Going to a Division I university in a college town dubbed TrackTown, USA breeds a certain culture surrounding fitness.

I’ve never been good at sports. I played soccer for four years in elementary school and only scored one goal over the span of my whole soccer career. I tried track and field because I thought at least one of the seemingly countless events would be something I’d be good at. Which only led to the conclusion that I am truly, objectively terrible at competitive sports.

But my life without exercise would be incredibly bleak.

I’m someone who has been diagnosed with double depression, which basically means that I have chronic mild depression with regular major depressive episodes. It’s a miserable condition that has led to trying a slew of remedies.

Antidepressants, SSRIs being the most commonly prescribed, are rarely a truly comprehensive solution for depression. The medications are most effective with cognitive behavioral therapy, which in itself can take a while to change your mood. And with antidepressants, you usually have to take for about a month before you can tell if that particular drug is effective. If it isn’t effective, well, get ready for another month of waiting.

The pain of major depression is palpable. It is not just an emotion, but a physical feeling of pain. It’s miserable and induces despair. When I’m going through it, the only thing I want to do is curl up in the fetal position and wallow.

But after years of experiencing this condition, the only thing that provides almost-immediate relief with few negative side effects has been exercise.

Even a short walk can boost my mood — there is some magic combination of endorphins, fresh air and sweat that can inch me out of the deepest depths of my despair. It’s not a comprehensive cure exactly, but it alleviates the pain almost immediately, which is the best you can wish for when you are that depressed.

Exercise, therefore, is a major priority in my life. Strength and stamina are things that I would like to have some day, but for now, I go for a run not because I want to win a race but because I want to survive the day.

The narrative of exercise told by the typical culture surrounding fitness is drastically different.

The fitness industry, just like other industries in a capitalist society, is structured in a way that convinces consumers to buy products that will supposedly improve their life. This product-based fitness culture breeds a counterproductive attitude toward the importance of exercise for everyone.

Walk into the new rec center and the shiny-newness of the fitness industry will be palpable. Brand name workout outfits are standard, fancy equipment is the norm and working out as hard as you can is the expected lifestyle. The attitude formed by commercials these days is often along the lines of: “If you didn’t almost die, was your workout really worth it?”

This exercise extremism is hardly a new phenomenon: it’s easy to see the connection between the extreme CrossFit and Boot Camp workouts that are extremely popular and the workout routines of the Spartans of Ancient Greece. Athleticism is deeply ingrained in the way humans understand the world, which is why sports culture is so important to us.

But as someone who has felt immediately better just by mindfully rotating my hands in a circle on the axis of my wrists, I can attest to the fact that exercise is so much more than being “the best” at something.

I will likely never be a fast runner, a heavy weight lifter or someone who is a high achiever in any athletic forum. But I can probably thank exercise for much of my ability to overcome obstacles. It makes me feel better, it makes me feel hopeful and it is incredibly important to me.

Living in this sports-crazed campus can make having a healthy attitude toward exercise extremely difficult. I still avoid the weight rooms of the rec center because I am thoroughly convinced I will somehow prove myself to be the unathletic doofus I feel like most of the time.

There is a lot of pressure to be physically fit and strong, which can be a good thing. But acknowledging that exercise is not just about strength, but also about moving our bodies in the way they were built to move is crucial for a healthier attitude about our bodies, mental health and overall wellness.

A good indicator of addiction is dreading no longer having access to the object of the addiction. An aspect of dependency is not knowing how to navigate the world when the object of dependency is not available.

This is why I was worried when I realized how much I was stressing about Internet access over winter break. I was spending most of my break in Panama with my family visiting my sister in the Peace Corp. I had no idea whether I would get cell service or WiFi in the rural areas we’d be visiting.

About a year ago, the comedian Louis C.K. was on Conan and brought up the topic of smart phones. “You need to build an ability to just be yourself and not be doing something,” he said. “That’s what the phones are taking away, is the ability to just sit there. That’s being a person.”

My anxiety about not having access to the Internet reflected this — few things give me the instant gratification of clicking on a Facebook notification, seeing “likes” on Instagram or something I wrote being retweeted. I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. Psychologists have written about social media creating “dopamine loops,” or seeking rewards and then receiving the rewards, which makes you want to seek more rewards.

I’ll post something on Instagram, see that it got a number of likes, and I’ll feel better about myself for about five seconds before deciding that I should be getting more likes. I’ll then find myself spending more time on social media in order to gain more virtual approval.

A couple of nights into our trip to Panama, my family was preparing to go to my sister’s village in a rural part of the country where there wouldn’t be cell phone service or access to WiFi. I sent a Snapchat to many of my friends that said “Tomorrow we leave the land of WiFi. Pray 4 me,” featuring a black and white selfie of me looking somber. I thought this struck a good balance between humorously admitting to my anxiety about being away from the Internet, while also giving a heads up that they would be deprived of my constant stream of hilarity and wit.

But really, no prayers were needed. Those few days that we spent without WiFi were days that I felt less anxiety than I had in a while. I was more present in conversations because I wasn’t always thinking of another clever thing to say online. I read and talked to my family in our free time instead of worsening my carpal tunnel by scrolling through Twitter on my iPhone. I thought vaguely about social media, but knowing that accessing it wasn’t even an option made me able to overcome any desire to see how many notifications I was getting.

I had feared that I would feel anxious without the Internet, but the opposite was true.

I spent a large part of my summer in 2014 not using social media at all. My anxiety levels were lower, but I did feel more isolated. I hung out with a smaller group of friends, and I wasn’t as aware of what was going on in the world, which provided me with less to talk about with friends.

As such, social media is a double-edged sword in my life. It connects me to people by making communication easier, but isolates me by causing me to constantly focus on my social standing.

Learning to find the balance between the two ends of the social media seesaw is a challenge that most of us have already struggled with, and that most of us will struggle with for a long time. Unlike an alcoholic, an Internet addict can’t realistically practice total sobriety due to the Internet’s unavoidable presence in most of our lives.

Rather than totally abandoning social media, which serves as a coping mechanism for me, I need to find a healthier replacement. Writing, exercising, reading a good book and spending time with friends give me the same near-instant gratification as social media without the dopamine overload.

If nothing else, I’ll be making more of an effort to be conscious of the reasons why I’m posting something on social media. If I’m doing something that will bring me closer to people, I’ll do it, no problem. If it’s some hare-brained attempt to improve my self-esteem, well, maybe I should work out those in some other forum.

Follow Julia Comnes on Twitter (the irony isn’t lost on me) @jlcmns

I’m not saying I didn’t learn anything in my classes this term. But the most important lessons I learned from the last few months came not from the University of Oregon, but from the School of Life. Since the end of the quarter and the end of the year are naturally times for reflection, I thought it would be a wise idea to look back at what I truly learned this term.

1. Not reading emails does NOT make them disappear. The same is true for voicemails, texts, Facebook messages, official-looking letters that randomly appear in my mailbox, LinkedIn requests and ransom notes. I have been trying for years to perfect a method for making my problems go away by simply ignoring them and it has not worked. I think it is time for me to accept this little inconvenience as a fact of life. It will probably cause me to hurt my Grandma’s feelings a lot less (I should probably reply to at least SOME of her emails about heroic dolphins or whatever), but I think it’s just something that every reasonable adult human has probably figured out by now.

2. I have a fundamentally different philosophical, moral and logical outlook on life from people who get mad at me for accidentally running into them on the sidewalk. I am a clumsy person. I do not always walk in a straight line. Sometimes I get distracted and bump into someone. If the recipient of my bumping gets angry, there is no use in trying to reason with them. They will continue to be mad because they are of a different breed. It does not matter if I crack a joke or smile or laugh, they will continue to be mad, because they are different and I do not understand their way of life, and that is okay.

3. Spending $7 a day at the Marché Museum Café is not a good way to save money. It is not a good strategy in general. Their croissants and lattés and everything else are delicious but feeling a bit fancy and sophisticated for five minutes does not justify spending that much money on food.

4. Bringing up the fact that it’s ridiculous to complain about homework when Malala Yousafzai got shot in the head just for trying to go to school is not a good party topic. It is an interesting thing to remember, but it is not a good answer to the question, “How do you like your classes this term?”

5. It is, in fact, possible to get tired of the song “Bound 2” by Kanye West. I didn’t think it was, and then I listened to it too much, and I can say firsthand that it is entirely possible.

6. It is impossible, however, to get tired of “7/11” by Beyonce.

7. Carbo-loading is not a good study strategy. It might work before, like, running a marathon, but doing it before a marathon reading session is a recipe for unwanted sleep.

8. DO NOT EVER JOKINGLY TELL SOMEONE ON TINDER THAT YOU HAVE “DADDY ISSUES.” I REPEAT. DO NOT EVER DO THIS.

9. Ordering pizza at two a.m. always seems like a good idea, but always seems like a much worse idea at 2:45 a.m. when you are waiting for the pizza to come and are questioning every choice you’ve ever made in your life and having an existential crisis caused by hunger and lack of sleep.

10. “Bold Eagles” is the best movie of 2014. It is on Netflix. It is a masterpiece. It should be seen by all.

11. Ordering an Ed Hardy shirt on eBay at one a.m. on a Friday night, while not necessarily a bad choice, was a brash one that should be given some extra thought. And yes, this is something that I did. I do not regret it, but I would advise others to put more thought into it than I did.

12. Checking the “UO Crushes” Twitter account on the regular will only lead to disappointment and questions of why I am not in a sorority because it seems like sorority girls are the only ones who ever get crushed on. Cue “You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift as I sigh wistfully.

13. I will never understand Bitcoins. I have tried to understand them for years. They were explained to me in multiple classes this term. I do not get them, and I accept that, and am at peace.

14. “Business Fish” is the most important sticker on Facebook. It should be used for everything. I have never felt so akin to a professional-looking fish. If you are not a fan of Business Fish, then I’m not sure if we will ever truly get along.

Like 2.6 million other American adults, I am prescribed medication for ADHD. I take 54 milligrams of Concerta (a brand name for methylphenidate) every morning and as a result am able to work longer hours, stay focused in class, feel more motivated and be productive.

For the past year or so that I’ve been prescribed Concerta, I’ve finally felt like I’m on a level playing field with students who don’t have ADHD. It’s been a game-changer for me in terms of feeling like I am meeting my full potential after years of never feeling adequate due to ADHD-related symptoms.

Concerta, like other stimulant ADHD medications, works by activating parts of the brain that increase alertness and the ability to complete tasks with fewer errors. It’s theorized that this is caused by an increase in dopamine, the neurotransmitter most associated with the brain’s award systems (and a chemical that most ADHD brains lack).

Even though I’m prescribed my ADHD medication, it’s easy to see why there’s a market for these stimulant drugs for people who don’t have ADHD. Dubbed “smart drugs” by some, the increased wakefulness and focus makes them a dream accompaniment to an all-nighter.

The popularity of abusing these drugs has increased drastically: In 2002, only 5 percent of college students admitted to abusing the drugs, while today that number is as high as 35 percent.

Unprescribed ADHD medication functions similarly to a performance-enhancing drug. Designed to make up for deficits among people with ADHD, the drugs provide people who don’t have ADHD with an unnatural amount of focus and energy.

These medications designed to create a level playing field are thus abused by students without developmental disabilities to give them a leg up.

But for people who don’t have ADHD, taking these medications can lead to more consequences than just the legal ones associated with abusing a Schedule II prescription drug. The drugs can be habit-forming, especially taken at a large enough dose to induce a high.

In 2011, Richard Fee, a high-achieving student in medical school with an Adderall addiction, became paranoid and psychotic because of the ADHD medication, before eventually hanging himself. This is an extreme case, but one that serves as proof that just because a medication is prescribed by a doctor doesn’t mean it’s safe for everyone.

Furthermore, despite the extreme focus induced by drugs like Adderall, some studies indicate little improvement in grades among students without ADHD who abuse the drugs. Other studies show that Adderall can lead the user to overestimate their intelligence, thus making them think that they are producing better work at a faster rate while on the drug when they’re really not.

As college students, we’re subjected to a huge amount of pressure to achieve at often unrealistically high levels. The desire to push the boundaries of your achievement is understandable to me, and for students without ADHD, drugs like Adderall or Concerta are certainly one method for doing so.

But it’s also important to keep in mind the broader ramifications of abusing these drugs. It is largely because of this widespread misuse that ADHD meds are shrouded with stigma, even when used as prescribed. While not for everyone, these medications have been proven to help a majority of adults and children with ADHD, but because of these drugs’ role as one of the most widely-abused drugs among college students, many people no longer see them as legitimate medications even for the people they’re prescribed for.

The casual abuse of these so-called “smart drugs” only furthers the stigma of the treatment of an already-stigmatized medical condition. Furthermore, the potential for addiction and the dangerous side effects of long-term abuse hardly seem worth a few extra hours’ focus while studying for your finals.

There are so many other ways for people without ADHD to induce focus and achieve in school without abusing a drug that serves a legitimate medical purpose for people who need it.

Maybe it’s because I don’t get out enough, but I’ve come to find the selection on Netflix Instant to be a barometer of shifting attitudes in pop culture.

On Nov. 19, the streaming site announced it was “postponing” the Bill Cosby stand-up special it had planned to release, due to the recent flood of survivors coming forward with rape accusations against him.

The tarnishing of Bill Cosby’s image and the rapid crumble of his career is more than justified. When more than a dozen women come forward to publicly accuse someone of sexual assault, when they have absolutely no ulterior motives for doing so, it’s delusional to believe the alleged rapist’s side of the story.

Cosby’s image as a pillar of morality has long been intertwined with his comedic work, especially while portraying the lovable father figure on the Cosby Show. It’s hard to tease apart the man’s work and the man himself and as such, it’s hard to justify enjoying his comedy after learning of the horrific things he has done.

Contrast Netflix’s treatment of Cosby to that of Woody Allen. Allen, another long and widely adored Hollywood figure, has some very damning evidence against him. He has been accused of sexually abusing his adoptive daughter from a very young age, and he is married to a woman he began a relationship with while she was still his underage stepdaughter.

Unlike the conspicuous void you’ll find when searching for Cosby films on Netflix, the movie streaming service offers almost a dozen of Allen’s classic films. Why the starkly contrasted difference in treatment?

It’s challenging to know where to draw the line when it comes to consuming the work of problematic artists. I love singing along to “Ignition Remix” by R. Kelly, but he has a long history, documented by the legal system, of engaging in sexual activity with underage girls. I find “Fancy” by Iggy Azalea to be undeniably catchy despite the fact that she has tweeted some very racist things in the past.

I would consider myself a fan of many celebrities who have done problematic and offensive things in the past. My ability to justify my enjoyment of these celebrities seems to stem from a number of potential factors:

1. I am able to separate the person’s work from the actual person. I find this easiest with musicians — most of the time, I am not associating a face with the work of theirs that I’m consuming.

2. The celebrity has apologized for past behaviors, or has otherwise provided some sort of reparation for past mistakes.

3. I can see why the celebrity made the mistake that they did. Celebrities are humans and, as the saying goes, “to err is human,” so some leeway or acceptance of their shortcomings must be allowed.

Acknowledging the problematic aspects of any celebrity is an important way to raise awareness and hold these public figures to a higher standard. I am able to listen to an R. Kelly song and recognize that the person who made it has done some really awful things, but the music he made is catchy and I like dancing to it.

I can’t make the same justifications for Bill Cosby, or for that matter, Woody Allen.

The “mistakes” that these famous figures made do not fall under the category of “everybody makes mistakes.” These men, if accusations are to be believed (and I believe them), are repeat offenders who have used their power and fame to get away with doing unforgivable acts.

The spotlight is on Cosby now, but the accusations against him are hardly brand new. Women have been coming forward about his actions since 2002. It wasn’t until comedian Hannibal Buress called Cosby a “rapist” in a stand-up performance this past October that public attitude toward Cosby changed.

Allegations against Woody Allen have been public since the early ’90s. Like attitudes toward Cosby before the resurgence of awareness about his actions, many are aware that allegations exist against Allen, but few care enough to speak against him or to actively avoid watching his movies.

I’ve seen a fair number of Woody Allen movies in the past. Some I liked, others I was indifferent about, but none of them were good enough to justify the general population’s looking the other way while his crimes have been publicized.

The swift public denouncement of Cosby was pretty incredible. What’s keeping us from doing the same to Woody Allen?

If history repeats itself, these last few weeks of the quarter will require long hours of cramming for exams and “word-vomit”-ing essays in order to demonstrate my comprehension of course material.

But, if history repeats itself, a week after finals are over I’ll already have forgotten most of the information I put so much effort into proving I understood.

This cycle has become a sort of strange ritual in my education—a way to show that I have the cognitive ability and work ethic required to jump through the hoops and get the grades. While I’ve retained some information from past finals, exams haven’t done much to prove my actual understanding of the material. They’ve mostly shown that I can be productive.

College is often advertised as a place of learning and, to an extent, it is. I’ve definitely learned more in my two and a half years of college than I did in all four years of high school. But a college degree in itself doesn’t necessarily prove that someone’s learned a lot or that they’re exceptionally gifted or competent. In many ways, a college degree has become primarily an indicator that you can work hard and follow rules and have the basic skills needed for your line of work.

Why have we come to rely on this single metric (a Bachelor’s degree) to demonstrate both our knowledge and our productivity when those two qualities aren’t always complementary?

The stuff I’m tested on every finals week is never wholly reflective of what I’ve found to be the most important and applicable lessons. A lot of the really big takeaways, paradigm shifts and useful skills I’ve learned in school have been mere by-products of studying what my professors said were the course objectives.

Far too often, exams become memorization games. A lot of the time, I feel like I’m not being tested on my understanding of the course’s concepts, but on my ability to temporarily retain as many details as possible before regurgitating them back to the professor.

We live in a time where, thanks to the Internet, information is more free and available than it’s ever been. Smartphones and laptops are banned in most examination rooms because so many questions can be answered with a quick Google search. To an extent, we’re spending small fortunes on our educations only to temporarily memorize information that is astoundingly available.

The things that I’ve really learned in college are not things that I’ve memorized, but things that I’ve understood. They are skills, ways of thinking or broader concepts that I often can’t even put into words. The things I’ve really learned aren’t things that could be found in two minutes on my iPhone. And they weren’t things I learned while cramming for finals.

Over the course of my schooling, I’ve memorized many definitions verbatim that I never used again. This way of learning, one that focuses on the details without the context, is rarely useful, but it’s one that repeatedly rely on, because it works for the short-term memorization I need to pass my exams.

There’s a famous quote attributed to Albert Einstein: “Education is what remains after one has forgotten what one has learned in school.” So far, what has made a lasting impact in my learning has been what I retained when I was no longer bogged down by the details. The most meaningful lessons for me have not been ones that reside in a vacuum, but ones that I learn to see everywhere I look.

I dread finals week, because in many ways it embodies everything I’ve hated about my education thus far. It equates hard work and memorization with understanding and comprehension. It makes learning tedious and formulaic.

When finals come this term, I’m going to try compartmentalizing the different aspects of my education. I will recognize when I am required to do something to show that I am capable of memorization and productivity, and treat it as such. But when I think a task will broaden my understanding, or truly further my learning, I will embrace it and learn as much from it as I can.

It’s a subtle shift in attitude, but one that I hope will enhance the meaningfulness of my time in school. I can’t change the way I’m taught, but I can change the way I learn.

Follow Julia Comnes on Twitter: @jlcmnes

Since day one of kindergarten, doing well in school came easy to me. I’ve always been shy and introverted, so sitting attentively and quietly in class was second nature. Additionally, the pedagogy of the American elementary school system rhymed perfectly with my skill sets. I was already analytical, logical and detail-oriented, so I was a fast learner in subjects like reading, writing, grammar, math and basic sciences .The most negative comment you’d find on one of my old report cards is, “I’d like it if Julia spoke up in class more. She’s very quiet.”

I saw myself as being in stark contrast to the “problem” kids in class—the ones who couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t listen or couldn’t finish their homework. By third grade, I had learned a clinical label to assign to them: ADHD. I was not an ADHD kid, that much was clear.

Fast-forward to my junior year of high school. I was still a high-achieving student, with a 4.0 GPA and an array of AP classes on my schedule. But I felt like I was failing as a student, although by all quantifiable measures the opposite was true.

Why? Because no matter how hard I tried, I never believed that I would measure up to those students I thought to be over-achievers. I’d never be one of the kids with jam-packed schedules of extra-curricular activities, the ones with laser-sharp focus who could get their homework done twice as fast as I could. Despite my good grades, I felt hopelessly disorganized and scattered compared to my peers.

Being good at school had become a pillar of my identity. No matter how many different sports I tried, I never displayed any athletic ability; I was a mediocre artist at best; I wasn’t in any clubs because of my crushing social anxiety. I never exercised my strongest skill, writing, outside the context of schoolwork. I couldn’t imagine a life in which I didn’t do well in school. Grades were the basis of my self-worth.

I’d always been a procrastinator. I saw it as a character flaw, a trait that a truly good student shouldn’t have. But it was a method of motivating myself that undeniably worked. There was nothing like the looming prospect of a bad grade to spur me to action. However, by my later years in high school, it wasn’t working for me anymore. No one would advise a student to start a 15-page research paper the night before it’s due, but I did just that on two separate occasions in high school. I didn’t know any other methods for motivating myself or sustaining focus.

Not being able to focus like my peers caused me to question my purpose and worth. If I wasn’t ever going to be the highest-achieving student, what was the point? I didn’t see myself as having an identity outside of “student.” Feeling that pillar of my identity crumble left me without much sense of self, direction, or hope.

As a result, I spent much of junior and senior year of high school in a major depressive episode. Assignments that I would’ve finished in less than an hour a year earlier now took me weeks. I crawled toward graduation hopeless, apathetic and defeated.

In January 2014, during my sophomore year of college, I was diagnosed with ADHD, inattentive type. A label that had once felt entirely antithetical to my understanding of myself became a source of reassurance. My problems with focus, motivation and disorganization no longer felt like inherent character flaws. They were the result of trying to force myself to perform in ways that were in direct opposition with the way my brain works. I’d managed to get through school with good grades but not with an intact self-esteem.

Although my ADHD is a documented disability (meaning I’m able to request academic accommodations in my classes when I need them) I’ve found it unavoidable to get frustrated and disappointed with my inability to match the expectations our society sets for students who are good at school. I can’t study for hours at the library without breaks. My mind wanders after reading a dense text for 15 minutes. Time-management is a constant uphill battle and organization is a daily struggle. I’m still learning to work with my ADHD rather than against it.

If we want to make the system better able to help students with ADHD succeed, we need to reshape the common perception of what ADHD looks like. I know I’m not alone in being diagnosed later in life because I never displayed the stereotypical ADHD characteristics. If I had understood my condition earlier, I might have avoided the major identity crisis and depression that resulted from my feeling less-than from my peers who didn’t have ADHD.

To the boy who told me that I’m “thicker than a bowl of oatmeal”:

You’re probably used to one-sided communication, because what is street harassment if not one-sided? So, I’m responding to your comment about my body in a format you’ll understand: Acute observations that you neither asked for nor will feel comfortable responding to.

1. What is your success rate with this breakfast cereal-themed pick-up line?
2. From a logical standpoint, your “compliment” is problematic. There are many foods that are thicker than oatmeal. Like peanut butter, for example. Oatmeal can be downright watery.
3. For future food-related catcalling, I suggest that you compare your subject to a food that isn’t often described as “bland” or “lumpy” or “bowel movement inducing.”
4. It’s awesome that you can identify a person’s body shape even when they are covered in shadow and wearing a shapeless coat. That must come in handy for other occasions when you need to remind someone of the existence of the male gaze.
5. Or maybe you don’t have this x-ray/night vision ability. Would you have said this to any feminine-looking shadow walking by your group of friends that night? Was this not a heartfelt expression of true admiration? Geez, and here I thought I was something special.
6. If you couldn’t tell what I looked like, what was the purpose of shouting this unnecessary and invasive observation at me? For comic relief? There are other methods for making your friends laugh. Cheesy puns and “That’s what she said” jokes have a 100 percent success rate last I checked.
7. Was this just a performance art piece showcasing the complex intersections between racism and sexism that street harassment straddles? Because it could have been. Here’s my reasoning:
a. You were imitating the intonations of what a racist grandpa thinks a black man sounds like (complete with a “daaaaayum”). It was almost as if you had to shed your whole “white college boy” persona to feel comfortable comparing a stranger’s body to oatmeal. Thought-provoking.
b. A quick Google search informed me that you found that pick-up line from a YouTube video. The line is read as evidence in a trial against a black man, who apparently said it to an undercover cop. Was this a conscious decision on your part to highlight the mass incarceration of black males in America? Are you commenting on the way our society criminalizes people of color or on our education system’s role in socializing non-white people from a young age to be insubordinate?
c. Was all of this a social commentary about the lack of autonomy women have over their bodies in this country? It probably would have made for a more pithy social statement if you had chosen a woman of color, since historically white dudes like you have granted them practically no autonomy over their bodies. Sure, you don’t allow me, a white woman, to dress as I please or wear as much make-up as I’d like or have a body shape you don’t approve of. But my chances of experiencing sexual violence are lower than that of a woman of color. You obviously didn’t think this theoretical performing arts piece all the way through.
8. However, since the likelihood of it being a performing arts piece is 0 percent, I’m going to assume that this was some sort of proving-your-masculinity-to-your-friends kind of thing.
9. Did you enjoy comparing me to cereal? Did it give you an ego boost and a power rush? Was it as fulfilling and enriching an experience as eating a bowl of heart-healthy oatmeal?
10. If it wasn’t, then maybe you aren’t happy with the socially constructed gender roles our society has established. Maybe you’d appreciate a world where you’re not constantly expected to dominate and overpower. It would certainly give you some free time that you’d otherwise be using to research pick-up lines.
11. (If so, then you might be an f-word (feminist). Shhh, I won’t tell your posse.)
12. An imperfect, but quick, test to find out if what you’re going to shout at a stranger counts as street harassment is to question whether you would say the same thing to your friends or family. Your oatmeal statement probably wouldn’t pass:
a. “Wow, Mom. You look really nice today. In fact, you look thicker than a bowl of oatmeal!”
b. “Brad, have you been working out? You look thicker than a bowl of oatmeal!”
13. Seriously, though. What is your success rate with that line?