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On Joan Rivers, My Daughter’s Death, and the Politics of Survival

I have a complicated, problematic, and enduring love affair with Joan Rivers.

I suppose it began in the eighties or early nineties, when I sat with my grandmother Sylvia and watched her on television. To me, Rivers was the height of glamour. This may suggest something about the sort of person I’d become, but I found her social commentary astute, her Jewish accent familiar, her costumes beautiful, her presence comforting. But I was a very young girl, in those days, and really, what did I know about life, art, the nefarious workings of the media?

In retrospect, I see: Joan was arguably at a low point in her career when I first came to know her, and as I grew from child to adolescent to early adult, I developed a feminist critique of the caricature this public figure appeared to become over the course of my young life.

Her commentary is so sexist, I lamented to my grandmother Sylvia—who passed away herself last winter—as we’d sit together and watch Rivers’ excorciate Hollywood starlets for their dresses, their accessories, their very bodies. I just can’t believe how judgmental she is, and that we’re sitting here, watching it. 

The Rhetoric of Choice

If you asked me my position on abortion, I would probably tell you: I’m pro-choice. If I’m feeling incendiary, I might express my point of view more explicitly: I am in favor of abortion. I support women’s right to choose. I believe in that choice; I support that choice; I will fight for women (and, let’s face it, girls) to have that choice. Also, it should be said: I think a lot of my own opinion. I’m pretty self-important. But my support of your choice is not what’s relevant. Choice is really not what’s relevant. As a feminist, choice is not what I want to talk about.

When I hear debates about abortion framed in terms of choice, I start to get ...

If you asked me my position on abortion, I would probably tell you: I’m pro-choice. If I’m feeling incendiary, I might express my point of view more explicitly: I am in favor of abortion. I support women’s ...

Desperately Seeking Sterilization: the politics of privilege

My post-collegiate boyfriend was an affable Dane who later became a public school teacher. Children loved him, and (I think) he loved children, but he didn’t want to have any of his own. That was his story, anyway. He spoke loudly and often about not wanting to breed, or parent, or do anything involving the permanent presence of children. It may have had something to do with the fact that he was an active alcoholic who could barely take care of himself. It may have had something to do with his age, or it may have been that he simply, unequivocally did not want children.

He once told me a story about going to his doctor at ...

My post-collegiate boyfriend was an affable Dane who later became a public school teacher. Children loved him, and (I think) he loved children, but he didn’t want to have any of his own. That was ...

Desperately Seeking Sterilization: the politics of privilege

My post-collegiate boyfriend was an affable Dane who later became a public school teacher. Children loved him, and (I think) he loved children, but he didn’t want to have any of his own. That was his story, anyway. He spoke loudly and often about not wanting to breed, or parent, or do anything involving the permanent presence of children. It may have had something to do with the fact that he was an active alcoholic who could barely take care of himself. It may have had something to do with his age, or it may have been that he simply, unequivocally did not want children.

He once told me a story about going to his doctor at ...

My post-collegiate boyfriend was an affable Dane who later became a public school teacher. Children loved him, and (I think) he loved children, but he didn’t want to have any of his own. That was ...