War in the womb, Suzanne Sadedin, Aeon Magazine, August 4, 2014
The cells of the human endometrium are tightly aligned, creating a fortress-like wall around the inside of the uterus. That barrier is packed with lethal immune cells. As far back as 1903, researchers observed embryos ‘invading’ and ‘digesting’ their way into the uterine lining. In 1914, R W Johnstone described the implantation zone as ‘the fighting line where the conflict between the maternal cells and the invading trophoderm takes place’. It was a battlefield ‘strewn with… the dead on both sides’.
When scientists tried to gestate mice outside the womb, they expected the embryos to wither, deprived of the surface that had evolved to nurture them. To their shock they found instead that – implanted in the brain, testis or eye of a mouse – the embryo went wild. Placental cells rampaged through surrounding tissues, slaughtering everything in their path as they hunted for arteries to sate their thirst for nutrients. It’s no accident that many of the same genes active in embryonic development have been implicated in cancer. Pregnancy is a lot more like war than we might care to admit.
The Trials and Tribulations of a Token Pretty Girl, Giana Ciapponi, Ravishly, July 23, 2014 (via Huffington Post)
My child brain assessed the following: I was pretty; therefore, my main talent in life seemed to be sexually exciting strange men. Other girls could excel in soccer, math, art or juggling while I felt destined for a role I both detested and couldn’t understand. After all, what does a 12-year-old truly comprehend about adult sexuality?
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Thanks to a string of thoughtful teachers, adolescent milestones and pep talks from my loving parents, by the time I graduated high school, I had banished the assumption that my lot in life was to be a living sex doll.
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On a few occasions, I have dated men who show little interest in me when we’re alone. In public, they shower me with affection and attention. Bonus points if their friends are in eyesight. One particular man actually told me (later) that he wasn’t “feeling it” with me, but knew I was a catch because I am “so damn beautiful,” so he dutifully trudged on in the task of dating me. I literally cringed just typing that—for now I imagine him, and others, dreading seeing me and working up the strength for the treacherous task just for the thrill of receiving a few nods of approval from other men.
American Hero Proves White Men Have No Sense Of Humor, Mallory Ortbergon, The Toast, July 1, 2014
She’s only a senior in high school and she’s already infuriating men to the point that they’ve called for her resignation. At that age, I could infuriate at most two or three men at a time. On a really excellent day, I could make a man feel like absolute warmed-over garbage in AP Lit, if I was feeling in particular need of sharpening my claws on something male. But this! This is varsity-level Frightening White Men; I was barely on the frosh/soph roster.
