made and seen.

Taking her husband’s last name … part deux

A few weeks ago, I broached the subject of marital name change from a feminist point of view. I was surprised by how many of you weighed in on the subject, either in the article’s comments section or on various Facebook shares.

That was great, because Curiata.com was created to be a platform for its writers and readers to interact, discuss, and cultivate their opinions and tastes on many different things, from politics to superheros to recipes. There were a lot of excellent points raised in the subsequent discussions, and I wanted to take the opportunity to respond or expand on these thoughts.

First and foremost, one person felt that my column left the reason I decided to change my name unclear. As I said then, the real reason for my article was to highlight that it didn’t matter why I changed my name. The real feminist victory is that I had a choice; I was not forced or coerced to do anything against my will. But it got me thinking about nailing down a more precise answer for why I made the decision I did.

Several other commenters questioned if changing my name was a reflection of a lack of connection to my blood relatives. Some of my own friends have experienced a situation such as this and were happy to adopt their husband’s name for this reason. But for me, it wasn’t a lack of identity, but rather too many identities from which to choose. Let me explain — and no, I do not suffer from multiple personality disorder.

If you look at the surnames of my four grandparents, they are, in no particular order: Goodyear, Kimmel, Zellers, and Reynolds. I am no more or less any one of these names. As a matter of fact, I’ve often been told that I am a younger version of my paternal grandmother (which is odd, because she died when I was only two years old — very little time for her to have a significant impact on my life).

Her last name was originally Kimmel. So because I am similar to her, does that mean that my last name should be Kimmel, because I can identify with her? Maybe so, but in our current setup of naming, we don’t get to choose for ourselves until long after we’ve established an identity. And I inherited my father’s name, who inherited his father’s name, and so on and so forth all the way back to Saxony, Germany, when the original spelling was “Gutjahr.” I can also trace my mother’s family all the way to the 1600s in Ireland.

I don’t suffer from a lack of familial identity, but rather an abundance of it. Before I had finally decided to take my husband’s last name, I watched him trace my ancestry quite diligently. (In fact, I think he was more interested in my roots than I was.) When we linked our family trees, it was a huge patchwork quilt.

My husband is equal parts Hillman and Blackwell, Daley and DeMartine. He didn’t get to choose the surname Hillman, just like I didn’t get to choose the surname Goodyear. But the beauty of society in 2014 is that I do get to choose whether or not to change my name at an important juncture in life — when I begin a new family with my husband.

I would be lying to you if I said I’ve always loved my maiden name, Goodyear. But it’s not because I’m ashamed of or estranged from my parents or other ancestors who bear the name. In middle and high school, I was overweight. It doesn’t take too long or too much creativity for the blimp jokes to start rolling in. Intellectually, I understand that kids will be always be cruel, and I would have been picked on no matter my last name. Nonetheless, my maiden name still carries negative childhood connotations, and I’d rather not pass along this particular demon to my kids.

In fact, that brings me to the more precise reason I did decide to change my name: for the benefit of any future offspring my husband and I may have. I realized that by getting married, we were starting a new, unified family. And that someday, we hope to raise a couple of sensible feminists and/or modern urban gentlemen. I felt it was important to signify to the outside world that we are a team.

To that end, there was a brief moment in time when I toyed with the idea of combining our names to create a new name. The best I could come up with was Hillyear or Goodman. Neither of us was thrilled with either option, and after working so hard to trace our ancestry, it seemed a bit of a waste to start a brand new lineage with us. And since our tradition says that our children will inherit their father’s name, it made sense for me to make that change.

In reality, I understand that there will always be individuals who criticize any decision I make. If I would have kept my maiden name, there would have been individuals who felt that I was being disrespectful and emasculating to my husband. Since I changed my last name, I’m sure there are people who think I am “not feminist enough.”

If we would have opted to combine our last names, there are people who would say that we were being too politically correct, or my personal favorite, they would call us “damn hippies.” Lastly, if Mike would have taken my last name, he would have been mocked mercilessly by some of his male friends and coworkers; I also probably would have been called some interesting names if I had “forced” him into this.

I came to the decision to change my name on my own terms. I’m no longer forced, by law or by society, to take my husband’s name as a sign that I am his property. But not everyone has that level of comfort, and many would be judged cruelly if they make a decision that isn’t popular with the majority.

All of this is a long way of saying: yes, we have come very far in terms of the marital name change. But we still have a long way to go.

Pay gap not just numbers: A real-life impact

Today is National Equal Pay Day in the United States. The occasion marks the day on the calendar when the average American woman will have worked long enough since last January (463 days) to earn as much as the average American man earns in a single year. That puts the gender pay gap at 77 cents on the dollar, a place it startlingly has hovered around for the past decade.

Of course, there are voices in the wilderness that deny the pay gap exists, or attribute the gap to spurious causes. My blood begins to boil when when I read articles about the “wage gap myth.” One popular excuse for the pay gap contends that if women would just take more risks like men do, the gap would be eliminated. To that, I call bullshit.

I am not predisposed to be a crusader against the pay gap. My own experience during my formative years was quite the opposite. I grew up in a household that often bucked traditional gender roles. My mother worked full time and spent her evenings earning her college degree. My father worked full time as well; as a blue-collar laborer, he had the advantage of working set hours and being home every day by 4 p.m.

This meant that it fell on my dad to get me ready and shuttle me back and forth to ballet classes. I have a vivid memory of my father getting my hair into a slick bun and plastering foundation and bright red lipstick on me for my dress rehearsal of my second dance recital.

Eventually, my mom earned her degree (one semester after I completed mine). But growing up in this manner, I had a father who took care of the daily cooking and cleaning. That isn’t to say my mother was never around or didn’t contribute to the maintenance of the household. She never missed a soccer game, dance recital, band competition, or musical. But she didn’t have time to handle the day-to-day household work because she was working 50-plus hours each week in addition to attending night classes.

I tell you all of this because I think everyone will be able to deduce that my mother earns more than my father. There are a lot of men who, I think, would be uncomfortable with this reality. But then again, those men wouldn’t be caught dead braiding their daughter’s hair. So I was raised in a household where the wage gap wasn’t real, at least not in my limited worldview.

But then I entered the real world …

As I embarked on my professional career, I had a lot of things working against me. I graduated from college in December 2008, not long after the Bear Stearns collapse that signaled the global economy was on the brink of disaster. Most of my college friends delayed entering the workforce, either by picking up a minor or entering graduate school, because jobs were few and far between.

In addition to the cratering economy, I had also chosen a field where the big boys still ruled: the messy realm of politics. I took the job I could get at the time, as a secretary. I steadily worked my way through the ranks and became a research analyst, utilizing my skills to draft legislation and amendments. I was aided in that advancement by having the luxury of directly working for one of the least sexist people in the world.

After nearly five years of hard work and dedication, I was noticed by a few key individuals and was offered a position, unsolicited, at a lobbying firm. I was ecstatic. I felt like I had made up for starting my career behind the eight ball, had excelled in one male-dominated field, and was ready to take on another. I was finally going to be earning a great wage, and I would actually be out-earning my husband (who didn’t mind at all).

I took the job — but not without a lot of internal debate, because I loved my old job. In the end, I decided I wanted new challenges and the chance to add to my skill set. And then, after three months, I was miserable. I really disliked my job, and I dreaded going to work every day. Long story short, I resigned. Thankfully, my husband’s income and the pay I had been able to bank allowed me to leave a position that put me on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

While attempting to get a job back at my old place of employment, someone told me, “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to go back to being a secretary.”

This sentiment made me stop in my tracks. The unspoken implication was that, because I was female, I could just slip back into a secretarial role, be satisfied, and be grateful that I had a job. But to me, it would have felt like the five previous years of my career had been a waste. I was even told by one person that I wouldn’t be considered for any position higher than a secretarial one.

As an aside, let me say that I don’t think I’m “too good” to be a secretary. I was a secretary, and a damn good one at that, for almost a year. The job has many challenges, and I have worked with secretaries who could proverbially kick my ass in the skill sets specific to the job. But as a secretary myself, I was bored out of my ever-loving mind for a year. I hated the logistics of managing another individual’s schedule, finances, and mileage. I didn’t like balancing my own checkbook, and now I had two that I had to manage. Those women (and a few men) who are great secretaries seem to love what they do — and that’s great for them, but it’s just not for me.

I have often wondered: if I lived in a world where I had every advantage of being a man, how differently would my attempt to return to my job have played out? Before that, in spite of the economic downturn, would I have begun my career as a secretary? Would I have been treated differently at the lobbying firm?

Would anyone ever suggest to my husband that it wouldn’t kill him to spend a few years as a secretary? I doubt it. It’s these sentiments, straight out of Mad Men, that contribute to the gender pay gap.

I left a good job to try to get a great job. I took the risk that the wage gap critics are talking about, and it backfired. Oversimplifying the complexities of the gender pay gap into this one point, or any one point, is dangerous and myopic. There are so many factors that contribute to the wage gap, including race, nationality, socioeconomic background, and educational iniquities. Until we can have an honest discussion about everything that contributes to the gender pay gap, we will hover around 77 percent for decades to come.

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