Fighting Harassment: One woman finds the courage to tell her street harassment story. On the other side of things, a comedienne wrote a great little piece on how not to harass people.

Tattoo Empowerment: A critique of the obnoxious coinage of “skank flank.”

Women in STEM: The Florida honor student who inadvertently exploded a Sprite bottle hasn’t just had the trumped-up charges against her dropped: her story resonated with the man whose memoir inspired “October Sky,” and he’s sending Kiera Wilmot and her twin sister to Space Camp.

U.S. Immigration: Latinas commend the Senate Bill on Immigration for broadening the inclusiveness of Medicaid.

Women in the World: Pollution in the developing world puts women at risk. A British writer points out that Western society has toxic attitudes about masculinity. And women in Jordan are facing open biases as they fight for equal pay for equal work.

It’s so hard to find really good writers. It’s a fairly new, last-twenty-year thing to have strong, independent, free-spirited women on film. Eighty percent of the writers are guys, most of them are married in Beverly Hills and they’re married to some woman who obviously annoys them or they wouldn’t write the way they write.

Actress-comedian, and now writer, Suzanne Smith had the same feelings when she tried to navigate Hollywood, so she recently did what more women are doing all the time — she created her own damn material. She wrote for us about how she got started.

“Nobody knew what to do with me besides me.” –Roseanne Barr

As an actor, I have always known this, but only at 36 years old did I finally have the courage to take action and start my own web series. Prior to this project, I was a working actress, with roles in Sex and the City, Law and Order, and Double Whammy, an independent film with Denis Leary. I always loved being part of a team and working with talented actors, directors and crew. Early in 2003, I had a near-death experience, which changed everything, including the way I looked at sharing my talent and the purpose of my life. In all actuality, I thought about leaving acting completely and focusing more on other interests, including writing, making collage art, and running a story time for children. But the acting bug had never completely left me, and in 2008, I got back into acting class with Wynn Handman, which inspired me to merge my writing and acting interests. Suddenly, I was creating my own characters, and it felt right.

I had always loved Woody Allen, Larry David, Christopher Guest and John Cassavetes. This new approach gave me full creative control, and I started creating parts for myself that were fuller female representations. I loved the roles that others had scripted, but let’s face it, the really meaty parts for women are few and far between. I remember Wynn saying to me in my early 20s, “You are not an ingénue.” I interpreted this to mean that my natural character was too strong for many of the existing female roles. I had always been a character actress, but apparently it confused people that I was “attractive.” I had auditioned for many big parts, but there were very few that I felt connected to. Plus, some of the feedback on my appearance was confusing. I was told I was “too thin,” “too fat,” “not fat enough” because I had a “pretty face.” Then I was told that there weren’t a lot of roles for me at my age. After my brush with death, I realized that life is too short to fit myself into someone else’s box.

When a friend suggested a couple of years ago that I play a quirky psychic with strong opinions, I took to the idea. Earlier this year, I launched Saige Winters: My Psychic Life, which I now cast, produce, write, co-direct occasionally and act in. Creatively, I have never been happier (though I do like the collaborative process and am open to playing excellent roles). I love having the freedom to tap my artistic and comedic sides without having to fit into someone else’s agenda. There are so many different types of women walking this earth, each of us unique and strong in her own way. This experience, which includes the positive feedback I’ve received, affirms for me the need for us all to live our true north—and write our own roles.

The only really disconcerting part of “Frances Ha” (opening May 31, nationwide June 14) is that the filmmakers decided to shoot it in black and white. Not that there’s anything wrong with black and white; the shadows pop and even the bleakest landscapes look beautiful. It just kinda screams artsy pretension, especially since the film is mainly set in New York among 20-something hipsters. 

But that’s not fair to this lovely little gem, directed by Noah Baumbach (“The Squid and the Whale”), nor are the inevitable comparisons to Lena Dunham’s “Girls” (though some of those might have been avoided by not casting Adam Driver in a supporting role).

Because “Frances Ha” is a great look at women’s friendships, particularly those intense bonds you form in your late teens/early 20s that, when they end, hurt far worse than any romance. 

As the film begins, Frances (Greta Gerwig) and Sophie (Mickey Sumner) are inseparable. Best friends since college, Frances is an apprentice at a dance company and Sophie works for Random House. They live together in a Brooklyn apartment, and often share a bed. Frances even compares them to sexless married lesbians, and finds it a compliment.

When she is away from Sophie, Frances tells people “we are the same person, except with different hair.” When her boyfriend Dan (Michael Esper) asks her to move in with him and adopt two hairless cats (she’s allergic), she hesitates, worrying about leaving Sophie.

Sophie, however, isn’t quite as invested. It’s clear she cares about Frances, but is chafing at her role and wants out. Soon after Frances turns down Dan’s offer, and they break up as a result, Sophie decides to move in with another friend in Manhattan.

“You know I’ve always wanted to live in TriBeca,” she pleads with Frances as they sit in a subway car. It doesn’t help that her new roommate is someone Frances hates.

Once Sophie moves, their friendship starts to dissolve. Frances’ life also starts falling apart. Colleen (Charlotte d’Amboise), her boss at the dance company, isn’t likely to take her on full-time. And since Frances can no longer afford an apartment by herself, she moves in with artist trust fund babies Lev (a much less murdery character for Driver) and Benji (Michael Zegen). Benji declares her “undateable,” though he is clearly drawn to her. Frances tries to turn Benji into another Sophie, but fails.

Frances’ fortunes continue to decline, and she is soon floating from apartment to apartment. But none of this is as painful as losing Sophie and only hearing about the major changes in her life through near strangers. Can Frances survive? See the film.

Gerwig is wonderful as Frances. Though the actress has made a name for herself playing lovably disconnected heroines (“Lola Versus,” “Damsels in Distress”), Frances is by far her best. The character may have her flaws, but she ultimately handles her troubles with quiet strength and dignity.

Sumner (yep, that is Sting’s kid) gives Sophie a great, not entirely sympathetic edge. Compared to Frances, Sophie is a bit of a frump, with stringy brown hair and large glasses and gawky gestures. Though she winds up landing hunky banker boyfriend Patch (Patrick Heusinger), you can tell there are some jealousies there. Sophie even admits to this while drunk, telling Frances she always felt they were competing.

Though the Frances/Sophie friendship dominates the movie, there are other finely drawn characters in there who have friendships with Gerwig’s character. D’Amboise, for instance, could so easily have been a caricature of mean boss/failed dancer, but she is actually in Frances’ corner. And Grace Gummer (yep, that’s Meryl Streep’s kid) has a nice cameo as fellow dancer Abby. Abby is clearly not in the mood to be Frances’ new Sophie, but gamely gives her houseroom anyway.

A large part of your childhood is learning to stop seeing your parents, particularly your mother, as extensions of yourself. A large part of your 20s is doing the same with your closest friends. Neither is easy, but “Frances Ha” captures the latter process just beautifully.

Céline’s albums since Let’s Talk About Love have gained some restraint, the singing and arrangements have become more up-to-date and “tasteful.” Her latest French release, D’Elles, goes very high-culture, even intellectual—it’s a concept album in which all the lyrics were provided by female journalists and novelists from Quebec and France. (One review was titled, “I Am Woman, Hear Me Think.”) At the 2007 Oscars, she was asked to sing a new piece by the renowned (and cosmopolitanly hip) Italian film composer Ennio Morricone, who was receiving a lifetime-achievement award. And her next album might go even further. Titled, warningly to fans, Taking Chances, it is rumored at the time of this writing to include songs by the rock band Evanescence, ex-Eurythmics musician Dave Stewart, the R&B artists Ne-Yo and R. Kelly (who’s built up cachet with the loony audacity of his musical soap opera, “Trapped in the Closet”), producer The-Dream (who made Rihanna’s massive hit “Umbrella”) and, most unlikely of all, that chart-topping studio avant-gardist, Timbaland. It is almost as if Céline has figured out how to be cool, American-style.

I don’t know if Celine will ever be 100-percent cool, or feminist — but we should all give her a chance. I love her song “Taking Chances” — how about you?

Safer Sweatshops: On the other end of the fashion cycle, we were encouraged to hear that several prominent retailers are committing to improve factory conditions in Bangladesh.

Rethinking Choice: One woman’s interesting take on the semantic argument between “Life” and “Choice.”

Surprise!: Greater access to and education about birth control leads to fewer abortions. Interestingly, education in the study led many women to conclude that an IUD was the right choice for them, suggesting that the long-term solution may be underused.

Sex Positivity: Thanks to Jezebel for this primer on the so-called “looseness” of the vulva. NSFW.

Mommy Life: One woman’s story about coming to terms with postpartum depression and accepting that her husband could be the better caregiver at the beginning.

Activism Works: The Florida teen whose science experiment caused a minor explosion has had charges dropped after internet activists accused the accusers of racism. Meanwhile, though Disney has publicly backed down from its Merida makeover, only time will tell if they’re changing her back.

Women in the World: Pakistani women braved threats of violence to vote this past weekend, while Kuwaiti women are gaining grounds for athletic competition. Coming from a different religious perspective, Israel has struck down the mandate that women and men be segregated on public bus rides through conservative neighborhoods. Meanwhile, Canadian students created this funny and thought-provoking spoof of gender roles in advertising.

This is a comeback I’ve heard many times for the six years I’ve been writing my advice column, And That’s Why You’re Single.  Apparently, in order for a woman who writes about dating to be taken seriously, she needs to have a man to trot out or cite as evidence that she knows of what she speaks.

My answer to this pointed question is quite succinct. I don’t need a man in my life in order to practice common sense and critical thinking. People throw the fact that I’m single (as far as they know) in my face to try and discredit me.  This one query reveals quite a bit about the person posing it. Namely, that they consider a woman’s ideas and opinions invalid unless she has a man by her side to validate them.

This question isn’t really a question. It’s an attempt to minimize my thoughts. The point of the inquiry is to shame me. Apparently, a woman who isn’t constantly looking for excuses to talk about her relationship is considered suspect. 

What’s funny is that I never hear the same types of criticisms directed at single men who write about dating and sex. In fact, I think single, male relationship writers like Dave Zincenko and Michael Thomsen tend to get more of a pass from their audience. Men aren’t viewed with the same critical eye for being a certain age and still single. They’re supposed to be playing the field and exercising their options, especially if they write about sex. In a case like that, the more experiences the male author deconstructs, the better he is perceived. And not just by his male readership.

I’m not sure whether many women will agree with this, but I tend to believe that a man with an impressive roster of sexual experiences is considered more desirable. His female readers may outwardly act outraged at his admissions, but I think internally they find him more attractive than a man who admits to dating one or two women before marrying his high school sweetheart. What I really think makes the man more sought after is that, because of his “vast” list of lovers, he is seen as a challenge. Men don’t bother to slut shame him. They’re too busy trying to replicate whatever tactics this guy employs to score so easily and often. The women that these writers date don’t see him as a liability. They consider him a catch, if only because of the potential bragging rights that come with “taming” him.

Now imagine a woman using her own Black Book as a source for her writing. If she’s liberal with her sexual admissions and beliefs, many folks see her as a threat. A big portion of her female readership will see her as a traitor because they’re being encouraged to examine their own insecurities that revolve around men and sex.  If she can’t manage to find anybody to settle down, she’s too picky or damaged. The insults and accusations consistently revolve around three things: her looks, her age and her relationship status. Those are considered a woman’s Achilles Heel, and men and women will do whatever they can to sever it. When Candace Bushnell’s marriage dissolved, you could almost hear people running to the Internet to mock her. “Fifty Shades of Grey” author E. L. James repeatedly had to endure comments about her weight and looks, as if she didn’t deserve to be so successful because she wasn’t a size two.

The reason for that, of course, is because most women are expected to wear the fact that they have a boyfriend as though it’s a badge of honor. The act of doing so was ingrained in us as young as our early teens. Being able to say that you had a boyfriend was considered the end all be all. We’d find ways to shoehorn mentions of him into conversations about biology lab or what we ate for dinner. Sharing that you had a boyfriend somehow elevated you over the heads of your peers. It meant that you found a boy that found you attractive.

You’d think that this sort of intra-gender competition would cease after high school. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. Read the comments of any article that revolves around dating – specifically the author’s dating woes – and you’ll be treated with numerous stories that start off with, “Well, when I met my boyfriend…” A quick tour of these threads will make you feel like you’ve been transported back to your high school lunchroom. I recently got into it with a commenter over at XOJane. Rather than actually argue the valid points I raised, my opponent snarked back, “You can disagree without being mean. Just sayin’ (oh, and btw, and that’s why I’m NOT SINGLE). hugs.”

In these situations, a woman will trot out her relationship (no matter how new it is) to bolster the validity of her insight. That is what truly makes behavior like this so unfortunate. For years women have struggled to be independent from men. Yet there appears to still be some underlying need to prove to other women that we have male approval. It’s as if some women believe that the ability to utter the words “my boyfriend” grants them access to some kind of higher ground.

I don’t think it’s a conscious action. I think it has been burned into our brains to think that, without a partner, we don’t deserve to have an opinion on certain matters.  Mainstream media, TV and movies don’t help us break out of this thinking, either. I recently bemoaned the cancellation of my guilty pleasure TV show, “Smash,” complaining that all the lead female characters had to be attached to a man, a couple even fighting over one. Olivia Pope from ABC’s “Scandal” has to be tied to the simpering, brooding Fitz in order to make her more interesting. We’ve been conditioned to try and one-up our peers where men are concerned. There’s this subversive need to prove to other people that we are desirable. And the way many of us prove that is by trotting out our partners. Social media feeds are clogged with references to boyfriends and dates. While some of these mentions are expressions of genuine happiness, I think many others are revealed strictly for the benefit of the reading audience. “Look at meeee! Somebody thinks I’m pretty!”

Originally, my decision to keep the details of my love life out of my writing was one of self-preservation. The personal memoir writing format has birthed a popular subsection that I affectionately refer to as the Oversharing Trainwreck. There’s this misguided belief out there that a woman who writes about sex and dating has to exploit her own experiences in order to be considered “brave” or “real.”  The core of any good relationship is intimacy. Taking to the web to spill my guts made it difficult for any man to trust or feel safe with me. Now I choose to keep my love life status to myself to avoid being defined by my ability to get a man.

No woman should be made to feel as though she needs to prove value or intelligence in this manner. Her work–and her life–should stand on its own, regardless of whether or not she has a man by her side. — Christan Marashio

Christan is an NYC-based writer and columnist. As a 40-something dating in Manhattan she can teach you that sometimes the love of your life is the love of your life. Read more on her blog or on Twitter at @ATWYSingle

from NicoleKidmanOfficial.com

Pregnancy seems to be on the rise for over-40 celebrities like Halle Berry, Nicole Kidman, Kelly Preston and Naomi Watts. These women seem to have the proverbial “it all” – stardom, riches and family. They make it seem so easy to have a career, delay pregnancy until they are in their 40s, and begin a family on their own terms. If they can do it, we can, too … Can’t we?

Probably not. Anything’s possible, but the way most women’s fertility clocks work, it is unlikely that these women’s children are biologically theirs. It’s no one’s business but their own, but since they are in the public spotlight, it does send a message that pregnancy in your 40s is easy. However, research shows that most of the time, it is not.

The last thing we want to do is pile onto the “hurry up, settle down, your eggs are wasting away!” panic the media often foists upon us. But in this case, the tabloids are peddling an opposite, and impossible, fairy-tale ideal. In the spirit of helping women to pursue every life option they want, we think it’s important to know: The only surefire way to put off children until well into your 40s and beyond is to get an egg donor or a surrogate when the time comes — or to freeze your eggs, an expensive but increasingly popular option, when you’re still in your 20s or 30s.

This month, Jennifer Aniston yet again graced Star Magazine‘s cover with the headline, “Finally at 44! Jen: Pregnant Bride! Miracle baby after two years of fertility treatments.” Clearly, if Aniston had given birth every time a magazine speculated about her pregnancy in the last decade, she’d be mother to a small country by now, but now at 44, even if she underwent IVF, she’d be lucky indeed to be pregnant with her own biological child. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention calculates that the likelihood of a 44-year-old woman delivering a baby using her own eggs, even when undergoing IVF, is less than 2%.

Women are born with a set number of eggs. Every month, eggs are lost through ovulation and natural egg death. By age 30, women have lost 88 percent of their lifetime supply of eggs and by age 40, the loss reaches 97 percent. The chance of a live birth from natural conception on a monthly basis declines from 20 percent at age 30 to 15 percent at age 35, 10 percent at age 40 and only 1 to 2 percent at age 45, according to DoctorOz.com.

I will admit to my own mainstream, semi-uncool reasons for having recently gorged on Sleater-Kinney downloads on iTunes. Mainly, the IFC comedy sensation Portlandia ignited my intense girl crushery for Carrie Brownstein — I haven’t wanted to copy everything a pop star wears/does/thinks so badly since I plastered my walls with Debbie Gibson posters. From there, I got into her current band, Wild Flag, which is, obviously, awesome. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Brownstein work a stage with her guitar. And now I’m mainlining old Sleater-Kinney.

For the uninitiated, Sleater-Kinney came out of the Pacific Northwest’s intersection of grunge and riot-grrl movements, combining the best elements to produce the kind of polished pop-punk the best of the ’90s and aughts bands brought us. In this case, the pop punk just happened to come from three chicks: Brownstein, Corin Tucker, and Janet Weiss. Their lyrics were as cleverly post-modern as Nirvana’s, maybe even more self-aware: “So you want to be entertained?/Please look away/We’re not here ’cause we want to entertain/Please go away/Don’t go away.” And they did meta as well as, if not as often and self-consciously as, Fall Out Boy. From “Turn It On”: “Don’t say the word if you don’t want it done/Don’t tell me your name if you don’t want it sung.”

While they certainly address female-oriented issues sometimes — the infectious “One More Hour” pines for a lesbian relationship without making a spectacle of it — their revolutionary quality came mostly from showing girls could play with the big boys without compromising their feminism or femininity. Any girl listening to any Sleater-Kinney today would come away with one message: We are as capable of shredding and wailing as any dude currently blowing out the speakers in his parents’ garage.

Of course, one of them is real, and one is the fictional lead of The Mary Tyler Moore Show. But having written a whole book about that show, I often find myself wondering what Mary would be up to right now if she were real. The fun of the game is that my own imagination can choose whatever it wants, and what it chooses mirrors what I really want to be like in 10, 20, 30, or 40 years. As Barbara Walters announced her retirement this week, I knew: This was Mary’s retirement. This is exactly what she would be doing right now after a long, groundbreaking career. She’d be signing off her successful talk show, leaving it in the care of her hand-picked co-hosts.

What’s astounding about Walters’ career is that, between her and Mary, she’s the real one — and yet she also did everything Mary did, but years earlier. She came up through the secretarial pool behind the network news scenes, just like Mary, and eventually broke through the male-dominated newsroom, just like Mary did. She then became a writer and segment producer (like Mary) doing “women’s interest” segments on the Today show. Soon she was on the air, which I believe was only a matter of time for Ms. Richards. She scaled great heights from there, becoming the show’s first female co-host, then nightly news’ first female co-anchor on ABC.

I encountered Walters in the ’80s through her riveting interview specials with celebrities and heads of state alike. I fell in love with her ability to coax a story from anyone. I studied her tactics. You don’t ask people, “Why are you crazy?” you ask them, “What is your response to critics who say you’re a little eccentric?” Sometimes, you soften the blow they know is coming: “A lot of people are wondering about your divorce, of course, so I have to ask: What happened?” Other times you rip the band-aid off: “Did you sleep with the president, or not?” I use many of her tricks to this day (though I have never asked anyone what kind of tree he or she would like to be). She made me want to tell people’s stories, and doing emotional interviews became one of my specialties at Entertainment Weekly, which made me proud. I learned to make people comfortable, while still maintaining my journalistic integrity, by watching Walters.

I also learned that “female” doesn’t, and shouldn’t, mean “not serious.” Because she was a woman, but a pioneering one, she managed to mix traditionally “female” topics — celebrity, fashion, feelings — and “male” ones — politics, war. This eventually led to one of the most innovative shows on television — yeah, really — The View. For 16 years now, her daytime talk show has mixed co-hosts of various races, backgrounds, political affiliations, and ages to discuss everything from reality TV to presidential elections. It’s become a must-visit show for both starlets and political candidates. And the show has one unifying message: Women’s voices matter.

We’ll miss you, Barbara. Thanks for making the world safe for Mary Richards, me, and all the women like us.