How Will Women Protest In a Second Trump Term?
Pussy hats and memes might provide some emotional relief, but the real work will take place behind the scenes.
In 2012, I was fresh out of university and living, quite literally, in a closet. Too poor to afford a deposit on a rental in London, I had set up camp next to my best friend’s hot water boiler, under a blanket her grandmother had knitted; my pantyhose and underwear hung from a single coat hanger suspended from the ceiling—there was nowhere else to store them.
It was 2012. #MeToo hadn’t yet exploded around the world. Donald Trump was best known for his role on The Apprentice and women’s magazines were still coaching young readers on “how to please your man.” The fourth wave of feminism was only just being whispered about. And if you published a blog—remember when blogging was a thing?—there was actually a good chance that people might read it.
In the weeks I lived in that closet, I’d work at an office job during the day, then come home and read Cosmopolitan at Rhiannon’s kitchen table, while she rustled up dinner.
“Please your man twice by making him a nice bolognese sauce before he gets home from work; then put on your heels and rub some sauce on your nipples for sexytime before dinnertime!” I’d read out the tips in a practiced monotone, before we both collapsed in laughter. The comedy routine turned into an online magazine called The Vagenda. And The Vagenda—just 24 hours after launching—attracted over 60,000 readers. (👋 For those seeking it, I'm sorry to say Vagenda magazine is no longer available online, but its namesake book may serve as a decent substitute.—Francesca, your ed.)
I eventually moved out of the closet. By that point, The Vagenda had a book deal, both my co-founder Rhiannon and I had gotten newspaper columns, and I’d even managed to find myself a proper (shared) apartment.
Years later, Rhiannon and I text one another across the ocean (I now live in New York; she remains in London) about the toll of domestic labor, the dismal state of international politics and the reversal of women’s reproductive rights. We’re feminists now just as we were feminists then, but in 2012, the landscape was fundamentally different. In 2012, we were called pioneers for pointing out that not every woman laughs daintily when she eats salad and not every woman is a size zero. Our book launch, in 2014, featured glittery cupcakes with pink and brown frosting molded into the shape of vaginas. Trust me, it really was novel at the time.
But by 2017, something had changed.
