We can’t cook. Well, maybe we can, but we can’t cook without a cookbook. We probably can’t sew. We can’t change a diaper because we haven’t done it since all those babysitting jobs fifteen years ago. We didn’t just go to college to find a husband. We are not secretaries. We are not purchasing things on his credit card. And more importantly, we are definitely not perfect.
We are the women of this generation.
And what we are is independent. Intelligent. Opinionated Self-sufficient. Sexually liberated. Driven. Wait, those are all cliches. Well, maybe they are cliches because they are true. By technical definition, we may all be alcoholics. Sweethearts and assholes. Experimenters and inventors. Firecrackers and heartbreakers and caregivers and designers of our own destiny. Sometimes, we are confused. Sometimes, we are incredibly dissatisfied. We are self-reflective at time, self-absorbed at more times than that; we have endless stories and epic nights and tragic failures and sad spells and big plans. We feel everything. We are adaptable and flexible and powerful and fucking beautiful.
We don’t believe that power in the boardroom will wilt our power in the bedroom.
Wait, speaking of which, we all deserve motherfucking raises and mind-blowing orgasms.
We’ll still date up, but we’ll also date down, and upside down, and around the block… Because we’re not going to take what’s offered to us, we’re gonna find what we really want.
We are growing older without quite growing up (or is it growing up without growing old?) and that’s fucking ok. So we forgot to pay our credit card bill last month but we’re putting away money every month for our 401ks. We’ve got grown up problems and grown up furniture and we know how to properly sort our laundry. Thanks mom.
But we are not our mothers.
We hate the way we look under fluorescent lights, but sometimes we aren’t afraid to shine that light on our own lives. We get fucking real – with our friends, with our boyfriends, with our lack of boyfriends sometimes, with that guy we met last night, with our bosses and the chick who waxes our vaginas and with ourselves.
We don’t want to be called miss or mam.
We have private desires but we are still on instagram straight selfie-ing. Our parents gave us some traditional values, but we aren’t living them in traditional ways. We are just as capable of paying for dinner as we are appreciating when it’s bought for us. We have fantastic bodies, and beautiful souls, and tender hearts and we have a voice.
We believe in the power of girls.
But we don’t think we’re feminists. We think we’re past needing it. Taking a birth control pill doesn’t even mean anything to our sexual revolution, it’s just something we pick up at the pharmacy once a month.
But of course we believe in our right to choose. To choose a job, to choose a husband, to choose not to have a husband, to choose what job and where and for how long and to choose our clothes and our hair and our self-worth and our shoes based on what we want, and that alone. We are pregnant. With possibility and options and choice. And we aren’t unaware of how the weight of all of our choices can both lift us up and tear us down, but it will be ok.
We are fucked up and we fuck things up and we are all a little crazy.
We will never be the same as our opposite sex, but again, that’s ok. Because we’ll never be the same as each other. We are as different from the men in our lives as we are from the women.
We want it all. We want none of it. We can have it all. No wait, we can’t. Sometimes we don’t know what we want, but we are goddamned sure we’re gonna figure it out. And as far as that cake, what is the point of having it and not eating it too? We’re gonna try and bake that cake, even if we forget to sift the flour and use room temperature eggs the first time around. And then you better believe we’re gonna eat it.
We are the modern girl. I mean woman. No, I mean still a girl. Fuck, I sound like Britney Spears.
Forget that. To quote Gloria Steinem, “we are becoming the men we wanted to marry.”
And in that time – this new time created by this new age (thank you Betty Friedan and Amelia Earhart and Sheryl Sandberg and millions of others) – that time between college and whatever else we want to do with our lives, be it marriage and/or a career and/or kids and/or a dog and/or no marriage and/or a series of marriages/boyfriends/girlfriends/careers and/or anything we fucking want, we present the failures and successes and hilarity and tragedy and all of the stories of what it means to be a US today.