Lindy West Quotes

The wind picked up. The power went out. The windows rattled. I took an Ambien and curled into a ball and tried to hide from the dark and the wind in the bed that had been ours, the first bed I'd ever shared with someone who loved me and picked me and then changed his mind.

You can hate someone and love them at the same time. Maybe that's a natural side effect of searching for heroes in a world not built for you.

Those kids grew up to be the great, white, complacent center - the nonvoters, the apolitical, the ones who just stay out of it, as though inaction isn't a political stance.

I know that trolls are fundamentally sad people; I know that I've already defeated them in every substantive arena - by being smart, by being happy, by being successful, by being listened to, by being loved.

Vashon is an island, accessible by ferry from Seattle, mainly populated by NIMBY-ish hippies, NIMBY-ish yuppies, boutique farmers, and wizards riding recumbent bicycles. A full quarter of the children in Vashon schools are unvaccinated.

My abortion was a normal medical procedure that got tangled up in my bad relationship, my internalized fatphobia, my fear of adulthood, my discomfort with talking about sex; and one that, because of our culture's obsession with punishing female sexuality and shackling women to the nursery and the kitchen, I was socialized to approach with shame and describe only in whispers. But the procedure itself was the easiest part. Not being able to have one would have been the real trauma.

We can mention periods obliquely, of course, when we want to delegitimize women's real concerns, dismiss their more inconvenient emotions, and perpetuate the myth that having outie junk instead of innie junk (and a male gender identity) makes a person an innately more rational and competent human being.

Fat people already are ashamed. It's taken care of. No further manpower needed on the shame front, thx. I am not concerned with whether or not fat people can change their bodies through self-discipline and "choices." Pretty much all of them have tried already. A couple of them have succeeded. Whatever. My question is, what if they try and try and try and still fail? What if they are still fat? What if they are fat forever? What do you do with them then? Do you really want millions of teenage girls to feel like they're trapped in unsightly lard prisons that are ruining their lives, and on top of that it's because of their own moral failure, and on top of that they are ruining America with the terribly expensive diabetes that they don't even have yet? You know what's shameful? A complete lack of empathy.

So I was forced to go to school wearing a menstrual pad belt that had been in our first aid drawer since approximately 1961. If you've never seen one of these things, because you haven't been to the antiquities museum, it is a literal belt that goes around your waist, with two straps that dangle down in your front and back cracks, ice cold metal clips holding a small throw pillow in place over your shame canyon.

The myth of the "liberal elite" strategically frames liberal values - environmentalism, racial and gender equality, gay and trans liberation, immigrants' rights, the social safety net-as inherently frivolous, dishonest, a joke. By extension, the people who would benefit from the actualization of those values are "fake" Americans- the nation's most vulnerable groups being called decadent effetes

Common Sense" without growth, curiosity, or perspective eventually becomes conservatism and bitterness.

Every human being is a wet, gassy katamari of triumphs, traumas, scars, coping mechanisms, parental baggage, weird stuff you saw on the Internet too young, pressure from your grandma to take over the bodega when what you really want to do is dance, and all the other fertilizer that makes a smear of DNA grow into a fully formed toxic avenger.

We're all building our world, right now, in real time. Let's build it better.

The suffering in Boston, as horrifying as it is, is largely abstract to a nation that has, for the most part, never experienced such a thing. On the other hand, in every room Oswalt performs comedy in, there will be a rape survivor. Statistically speaking, there will be many. There will be even more if he is performing at a university. If exceptional violence illuminates our human capacity for empathy, then structural violence shows the darkness of indifference.

I desperately want to help, but the truth is, I don't know. I used to hate myself; eventually, I didn't anymore. I used to be shy; eventually, I made my living by talking too much.

It costs you nothing to err on the side of "care".

I fervently believe that people shouldn't stay in bad relationships just because of some artificial rom-com notion of true love being "forever." In fact, I think that the pressure of conforming to that framework ruins-literally RUINS-a lot of people's lives.

We have to be the witches they've always said we are, and counter their magic with our own.

We gobble up cable news' insistence that both sides of an argument are equally valid and South Park's insistence that both sides are equally stupid, because taking a firm stand on anything opens us up to criticism.

Dave brought a knife and a gun to a comedy show. Because of a disagreement about whether or not comedy clubs are safe for women. Because the way people talk onstage has no bearing on how they behave in real life. It's

Someone will always pop up to say, "You would be more effective if you were nicer." "You would have a more receptive audience if you adjusted your tone." "You catch more flies with honey." Well, I don't want flies. The most likable woman in the world is crawling with fucking flies.

A lazy writer (it's easy to hate things) or a versatile one? I don't believe in an afterlife. We live and then we stop living. We exist and then we stop existing. That means I only get one chance to do a good job. I want to do a good job.

So no, excuse me, we will not play likability anymore. It's an endless runner - a game with no progress and no finish line - that women are expected to chase, that keeps us from doing the real work, accruing the real power. Chasing likability has been one of women's biggest setbacks, by design. I don't know that rejecting likability will get us anywhere, but I know that embracing it has gotten us nowhere.

Art has no obligation to evolve but it has a powerful incentive to do so. Art that is static, that captures a dead moment, is nothing. It is, at best, nostalgia; at worst, it can be a blight on our sense of who we are, a shame we pack away. Artists who refuse to listen, participate, and change along with the world around them are not being silenced or punished by censorious college sophomores, they are letting obsolescence devour them voluntarily. Political correctness is just the inexorable turn of the gear. Falling behind is preventable.

I sometimes think of people's personalities as the negative space around their insecurities.

And even though I would never phrase it like this, I agree that women don't always get a chance to "fill our own vessels." My dad worked all day. My mom worked all day, then came home and made dinner. Women do a lot. Women are neat.

Yeah, personally I hate my period and think it's annoying and gross, but it's not more gross than anything else that comes out of a human body. It's not more gross than feces, urine, pus, bile, vomit, or the grossest bodily fluid of them all - in my mother's professional opinion - phlegm. And yet we are not horrified every time we go to the bathroom. We do not stigmatize people with stomach flu. The active ingredient in period stigma is misogyny. This

I don't know any woman who hasn't experienced some level of sexual predation, from catcalls, to unwanted advances at bars, to emotional manipulation, to violent rape. I certainly have - even "unrapeable" me. All women do need to worry about rape.

Internet trolling wasn't just a symptom, it was a canary. Trolls tested the boundaries of how far society would allow racism, misogyny, and transphobia to be normalized. Would anyone do anything? Would anyone take action? Would anyone powerful take this seriously? The answer turned out to be no. Those of us on the receiving end begged for help, and were told to grow a thicker skin, because the Internet "isn't real life." Until, surprise, the Internet became president, and we as a society were so inured to hate speech - our boundaries had been so thoroughly obliterated and "political correctness" so stigmatized - that we had no defense. There

Where do you get your confidence?" is a complex, dangerous question. First of all, if you are a thin person, please do not go around asking fat people where they got their confidence in the same tone you'd ask a shark how it learned to breathe air and manage an Orange Julius.

As a woman, my body is scrutinized, policed, and treated as a public commodity. As a fat woman, my body is also lampooned, openly reviled, and associated with moral and intellectual failure. My body limits my job prospects, access to medical care and fair trials, and - the one thing Hollywood movies and Internet trolls most agree on - my ability to be loved. So the subtext, when a thin person asks a fat person, "Where do you get your confidence?" is, "You must be some sort of alien because if I looked like you, I would definitely throw myself into the sea.

The narrative for girls is that you just hang around and wait to be "chosen" and then you belong to somebody and you live happily ever after. There isn't room for more nuanced concerns about the creepy proprietary nature of that relationship model, or the breadth of what fulfillment really means for women.

but they tell you that if you hate yourself hard enough, you can grab just a tail feather or two of perfection.

If Google had existed when I was eleven, my search history would have looked something like this:

how much comes out
how many cups come out
how to stop period
cancel your period
people with no period
spells to delay period
blood magic
witchcraft
witches
the witches
roald dahl
new roald dahl books
free roald dahl books for kids

It seems that a lot of men are confusing being asked not to violate other people's sexual boundaries with being forbidden to participate in basic human activities such as dancing, dating, chatting, walking around, going to work. and telling jokes.

Privilege means that it's easy for white women to do each other favors. Privilege means that those of us who need it the least often get the most help. I

Around that time, just when I needed it, Leonard Nimoy's Full Body Project came to me like a gift. The photographs are in black and white, and they feature a group of fat, naked women laughing, smiling, embracing, gazing fearlessly into the camera. In one, they sway indolently like the Three Graces; in another they re-create Herb Ritts's iconic pile of supermodels. It was the first time I'd ever seen fat women presented without scorn. I

We only get one life. Wasting someone's time is the subtlest form of murder.

Just live! Live now! Don't wait, and don't let anyone tell you that you're a work in progress.

Contrary to what your friends' hyper-consciously constructed Facebook updates would have you believe, life isn't a series of discrete, pivotal, deeply meaningful lily pads. Life is a smear. It's messy, indistinct and disorienting: pinball, not chess.

Why, when men hate themselves, it's women who take the beatings.

By 2019, the far Right's unflagging message...has come to full fruition, its ultimate purpose revealed: to justify the stigmatization of care itself. It's not just caring about the environment that's effeminate and therefore despicable, it's caring about anything. It's care.

There's no "winning" when it comes to dealing with Internet trolls. Conventional wisdom says, "Don't engage. It's what they want." Is it? Are you sure our silence isn't what they want? Are you sure they care what we do at all? From where I'm sitting, if I respond, I'm a sucker for taking the bait. If I don't respond, I'm a punching bag. I'm the idiot daughter of an embarrassed dead guy. On the record. Forever.

And being an "equal opportunity offender" - as in, "It's okay, because Daniel Tosh makes fun of ALL people: women, men, AIDS victims, dead babies, gay guys, blah blah blah" - falls apart when you remember (as so many of us are forced to all the time) that all people are not in equal positions of power. "Oh, don't worry - I punch everyone in the face! People, baby ducks, a lion, this Easter Island statue, the ocean…" Okay, well that baby duck is dead now.

You have to swallow, every day, that you are a secondary being whose worth is measured by an arbitrary, impossible standard, administered

Honestly, there is something seductive about being the kind of person who can just take it. Challenging myself to absorb more and more hate is a masochistic form of vanity.

We cannot pander or wait for consensus; the world is too big and complicated and rigged. We are saying the things that people don't like.

You can't fix a problem by targeting its victims. Even if you hate fat people with all your heart, if you actually want to get us out of 'your' armrest space, defending out humanity is the only pragmatic solution. Because no matter how magnificently you resent them, you cannot turn a fat person into a thin person in time for the final boarding call (nor a full bladder into an empty one, nor a crying baby into a baked potato). The only answer is to decide we're worth helping.

If my chair collapses under me right now, people will assume it's because I'm fat. But if your chair collapses under you, it's because you sat in a broken chair.

I like to thin the woman who ran the clinic would have done that for anyone - that there's a quiet web of women like her (like us, I flatter myself), stretching from pole to pole, ready to give other women a hand. She helped me even though she didn't have to, and I am forever grateful. But I also wonder what made me sound, to her ears, like someone worth trusting, someone it was safe to take a chance on. I certainly wasn't the neediest person calling her clinic. The fact is, I was getting that abortion no matter what. All I had to do was wait two weeks, or have an awkward conversation I did not want to have with my supportive, liberal, well-to-do mother. Privilege means that it's easy for white women to do each other favors. Privilege means that those of us who need it the least often get the most help.

Real change is slow, hard, and imperceptible.

The "perfect body" is a lie. I believed in it for a long time, and I let it shape my life, and shrink it - my real life, populated by my real body. Don't let fiction tell you what to do.

If you're the very luckiest kind of astronaut ever, your big payoff is that you get to visit a barren airless wasteland for five minutes, do some more math, and then go home - ice cream not guaranteed.

I graduated in 2004 with an English degree and a case of imposter syndrome so intense that I convinced myself I "didn't have enough ideas" to become a writer of any kind.

Thanks for nothing, regular human mom. Footnote: nothing except for the unconditional love and support and meticulous care to make sure I faced the world fully informed about my body and reproductive health.

I had waited so long for someone to pick me. And then he changed his mind. I

There's a type of person who thinks he's getting away with something by not believing in anything. But not believing in anything IS believing in something. It's active, not passive. To believe in nothing is to change nothing. It means you're endorsing the present, and the present is a horror[...] Irreverence is the ultimate luxury item.

Maybe you are thin. You hiked that trail and you are fit and beautiful and wanted and I am so proud of you, I am so in awe of your wiry brightness; and I'm miles behind you, my breathing ragged. But you didn't carry this up the mountain, You only carried yourself. How hard would you breathe if you had to carry me? You couldn't. But I can.

it is easier to mock and deride individual fat people than to fix food deserts, school lunches, corn subsidies, inadequate or nonexistent public transportation, unsafe sidewalks and parks, healthcare, mental healthcare, the minimum wage, and your own insecurities.

Likability is a con, and we're falling for it[...] Is there such a thing as a likable woman? Can you think of one? And if she exists, could she be anything but the ultimate manifestation of everything we hate about the water we swim in, everything we're forced to be? Likability in a sexist, racist culture is not objective - it's compulsory femininity, the gender binary, invisible labor, whiteness, smallness, sweetness. It's letting them do it. If someone is universally likable, I don't trust that person.

Why should I have to sit and cheer through hours of "edgy" misogyny, "edgy" racism, "edgy" rape jokes, just to be included in an industry that belongs to me as much as anyone else?

Honestly, this 'Where do you get your confidence?' chapter could be sixteen words long. Because there was really only one step to my body acceptance: Look at pictures of fat women on the Internet until they don't make you uncomfortable anymore. That was the entire process. (Optional step two: Wear a crop top until you forget you're wearing a crop top. Suddenly, a crop top is just a top. Repeat.)

my body, my work, my voice, my confidence, my power, my determination to demand a life as potent, vibrant, public, and complex as any man's.

I spent a lot of time alone as a kid. I've never been an easy hugger. The social conventions that keep human beings separate and discrete - boundaries, etiquette, privacy, personal space - have always been a great well of safety to me. I am a rule follower. I like choosing whom I let in close. The emotional state of emergency following a death necessarily breaks those conventions down, and, unfortunately, I am bad at being human without them. I

The real scam is that being bones isn't enough either. The game is rigged. There is no perfection.

People go on and on about boobs and butts and teeny waists, but the clavicle is the true benchmark of female desirability. It is a fetish item. Without visible clavicles you might as well be a meatloaf in the sexual marketplace. And I don't mean Meatloaf the person, who has probably gotten laid lotsa times despite the fact that his clavicle is buried so deep as to be mere urban legend, because our culture does not have a creepy sexual fascination on the bones of meaty men.

Only women. Show us your bones, they say. If only you were nothing but bones.

The fact that abortion is still a taboo subject means that opponents of abortion get to define it however suits them best.

I say no to people who prioritize being cool over being good. I say no to misogynists who want to weaponize my body against me. I say no to men who feel entitled to my attention and reverence, who treat everything the light touches as a resource for them to burn. I say no to religious zealots who insist that I am less important than an embryo. I say no to my own instinct to stay quiet. It's a way of kicking down the boundaries that society has set up for women - be compliant, be a caregiver, be quiet - and erecting my own. I will do this; I will not do that. You believe in my subjugation; I don't have to be nice to you. I am busy. My time is not a public commodity.

There is nothing novel or comedic or righteous about men using the threat of sexual violence to control non-compliant women. This is how society has always functioned. Stay indoors, women. Stay safe. Stay quiet. Stay in the kitchen. Stay pregnant. Stay our of the world. IF you want to talk about silencing, censorship, placing limits and consequences on speech, this is what it looks like.

Feminism is really just the long slow realization that the things you love hate you.

Being on Twitter felt like being in a nonconsensual BDSM relationship with the apocolypse

I struggle to conceive of the "resilience" I've developed in my job as a good thing - this hardening inside me, this distance I've put between myself and the world, my determination to delude myself into normalcy. From the cockpit, it feels like much more of a loss than a triumph. It's like the world's most not-worth-it game show: Well, you've destroyed your capacity for unbridled happiness and human connection, but don't worry - we've replaced it with this prison of anxiety and pathological inability to relax!

So fine, if you insist. This is a witch hunt. We're witches, and we're hunting you.

My dad is gone now and so is that Seattle, but walking in the places he walked, puffing up the same hills, turning the same corners, I feel him in the ridges and grooves of my city--we are close, superimposed, separated only by time, and what's that? This is the only religion that I can relate to.

I think we can all agree that this fully checks out and that indeed it is men who are the true victims of witch hunts. Which they invented. To kill women.

Please don't forget: I am my body. When my body gets smaller, it is still me. When my body gets bigger, it is still me. There is not a thin woman inside me, awaiting excavation. I am one piece. I am also not a uterus riding around in a meat incubator. There is no substantive difference between the repulsive campaign to separate women's bodies from their reproductive systems - perpetuating the lie that abortion and birth control are not healthcare - and the repulsive campaign to convince women that they and their body size are separate, alienated entities. Both say, "Your body is not yours." Both demand, "Beg for your humanity." Both insist, "Your autonomy is conditional." This is why fat is a feminist issue. All

when you pit women against one another, keep us shackled by shame and hunger, obsessing over our flaws rather than our power and potential; when you leverage all of that to sap our money and our time - that moves the rudder of the world. It steers humanity toward conservatism and walls and the narrow interests of men, and it keeps us adrift in waters where women's safety and humanity are secondary to men's pleasure and convenience. I

I believe unconditionally in the right of people with uteruses to decide what grows inside of their body and feeds on their blood and endangers their life and reroutes their future. There are no "good" abortions and "bad" abortions, there are only pregnant people who want them and pregnant people who don't, pregnant people who have access and support and pregnant people who face institutional roadblocks and lies.

I've only had a handful of moments like that in my life - where I could see how thin the veil was between my happy, intact world and its complete destruction. How few steps there were between the mundane and the unthinkable. You can see why people stay quiet. Can you see, yet, why I speak up? Wouldn't

Americans are addicted to plausible deniability. If we can't even think critically about something as relatively insignificant as an internet cat or admit that a person might give a pet an offensive name or apologize honestly for small, careless slights, how are we ever going to reckon with the fact that our country was built by slaves on land stolen from people on whom we perpetrated a genocide? What the f*ck are we going to do? Our propensity for always, always, always choosing what is comfortable over what is right helped pave the road to this low and surreal moment in US history.