Within the pages of Bitchfest lie a collection of essays spanning ten years of publication in Bitch magazine, a glossy founded in 1996 by editors Lisa Jervis and Andi Zeisler. The essays are arranged into eight sections, covering topics such as growing up, gender identity, sex, body image, and activism, all through the love-hate lens of popular culture—and all with keen intelligence and insight. Indeed, most of the essays are penned by professors, authors, and speakers in their field, thinking critically about the way the media represents not only women, but also homosexuals, transgendered people, people of color, and those otherwise on the outskirts of society.
So, why “bitch”? As Margaret Cho explains in the book’s introduction, “a bitch is assertive, unapologetic, demanding intimidating, intelligent, fiercely protective, in control—all very positive attributes,” and yet, the word is still used by so many to attack, insult, and hurt. These qualities are valuable and right until they are employed by the wrong person, a woman, and suddenly they become negative and undesirable. In the pages of the Bitchfest, this status quo and many others are challenged and subverted.
It is for this reason that Bitchfest is an important read, especially for Houghton students. Not because it is sensationalist or controversial, although it can be at times. But because it, more than any textbook or testimony in any sociological or anthropological class you might take, gives a voice to those with unique and sometimes marginalized perspectives and experiences. Take, for example, the essay Sister Outsider Headbanger: On Being a Black Feminist Metalhead, in which Keidra Chaney talks about life as a black girl with an obsession with heavy metal. Perhaps the most piece for me personally was Danya Ruttenberg’s Fringe Me Up, Fringe Me Down: On Getting Dressed in Jerusalem. Ruttenberg shares her encounters as a female rabbinical student choosing to don the kippah and tzitzit, garments traditionally only worn by men. Women are not explicitly prohibited from wearing either item, and yet Ruttenberg still came up against negative reactions among her peers. I am not Jewish, and yet I could learn from Ruttenberg’s honest faith and her questions about her choices of expression. I am not black, either, and yet I could relate to Chaney’s struggles with being herself in a way that caused others consternation.
Bitchfest manages to contain a broad and sometimes contrasting range of viewpoints in a cohesive and effective manner. There are essays that hail the Spice Girls and essays that praise promiscuity alongside essays that decry the Spice Girls and defend virginity. There are even essays by men—essays about how masculinity is portrayed in the media, essays about “fratrimony” and the power of the male bond, essays about the word “like.” There are heartfelt essays about abuse and shame, and there are hilarious essays such as Urinalysis: On Standing Up to Pee. What they all have in common is that they are honest, they are passionate and opinionated, and they fight for the underdog.