Watching ‘The Bachelor’ in the #MeToo era — and why I’m done with it.

The Bachelor: twenty-five or so women (largely blonde, most under the age of thirty) vie for a man who has as much personality as a Milk Dud (the least appealing of all the Halloween candies).

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My love for The Bachelor franchise has been dwindling for some time now, and granted, the fact that Arie–a schmuck whose repertoire includes phrases such as “awesome,’ ‘like,’ ‘wow’ and ‘excitement’–helms this show doesn’t exactly help matters.

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Awkward Arie above.

But there’s something else that’s preventing me from following-through beyond Arie’s robotic incantations. In the era of #MeToo, how can I justify watching a show premised on women throwing themselves (and other female contestants under the bus) at a man who quite frankly they might have swiped left on Tinder?  A show premised on marriage as the end-all-be-all of a woman’s ambitions, which feels so antiquated in this day and age. (And real talk: only like, what, five percent of the people who make it to the final rose end walking down the aisle with the Bachelor? There’s a full list from 2017 here of who’s still together. Though two of the couples on this list are no longer together, so…)

When I heard that Jacqueline, arguably the most refreshing contestant on this show, basically gave herself the boot so she could go home to complete her PhD and not have to resign herself to selling real estate in Scottsdale, Arizona with Arie, I cheered. The women on this show deserve better than what they signed up for. Sure, the majority probably came on for an expenses-free vacation and a shot at selling kitty litter on Instagram, but I’m not going to begrudge them for that.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to get married, but we’re at a pivotal moment in which women are re-negotiating their worth in the workplace and in the home–well why not do it on reality TV too?

I’d be much more interested in a reality TV show that depicts, how say, women negotiate the reality of being single in a world where we’re expected to be in wedded bliss with a bun in the oven by the age of 30. How do they handle dating, sex, and the workplace in the age of the iPhone? Like Sex and the City, but you know, actually realistic. We’ll call it Single Ladies (once I obtain the copyright from Beyoncé).

So, I’m standing by my decision: I’m officially done with The Bachelor franchise (though I still hold out hope that my proposed single ladies TV show will one day become reality). From now on, instead of viewing fabricated villains and contrived romance onscreen, I’ll instead waste my spare time binge-watching the 550th season of Grey’s Anatomy and writing lowbrow young adult fiction. My parents will be thrilled.

But, even if I’m not watching The Bachelor, I’ll still probably still shame-read #TheBachelor tweets from time to time. After all, who can pass on tweets like these?

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I’m a Patriot: Here’s What That Means to Me (Plus Expectations for 2018)

Hello blogosphere!

It’s been far too long since I’ve posted. But let’s be real: most of you (except for my devoted parents) probably haven’t noted my absence or ardently pined for my hot takes on media criticism, pop culture and general life in Trumplandia. Journalism grad school life at NYU keeps me busy, and when I’m not procrastinating on one assignment, I’m drowning in thesis hell and/or commuting on the Staten Island ferry for said thesis (long story — hopefully I can share part of the thesis with you all in the future…once it gets done. UGH). True story: the Staten of Liberty gets REAL boring when you’ve seen it more than a dozen times on the ferry. And don’t even get me started about the incessant waves of tourists trying to snap the perfect selfie…

But 2018 is here, and I’m all about turning over a new leaf, putting the pessimism behind me, and changing the world one article at a time.

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Okay, well, maybe some of that is a bit lofty. Here are some more realistic PERSONAL EXPECTATIONS (not goals, ugh, that word alone makes me feel like I’m going on a diet):

1) I promise to blog at least once more this semester! Totally doable, though not as often as I would like.

2) Eat healthier! Maybe lift those weights I bought once a week. Get sick less! Eat more fruit.

3) Survive this semester intact with completed thesis in hand come May. (Not really an expectation so much as a requirement of my degree, but I’ll stack this up here as a formality).

4) Publish 1-2 other longform nonfiction pieces that have been sitting in the ‘to-pitch’ pile. Editors: expect a flurry of pitches coming your way!

5) Post more photos on Instagram (just not selfies). Take better photos. Learn how to use my off-camera flash.

6) Shut up the voices in my head that won’t stop chattering and get some creative fiction published (or read by someone other than my dad). I still hope to continue working as a freelance journalist after my program, but I’m realizing more and more that the fever dreams, random shower thoughts and journaling frenzying won’t stop unless I put onto the page some of the the fictional broohaha that I can’t really tap into as a journalist/nonfiction writer. And plus, I might as well capitalize on my love of film and TV and instead of binge-watching Netflix on Sundays in my ugly, off-gray sweatpants, actually do something about it!

So will I move to LA tomorrow and become a wannabe screenwriter on Sunset Boulevard? Probably not quite that soon, but I’m trending more in that direction. So, my expectation is: apply to at least 1-2 screenwriting fellowships/contests, and finish and revise a screenplay. And complete a first draft of a novel and/or get a short story published. It may seem like I’m shooting for the moon here, but hey, I’m twenty-five, which is the new sixteen. And when I get that first screenplay or novel done, I will throw myself the sweet-sixteen birthday party I never had. Except it will be replete with champagne and other delightful bubblies I could not have legally consumed as a teenager.

7) Do more random acts of kindness. The world could do with more generosity. And call my parents and brother more often (hey guys! I still love you kthxbye).

POLITICAL/BIG WORLD REFLECTIONS: Personal woes aside, it’s been a pretty heavy start to 2018. The Golden Globes happened! With fewer people of color represented than I would have liked. I’m still reeling from the fact that Issa Rae did not win best actress for the black female-centric comedy Insecure, though I loved Sterling K. Brown winning for his role in the heartwrenching drama This is Us. But sexual harrassment was front and center, with many actors and actresses sporting Time’s Up pins and calling out a culture of sexual violence.

Though many of the men weirdly omitted any mention of sexual harrassment in their acceptances (not totally surprised), leaving the emotional labor of leading the #TimesUp movement to women like Natalie Portman, who boldly challenged the Globes’ failure to nominate any female directors. And Oprah! Oprah gave a rousing speech that led many to speculate she should be the next 2020 Democratic candidate. Ehh, as much as I adore Oprah, not sure I love this trend of celebrity candidates…can someone call the DNC and tell them to get their act together?

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In other news: online outlet Babe.net published an explosive account earlier in January. In the story, anonymous 23-year-old “Grace” accused Aziz Ansari of sexual misconduct on a date that they went on last year. Journalist Katie Way detailed that story in incisive — perhaps almost too literary(?)–detail. (Babe.net is loosely considered journalism, but its ethically questionable writing of Grace’s story leads me to debate its as a news source…) This story prompted every single writer and Internet commenter to simultaneously decry Grace’s story as both sexual assault and just a ‘bad date.’

My take: it’s somewhere in between the horrific acts of Harvey Weinstein and unwanted catcalls (both of which are unacceptable, by the way, just on opposite ends of the sexual violence spectrum). I think that there needs to be room in the #MeToo movement to encompass these gray areas where women’s consent is not necessarily respected but falls short of the legal definition of sexual assault. And more discussion of enthusiastic consent (YES MEANS YES x 1000), how men should pay more attention to the cues of their partners, and how women can better empower themselves in these kind of situations.

And also, more responsible reporting from journalistic outlets that can generate nuanced conversations on this issue. I’m looking at you, Babe.net. But I am glad that this piece has begun to surface those necessary discussions. Hopefully an outspoken ‘feminist’ like Ansari will treat future female partners with the respect that they deserve. You’d think a guy who wrote an entire book entitled Modern Romance would know more about enthusiastic consent, but I digress…

Other not-so-great news: The government also shut down on the one-year anniversary of Donald Trump’s inauguration. What an auspicious way to commemorate the first year in office! I was an intern in DC during the last government shutdown in 2013, and let me tell you, it was not a great time for those few weeks. It was a big media and national feeding frenzy. It’s so indicative of the very different times we live in that a government shutdown nowadays barely registers on the political/national consciousness (except for, hey, countless government workers and soldiers who won’t be getting paid, but that’s another story).

And DACA STILL hasn’t been renewed (where’s that Dream Act, Congress?), leaving hundreds of thousands of young immigrants in the lurch. Temporary Protected Status (TPS) has been revoked for many other immigrants, leaving countless Haitians and El Savadorans without legal status — effectively de-legalizing them after they’ve lived for years, even decades, in the U.S.

But on a more positive note: Yesterday, millions of women marched from Colorado Springs to New York in honor of another anniversary: the inaugural Women’s March. Last year, I wrote a long piece about the women’s march and my participation in it. I was fresh into my journalistic career, and despite the fear of what may unfold in 2017, I was buoyed by the resilience I saw around me.

This year, I opted not to join the march, and instead partake in quiet reflection of where the country stands (and me). Over the years, I’ve had many, many discussions of what it means to be an American. My parents left their home country — virtually, everything they knew and everyone they loved — and came to this country. They sacrificed a lot. The U.S since become their home. And mine, too. I don’t want to flee to Canada or settle down and marry a European boo (though I’d certainly love to travel more — eyeing those cheap Spirit Airlines tickets!). I want to stay, no matter how tough things get. Because this is my country. And it’s the country of countless Americans, many of whom were not born here, but contribute to its lifeblood and economy all the same. #HeretoStay

Yesterday, I realized, that in my own way, I am a PATRIOT. Not in the mainstream sense of the word, which prizes insularity, isolationism and American exceptionalism. Nor in the more militaristic sense of the word, which brings to mind the muscular, macho heroes of Independence Day and Die Hard. And yet, I’m a patriot all the same. Whether in my previous duties as a human rights activist or in my current line of work as a reporter-writer, I’ve always striven to better my country. To know its ugly history of oppression and modern-day reality of oppression. To work to bring it closer into existence with the words enshrined in the Declaration of Independence (amendment by me), while understanding the both privileges I hold and the challenges that face me:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all [people] are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.”

And here are the things I’ll do as a PATRIOT to make that happen:

1) Continue to engage with individuals I may personally disagree with, and truly see from their point-of-view (and represent it accurately on the page). This is essential not only in my work as a journalist, but also as a human being residing in a very polarized country.

2) Immerse myself in worlds other than the NYC literary milieu (it’s very easy to get sucked up in this bubble).

3) Donate to organizations working to aid struggling and under-served communities. For folks looking for suggestions, my former employer, The Leadership Conference is a great one. The ACLU and Southern Poverty Law Center are also top-notch. But also consider donating to local charities, which oftentimes don’t do the hard work but don’t receive the kind of funding that their national counterparts do. A highly-respected nonprofit in the San Francisco Bay Area is the East Bay Sanctuary Covenant, which provides legal and educational services to immigrants in need. I used to volunteer there, and can vouch that they’re lovely people who do essential work for their community.

4) Write both nonfiction and fiction that builds bridges between different communities, promotes greater equity and diverse representation, and elevates the voices of indigenous, disabled, female and people of color.

5) Watch lesser-known TV and films — especially ones that increase awareness of key human rights concerns. On my watch-list is the documentary On Her Shoulders about Yazidi activist Nadia Murad, who suffered horrific abuse at the hands of ISIS militants and now speaks out on behalf of her people.

And the latest adaption of White Fang! Okay, fewer relevant social justice issues there, but my roommates recently adopted a dog, and I cried reading Jack London’s book, so this is on the list.

6) In order to better understand my own country, it’s good to have some distance from my usual stomping ground. So I’d like to travel to one more new state or country before the year is up. Louisiana? Japan? Peru? North Dakota?

What are your expectations for 2018? Did you partake in the Women’s March? What’s on your reading/binge-watching/writing list for the upcoming year? Thoughts on the current media landscape? Do share!

With much love,

Tara

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Real Talk Book Review: Why Wuthering Heights is one of the most messed up books I’ve read…ever. But it’s worse in this political climate.

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[Image credit: Wuthering-heights.co.uk]

Happy 200th death-i-versary, Jane Austen! I feel my high school erred in adequately prepping me to become a Jane-ite. I read not one, not two, but FIVE Shakespeare plays in the course of my high school education, yet not a single Austen or Brontë novel. Come to think of it, most of the other esteemed, literary books I read in K-12 (with a few exceptions, like the iconic Toni Morrison) were written by old and/or dead white men. Hopefully high school curriculum has diversified since then, though I wouldn’t hold my breath. Anyway, I came to love Austen in my early twenties, in addition to other fantastic writers of the 1800s such as Charlotte Brontë, the well-regarded author of Jane Eyre.

Having long been a Jane Eyre fan, I thought it only fair that I give the other famous Brontë sister, Emily, a chance and read her most famous (and only novel) to-date: Wuthering Heights.

Oh boy. I’m not sure I regret reading Wuthering Heights, but this might be one of the most messed-up books I’ve read of all time. Upon finishing the book, I actually sat silent in bed for several minutes, trying to process the gravity of all that I’d read.

Heathcliff, the leading male character and “love interest” of leading lady Catherine Earnshaw, AKA Cathy, is one of the most disturbing characters I’ve ever glimpsed on the page. And I’m a fan of the true crime genre and have read up on the likes of H.H Holmes (read Devil in the White City), so I know what I’m talking about. He is evil embodied in human form. Sure, he was abused severely as a child, and I know Brontë is trying to make a point about how our environment molds us into the terrifying adults we grow up to be, yada, yada, yada but that doesn’t make it any more enjoyable to read. Take a look at the quote below, when Heathcliff refers to his new wife, Isabella Linton, a woman he not only does not love, but hates with an intensity that shocks the senses.

“The first thing she saw me do, on coming out of the Grange, was to hang up her little dog; and when she pleaded for it, the first words I uttered were a wish that I had the hanging of every being belonging to her, except one: possibly she took that exception for herself. But no brutality disgusted her: I suppose she has an innate admiration of it, if only her precious person were secure from injury!…If she desired to go, she might: the nuisance of her presence outweighs the gratification to be derived from tormenting her!”

Now, Heathcliff hates Isabella primarily because she has the misfortune of being the wrong person. Her only crime is that she is not the only person he has ever cared about or desired in this world: his supposed soulmate and once-upon-a-time childhood friend, Catherine. Catherine similarly loves Heathcliff, for reasons I cannot fathom other than he is apparently her ‘soulmate.’ God. Now I get why all the Twilight kids used to love Wuthering Heights. Edward and Bella are the modern day version of Heathcliff and Catherine, though unfortunately, unlike their English predecessors, they do not meet an untimely death. Young adult literature would be so much better for it if they had.

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[Image credit: IMDB.com]

Normally, my motto is that truth is stranger than fiction, but in the case of Wuthering Heights, I’m prepared to throw that slogan out the window. How Brontë, a sheltered clergyman’s daughter, came up with this shockingly abusive, demented character is beyond me. Moreover, she decided to pair him with Catherine, a wholly selfish young woman who had little regard for anyone’s feelings but her own. Despite loving Heathcliff, she says that marrying him would bring her status down in society, causing him to run away for three years before he returns to her — at which point, she is already married to her other childhood friend, Edward Linton (and also pregnant with his child). Most of the time she regards her husband as a nuisance, if an unfailingly kind one. Here is how she speaks to him after he rightfully criticizes his wife for receiving Heathcliff into their home:

“Have you been listening at the door, Edgar?” asked the mistress, in a tone particularly calculated to provoke her husband, implying both carelessness and contempt of his irritation.

Catherine was not merely someone who had no hope of inspiring Heathcliff to better himself, but also someone who would only impel him to give in to his most violent vices. It was a match made in hell. See how Heathcliff refers to his ‘beloved’ after he’s gotten into an altercation with her “lamb” of a husband:

“I wish you joy of the milk-blooded coward, Cathy!” said her friend. ‘I compliment you on your taste. And that is the slavering, shivering, thing you preferred to me! I would not strike him my fist, but I’d kick him with my foot, and experience considerable satisfaction. Is he weeping, or is he going to faint for fear?”

I digress. There are too many ‘Heathcliff is a sadistic asshole’ quotes for me to list them all for you.

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[Image credit: IMDB.com]

But I have to give Bronte credit for creating incredibly unlikeable characters and sticking to her guns in following their miserable stories through to the end. As an aspiring novelist, I’m definitely taking notes. I mean, can you imagine the kind of shocked reception this book must have received in seventeenth-century England? I’m sure the editing world was shocked and scandalized by the “immoral” nature of the book and its inhabitants. I figure that Brontë imagined such a reaction, and so she actually initially published the book under a male pseudonym (though a lot of that was probably because discrimination against female authors was still very prevalent at the time — and still is to this day, in some literary circles).

And also, Bronte perfected the literary device of using weather and geography to mirror the turbulent human condition. Pretty sure they teach Brontë in all those fancy creative writing classes in college that I never took. Check out the great paragraph below:

“It was a very dark evening for summer: the clouds appeared inclined to thunder, and I said we had better all sit down; the approaching rain would be certain to bring him home without further trouble. However, Catherine would not be persuaded into tranquility. She kept wandering to and fro, from the gate to the door, in a state of agitation which permitted no repose; and at length took up a permanent situation on one side of the wall, near the road: where, heedless of my expostulations and the growling thunder, and the great drops that began to plash around her, she remained, calling at intervals, and then listening, and then crying outright.”

But more than the actual story, I find it interesting to read Wuthering Heights during this political climate. I know, eyeroll. “You can’t link everything to Trump!” I know you can’t, but I’m sure going to try.

Seriously though, it’s hard not to find parallels everywhere. We have a man that openly bragged about sexual assault who is now our president. Heathcliff, a violently abusive blowhard (and likely rapist), is considered in some circles to be merely a tormented, tragically romantic soul. Give me a break. There is a whole set of characters in Wuthering Heights, too many characters with the same first and last names, and a very confusing family tree that may or may bear some traces of incest (?). I’ll spare you all that, but just to know that pretty much every single one of these characters is mercilessly tormented by Heathcliff throughout the course of the book, including his own beloved’s daughter, who is also named Catherine. Heathcliff forces her to marry his son under a series of very spurious, and most likely, illegal conditions. Thankfully, Heathcliff ultimately passes into the netherworld to join his dear Cathy in death, leaving some semblance of peace for the souls who he tortured for so long on these dark and gloomy moors.

Beyond the fact that misogynistic men can rise to influential positions, whether those be in the White House or in the moors of rural England, violence against women is nothing new.  But it seems like every day, I see articles on my Facebook newsfeed about women being stalked, raped, bludgeoned and killed, often by their spouses or partners. The summer before I moved to New York, three female joggers were killed in the span of a few weeks while running near their homes. I read just an article today about a woman whose ex-boyfriend progressively stalked her before hiring a third party to dump toxic acid all over her body, leaving her permanently scarred. It’s enough to make a modern lady dump all dating apps in the garbage and live the life of a solitary hermit.

Normally, I don’t mind bleak literature. Hell, the darker, the better. I’m a Game of Thrones fan, after all. But when I’m reminded day in and day out of how being a woman in this world is a frightening thing, sometimes I just need a respite from that in my literature and television. True, Heathcliff torments men and women alike. But in Wuthering Heights, the women are held captive — in one case, literally — to particularly violent fates at the hands of this tormentor. With all this being said, I’d sooner place Wuthering Heights in the horror category than the romance aisle.

For that reason — and also, because to be honest I find Emily Bronte’s writing style exhausting and dull — I’m not sure if I’ll pick up Wuthering Heights anytime soon. But what the story reveals about the depravity of the human condition — that will stick me for a long time. The soulmate thing? Ehh, not so much.

Review: 3/5 stars