We'll voluntarily plunk down fifty smackeroos to have some s.a.d.i.s.t in a beauty salon pour hot wax on our crotch and rip our pubic hair clean off our bikini line. But somehow, when it comes to eating dinner, we're not worth more time and effort than a Lean Cuisine?

Yeah, chicken marsala might require a little more work, but we deserve it at least as much as a bikini wax.

8. Ice cream is nonpatriarchal. Ice cream, frozen yogurt, milk- shakes-every dairy product we can think of is the exclusive product of females. So, okay, they're cows. But eating this stuff can be a political act that neatly unites feminist principles with a love of animals. It can be our way of showing support for our bovine sisters! f.u.c.k the vegans, I say. Anyone who doesn't eat ice cream for purely "ethical" reasons is a killjoy and a moron and ultimately not to be trusted. Pro-ice cream is pro-woman, Baby.

Okay, I admit this sounds a little stupid. But given the lengths to which we french-fry loving Freidas will go just to order a d.a.m.n milkshake, such a rationalization certainly isn't much wackier than the rest. So let's have a nice piece of fish, a baked potato, and then maybe a bowl of Rocky Road for dessert. As my grandma used to say, "Once you're dead, you have the rest of eternity to be skinny. So why start now?"

Besides, no one ever conquered the world on an empty stomach.

Chapter 4.

We Won't Shape History.

by Shaping Our Thighs.

Sure, beauty has the power to excite men. But so does a box of donuts.

I used to be a Big Sister to a seven-year-old girl who emigrated here from Mexico. Every week, I'd have lunch with her at her elementary school. We'd read books together, do art projects, and talk. When I first met her, she was just starting second grade. She was a good, enthusiastic student. "I want to grow up to be a teacher and a doctor," she told me proudly.

The next year, when she was in third grade, she announced she didn't want to be a teacher or a doctor anymore: She wanted to be a model.

"Why?" I asked.

"Girl power!" she shouted.

Oh, Dear G.o.ddess, it starts so young.

A couple of years ago, Time magazine implied that women today care more about our bodies than our brains. In a much bally-hooed cover story, t.i.tled, "Is Feminism Dead?" the magazine claimed that women are too preoccupied with glamour and looks to engage in serious pursuits or politics of substance. The women's movement, it said, had degenerated into narcissism, into tell-all books about o.r.g.a.s.ms, and young women who equate "girl power" with the right to wear sequined culottes. "Feminism today is wed to the culture of celebrity and self-obsession," it declared.

Well , I thought, if this is true, can you really blame us? We're living in a culture where one of the richest, most powerful, and phenomenally successful women of all time-a television talk-show doyenne, movie star, and literacy G.o.ddess who has single-handedly built a multimillion-dollar production empire-has said in all seriousness that the most important accomplishment in her life has been to lose weight.

But that being said, I do think we gals would do ourselves and the little girls of the world a big favor by taking a step back for a moment and checking this reality.

Because the very same week that Time was painting us as narcissists, other significant pieces of news made the headlines, albeit in much smaller print. According to a census-bureau report, for the first time in history, more women than men ages twenty-five to twenty-nine are earning college and graduate degrees, and these degrees enable us pull down at least forty percent more income than our high school-educated sisters. Higher education also makes a bigger difference in women's salaries than in men's, particularly now. According to reports, the Information Age has created such a demand for brainiacs that a Smarty Pants can often write her own ticket.

Yeah, our culture is increasingly visual, but it's the women behind the cameras and computers who are best poised to reap its goodies. The glamourous fantasies touted in the pages of Vogue and Vibe are just that: fantasies. In reality, we gals have a far better shot at striking it big as a software developer or as a Webmistress than as an actress, model, or singer.

If we want to be truly subversive and powerful, we'd be wise to embrace our inner geek-and to actively encourage our younger sisters, daughters, and nieces to do the same. We gotta celebrate that cerebellum! Get down and get bookish! Sure, geeks may not have the s.e.x appeal of, say, Salma Hayek, or, ahem, the exposure of Pamela Lee, but if we want to have a stake in the twenty-first century, nerdhood is the way to go.

For the first time in history, women in America outnumber the men at universities, and for the first time in history, we have the chance to make it in any field, from aeros.p.a.ce engineering to zoology. Yet, curiously enough, we're still being encouraged to value our looks more than our minds-perhaps more so now than twenty years ago, when MTV wasn't beamed into millions of living rooms and fashion models reflected twenty-three percent of the female population, not six.

A prevailing message in our culture is that women can't possibly be intelligent and desirable at the same time. Watching Thelma and Daphne on a rerun of s...o...b..-Doo ... or Blaire and Natalie on The Facts of Life ... or even MTV's brilliant and ironic Daria, we don't have any trouble picking out the smart girls. They're the short, fat ones; the witty ones: the ones with gla.s.ses and no dates. And, of course, the cute girls are all popular and about as deep as toilets.

Were I not such a Pollyanna, in fact, I'd wonder if there wasn't some sort of cultural conspiracy at work. For as Naomi Wolf pointed out in her book The Beauty Myth, thinking obsessively about fat and dieting has actually been shown to change people's thought patterns and brain chemistry. A preoccupation with looks, then, has the potential to short-circuit women's intellects-precisely at a time when education and brain power are at a premium in the marketplace.

If we gals could stop focusing so much on our looks and start redirecting that energy toward our minds instead, we'd create even more serious compet.i.tion in the job market. We'd earn more moolah and play a bigger role in shaping our society than we do now. And we'd probably put some of the multimillion-dollar beauty and diet companies out of business. And then, G.o.ddess knows, the Earth would fall off its axis.

Of course, attempts to disparage women's intelligence are hardly revolutionary. Brains and femininity have been placed on a crash course with each other throughout history. In the Middle Ages, the only way most girls could receive an education was by joining a nunnery. During the Renaissance, while da Vinci was drawing up plans for a flying machine, enterprising midwives were being burned at the stake as witches. When Western women in the nineteenth century began making a name for themselves as popular novelists, they were derided as "scribbling women." In 1873, a Dr. Edwards Hammond Clark published s.e.x in Education, in which he argued that education is harmful to women because mental activity draws blood away from our reproductive organs. In 1905, a psychologist named G. Stanley Hall a.s.serted that specialized professional work was "alien to the female mind." In the 1950s, a pamphlet about how to identify a lesbian was published. One of the dead giveaways of d.y.k.edom? A woman reading a book.

And perhaps most tellingly, just a few years ago, the women of Mensa posed for Playboy. Why? Apparently, the women felt the need to show the world that they were more than a bunch of high IQs. More than a bunch of high IQs? Zoiks! I'm sorry, but we SmartMouth G.o.ddesses have got to question any culture where a woman feels compelled to take off her clothes in order to prove that, really, she's more than just a mathematical genius.

For all the talk about women's empowerment today, there are still few celebrated images of women who are intellectual. We're still not really brought up to see ourselves as powerful or heroic except in ways that are s.e.xualized. Even female superheros like Wonder Woman and Xena look fabulous in a bustier. Even Buffy is way buff.

Ironically, Camille Paglia, who insists that women's greatest powers lie in our beauty and s.e.xuality, has obtained her greatest power through the academy. I can't help but wonder how successful Ms. P. would've been if she'd spent her career in a beauty salon instead of in a library.

Besides, if women's greatest power really is our beauty and s.e.xuality, well, then, I say we demand a refund. Because for centuries we've subscribed to all sorts of nonsense in the name of "enhancing" our "feminine powers." Be it foot-binding, wearing enormous bra.s.s rings around our necks, or getting silicone balloons implanted in our chests, we have relentlessly mutilated ourselves in pursuit of our "womanly power." And what has it gotten us? Better overall pay? A political voice? Help with the laundry?

For that matter, what has it gotten the world? Has it abolished racism, or brought about peace, or even shortened the lines for the ladies' rooms? Sure, beauty does have the power to excite men, but so does a box of donuts. I mean, can't we aspire to something a little loftier-and with a little more shelf life?

Only one woman's beauty has truly changed the course of Western history, and that was Helen of Troy, whose face started a war. Thousands of people were killed, and today n.o.body has the faintest idea what she looked like.

Cleopatra was apparently beautiful, too, but she was also highly educated and spoke seven languages. How likely is it that Marc Antony would have fallen for her if she sat across from him in Alexandria twirling her hair around her finger and giggling?

And since we're flipping through history, what about the Virgin Mary? Maybe it's inappropriate to ask but, hey, does anybody know if she was a hottie?

No woman's beauty has ever outlived her, with the possible exception of Marilyn Monroe, and that's largely because Andy Warhol turned her face into wallpaper. And as Norma Jean reminds everyone, beauty may get you into bed with a couple of Kennedys, but it won't bring you happiness, or marriage, or children, or respect, or love.

The women who have truly influenced the world have done so because of their conviction and smarts. Jane Austen, Harriet Tubman, Marie Curie, Shirley Chisholm, Helen Keller-none of these women made an impact because they were the bomb in a bikini. Even Anne Frank and Joan of Arc, who were teenagers, didn't make history because they had perky little b.o.o.bs.

Millions of lives have been saved because of Clara Barton, who founded the Red Cross. Margaret Sanger, who pioneered birth control, has done more to liberate women s.e.xually than Madonna. Rosa Parks didn't get invited to a lot of glitzy Hollywood parties, but her effect on history surely exceeds that of, say, Gwyneth Paltrow. As far as I know, Sojourner Truth never wore hot pants. Ditto for Margaret Mead. Mother Teresa was not exactly a "10" in the looks department. And neither was Golda Meir. And neither was Eleanor Roosevelt, arguably the most important woman of the twentieth century.

Thirty women so far have won the n.o.bel Prize, in physics, chemistry, physiology and medicine, literature, and peace. Does anyone have a clue what any of these women look like?

Even in twentieth-century American pop culture, the majority of famous women who have had real staying power and influence are not cla.s.sical "wispy beauties." Mae West, Lucille Ball, Barbra Streisand, Bette Midler, Roseanne, and, yes, Oprah Winfrey, have been smart as h.e.l.l and mult.i.talented. In the long run, their brains have served them better than their s.e.x appeal. And it'll serve us well to remind each other of this from time to time.

Sure, it's important to be healthy and feel good in our own skin. And it's hard for young women to overcome the pressures and the values that are foisted upon us, especially in high school and college. Ironically, in school-which is supposedly ground-zero for intellectual pursuits-looks are often the primary form of social currency. And, sure, s.e.xy and glamourous stuff is, well, s.e.xy and glamourous (hey, I read In Style). But my own egotistical little heart wants all of us gals-young and old-to aspire to being more than the flavor of the month, or a Spice.

If physical appearance is what we women idealize the most, it'll undermine our chances for serious, enduring, historic achievement. We've got to remember (and, if need be, rearrange) our priorities here. Our gray matter has far greater staying power than our thighs ever will; it has the capacity to endow us-and the world-with joy, enlightenment, and influence well into our old age. So why focus so much on shaping our bodies when we can shape history? Let's say it loud, proud, and repeatedly to every chick we know: Real girl power lies between our ears.

Chapter 5.

Niceness: Barf.

It's the good girls who keep diaries.

The bad girls never have time.

-TALLULAH BANKHEAD.

Okay, let's start with a quiz. Who do you like better: Rosie O'Donnell or Kathie Lee Gifford?

If you're reading this book-which presumably means you have taste-you, like me, chose Rosie. Hands down. And presumably you understand, too, what I mean when I say that it's better to be fabulous than to be "nice." Yeah, both Rosie and Kathie are considered nice, but Rosie is nice as in "kind," whereas Kathie is nice as in "a sanctimonious goody-goody."

In our culture, people tend to be valued for being inspiring and entertaining. With perhaps the notable exception of some morning-show hostesses, people are rewarded for being bold and inventive. For being a.s.sertive, funny, and individualistic. For having a bit of an edge.

Yet, when it comes right down to it, women are still encouraged to be, above all else, capital-N "nice." We learn that it's more important to be nice than to be interesting. It's more important to be nice than to be ourselves. It's certainly more important to be nice than to keep it real.

Nice might be "nice," but c'mon.

First of all, as we brazen, down-'n'-dirty gals know: Nice is usually not nearly nice enough. I mean, just look at our girl Kathie Lee. Tell me she's not the queen of pa.s.sive-aggression. Nine times out of ten, "perfect good girls" like her live in a straightjacket fabricated out of appearances-and, boy, does that make them resent the h.e.l.l out of the rest of us. And so they wind up using their niceness as a cudgel: They bludgeon us with their perfection-see how good I am, see how great my kids are, see how dreamy my marriage is. See how my ca.s.serole doesn't leak over the sides of the Tupperware. Ugh. It's enough to make you want to get puking stinking drunk, if only so that you can throw up on them.

Second, niceness alone just doesn't get a gal that far. Kathie Lee herself has got to know this. It took a lot more than fresh breath and good white teeth to get where she is today. Those million-dollar incisors better be d.a.m.n sharp, too.

Interestingly, throughout the 1990s, Republicans insisted that political races should be about "character." They elevated character to an "issue." The problem, however, was that the Republicans confused character with virtue-with being a close-minded, sniggling, sanctimonious do-gooder.

In trying to present himself as a "man of character," Dan Quayle actually bragged that he had the same moral beliefs that he'd had twenty years ago.

He was proud of this? h.e.l.l, I wouldn't brag about having the same haircut as I did twenty years ago, let alone the same belief system. And I certainly wouldn't vote for anybody who did.

Well, as we've all learned, Americans aren't really interested in character in terms of virtue or niceness. We're interested in character in terms of personality. We're a country that prefers Scarlett to Melanie and Rhett to Ashley. We like our leaders large, colorful, mythic, entertaining. We're not nearly so compelled by leaders having character as by their being one. As in a cartoon. The right wing may think America should be governed by the equivialent of Saint Francis of a.s.sisi, but most of us are happier casting our ballots for the political equivalent of, say, Foghorn Leghorn.

Why else would people have voted for Ronald Reagan? Or Sonny Bono? Or Jesse "the Body" Ventura? Why else would people prefer Bill Clinton to Al Gore? "Gore is boring," people whined. Meanwhile, my grandmother voted for Clinton precisely because he ate p.u.s.s.y and jogged to McDonald's. "Hey, he's as h.o.r.n.y, hungry, and morally inept as the rest of us," she said. "I like that guy."

Face it, if we really cared about character in terms of traditional virtue-if we really wanted our politicians to be goody-goodies-Mister Rogers would be president. But on some level, we know: niceness alone doesn't cut it.

And yet, here we women are: still striving to be pleasing, sweet, cheerful, agreeable-we're still hoping to get voted Most Likeable, even though that stuff won't get us into the White House.

All the supposedly racy, "modern" women's magazines are filled with articles on: "Want to up your like-ability?" "Do you make your lover feel loved?" "Are you a good friend?" "Ten tips toward being a better co-worker." The underlying premise is that, above all else, women should strive to be good and nice and pleasing.

"Good girls" are accommodating and giving. Good girls don't hurt other people's feelings. Good girls are not overly "aggressive," compet.i.tive, or boastful. Good girls please others. But what good girls are good for is a good question. I mean, it's one thing to be decent; it's another to be a doormat.

Ironically, just as the right wing of the Republican party staked out virtue as part of its ideological territory, traditional feminism did little to truly liberate women from what Naomi Wolf once called "the dragons of niceness."

And let me tell you: Wolf has had trouble slaying these "dragons of niceness" herself. I once attended a lecture she gave at the University of Michigan where she actually said-I am not making this up-that women shouldn't make p.e.n.i.s jokes.

No p.e.n.i.s jokes?

Apparently it's okay for us to practice self-deprecating humor, or even to chide men in a ladylike, giggly, bell-tinkling, really-we-don't-mean-it kind of way. But by all means, no laughing at the Staff! No fooling about the Tool! No jokers about the Pokers, or hecklers about the p.e.c.k.e.rs! No hee-hees about the Pee-pees, please! Those little fleshy appendages attached to men that go up and down of their own accord are serious body parts. Good girls and friendly feminists shouldn't laugh at them. It isn't nice, Wolf said. We'll alienate people.

Yeah, well: no p.e.n.i.s jokes, my a.s.s.

Look, if there's one thing that can truly unite women-that can cut across all racial, ethnic, religious, and cla.s.s lines-it's a good p.e.n.i.s joke. You wanna make a roomful of women crack up? Just roll your eyes and say "p.e.n.i.s." In fact, this probably works in a roomful of men, too. p.e.n.i.s jokes are crowd pleasers: Why else does everybody watch Friends? Besides, take away a woman's right to laugh about anything, including p.e.n.i.ses, and in my book you're no longer ent.i.tled to say with a straight face that you are pro-choice.

But Wolf is hardly alone. While feminism may have freed women's bodies from bras, laws, and oppressive morals, it has also helped stuff our personalities into the girdle of Political Correctness and the corset of Victimhood-both variations of the Tyranny of Niceness.

For example, oodles of feminist theorists have claimed that men are inherently violent (i.e., sc.u.m), while women are inherently peaceful (i.e., nice). And I've got to admit that when I was in college, I agreed with this wholeheartedly. After all, it was the guys who were playing paint-ball, date-raping women, getting crazy drunk, and throwing sofas out the window. Meanwhile, what were we gals doing? Sitting around the womyn's center, sipping herb tea, and talking about how men were suffering from testosterone poisoning.

It's so easy to buy the feminist rap that "men are naturally aggressive, women are naturally nurturing"-especially because, hey, in this scenario, we win! We're nicer! Sounds great, right?

That is, until someone grabs our a.s.s on the street, threatens our children, or burglarizes our home. Then we see how "inherently peaceful," "nurturing," and "nonviolent" we really are. Then we see where self-righteous niceness gets us. Then we see how claiming the moral high ground as our chromosomal birthright is like volunteering to spend our life in a playpen.

Funny, but for all our supposed man-hating, bra-burning, radical, hairy-legged rage, a lot of mainstream white feminists have really been uncomfortable with anger and a.s.sertiveness. These qualities have been portrayed as "inherently male," implying that women who exhibit them are somehow unfeminine and not nice. When it comes right down to it, a lot of feminists I know prefer their personal politics wrapped in a doily, tied with a bow. They prefer that "everybody play nice."

At past Holly Near concerts, I've seen the audience holding hands and singing sweetly, in harmony, "We are gentle, angry people. And we are singing, singing for our lives."

Oh, right. Like singing is really going to keep us from getting s.e.xually hara.s.sed? Try singing to a pervert. Better yet, to a tank. And let's not kid ourselves: We can be gentle. And we can be angry. But usually not at the same time.

Most of the women's events and feminist functions I've attended are so sugary, in fact, they could give you diabetes. The partic.i.p.ants are constantly going around in circles, discussing our feelings about the event, our feelings about each other's feelings about the event, our "issues" with each other's issues about our feelings about the event. Oh, my G.o.ddess-there's so much touchy-feeliness, it makes you want to clobber somebody with a Birkenstock. And everyone gets a turn to speak, everything is done by consensus, everyone is praised for speaking, everyone is praised for praising each other. As my girl Ophi once said, "There's so much a.s.s-kissing at those events, they should hand out ChapStick at the door."

Yeah, civility is important. Ditto for democracy. And inclusion. And respect. And certainly, kindness and compa.s.sion are crucial in this brutal world. But niceness? Niceness can be fascist in its own way. When a movement is run as if it's orchestrated by Miss Manners, the underlying message becomes that it's more important for women to accommodate everyone, and to be nice to everyone, and to worry about not offending anyone, than it is to be effective or truthful. It winds up reinforcing the idea that women should behave like good girls. And in doing so, it constrains us just like everything else. It's not much different from our fourth-grade teacher telling us to lower our voice and play nice. Or our parents telling us not to say we hate our peas: Good girls don't talk that way.

Is it any wonder that there's been a backlash? That we've got Camille Paglia lobbing verbal grenades at feminism? Or Alanis Morissette's edgy, rage-filled alb.u.ms going platinum? Or Elizabeth Wurtzel, posing shirtless and giving the world the finger on the cover of a book that praises "difficult women," including a teen adulteress who shot a housewife in the face? Or cult adoration for Gwen Stefani singing "I'm just a girl," while she karate kicks around the stage, flexes her muscles, and revels in teasing and humiliating the boys?

Nowadays, it seems, we gals are presented with two idealized modes of behavior. We can either be nice or nasty, a p.u.s.s.ycat or a b.i.t.c.h. Ironically, the same dichotomy that used to apply to our s.e.x lives now applies to our personality. We stand to be cast-or to cast ourselves-as either Katie Couric or Katie Roiphe. Courtney c.o.x or Courtney Love. Yech.

In the long run, of course, neither choice serves us well. We shouldn't really have to choose. Most of the greatest, most enduring women of our culture are hybrids. Take Mae West. Barbara Jordan. Eleanor Roosevelt. Julia Child. Molly Ivins. Queen Latifah. They're complicated women. They're not afraid to be strong, rich personalities. And they're not afraid to be "not nice."

Beyond everything else, these women have got personality. They've got chutzpah. Sometimes they're brash. Sometimes they make mistakes. Not everybody adores them-and they don't really give a s.h.i.t if everyone does. But their appeal has endured-and in certain cases their words, work, and influence have outlived them. Why? In part, because they refused to be constrained or confined to the roles of either a good girl or a b.i.t.c.h. They've had the courage to be themselves.

So if you're ever feeling cowed or self-conscious-if you worry about what people will think of you or whether you're not being nice-think about the power and the importance of cultivating your own personality and keepin' it real.

And if this doesn't help, hey, think about all the reasons Rosie O'Donnell leaves Kathie Lee Gifford in the dust.

Rosie has a big fresh mouth and a big fresh heart. And while she became the new queen of daytime largely because she was the Queen of Nice, n.o.body in the audience ever kids themselves. We all know that if Rosie gets good and p.i.s.sed-say, about the NRA-hey, she's from Noo Yawk. She's going to tell you exactly what she thinks. She's not going to get all pa.s.sive-aggressive and manipulative or simpering on your a.s.s. Girlfriend's got an edge. She is nice but she is tough, too. More to the point, she's true to herself, thank you. And that's what makes her-as it makes any of us gals who are true to ourselves-far more likeable, and genuinely nicer in the end, than that waffle-topping Kathie Lee.

Chapter 6.

PMS Is a Power Tool.

Why harangue our loved ones when we can harangue our legislators?

Recently, my friend Jerome told me that, while he's certainly "not a s.e.xist or anything," he thinks that sometimes women "exploit PMS" as an excuse for bad behavior.

Yeah, right.