Twenty or so women who knew each other, some well, some strangers. Some in passing. Beverly Hills is small after all. The women were beautiful, there was a young one in a short skirt that radiated the beauty of her 20’s and there were an ageless duo who are best described as elegant and active. There were a few of us who were the right age to be raising a family and some of us were doing so. Some of us had partners doing the heavy lifting and still others had opted out of children all together. Some were single, others were married, it had little to do with the children and everything to do with pragmatic decisions about who belonged with whom.
It was a collection of talented women with the ability to reach vast communities coming together because three of our girlfriends has asked for us to show up. They hadn’t asked for anything more than just to show up.
The dealmaker gave a presentation that made sense to us all. Glass ceiling my ass… glass front fucking door. But the conversation she deftly moved to was the different expectations we have of men and women. I feel like the men in my life were there to walk me to my wedding and the women were there to walk me to my grave. Men don’t have the ability to break me. With the exception of Father, Husband, Son and Brother they’d never particularly achieved object permanence.
The women are taking media in a direction they believe it ought to veer. They don’t want to be Bridesmaids and they aren’t interested in being adorable. Somehow they’re clever and sexy and life affirming without fucking anyone or looking like they might seduce someone just for fun.
I’m not sure where I fit in with this group, but I fit somehow. Maybe just as a first audience, and my goodness, that would be just fine. It has to fit because my 13 year old daughter doesn’t have issues in meaningful ways with the other girls and I attribute that fact to the women in my life.
It’s easy for them when it’s easy for us