Angry Women Are NOT Feminists!



Unfortunately, this word has become scary to many folks today. And I don’t mean the word FUCK. Feminism is no longer a representation of the movement of days past. Although if you  look up the word in the dictionary, it will still claim to mean the advocacy of women’s rights on the basis of the equality of the sexes.


Yes, that seems to mean different things to different people, depends on who you ask. Back in the day, being equal meant to strive to improve the conditions, offers and opportunities of all women to the supposed heightened privilege of man. The education, career and financial stability allotted to men was a life goal for women worldwide.

But fast forward and something was lost along the way. I didn’t even notice when exactly it happened, but I know when I noticed. 2016 was when I realized that my claim to feminism was now clouded by some very angry women who didn’t seem to care too much about the education, career and financial opportunities presented to them. They protested, posted, kicked and screamed more about the need to bring men to their knees. To oppress the oppressor, to abuse the abuser, to play the players. They didn’t want the type of equality that would improve their lives and those around them. Nope. They wanted the opportunity to beat down, mistreat and exploit the opposite sex.


That is just plain stupid!!! That’s not progress! That’s taking turns!

Think about it…. do you really want to raise your son or daughter in a world where now the tables are turned INSTEAD of bettering BOTH genders? In essence these individuals are just looking to settle a score (reparations), seeking revenge, or just trying to get a little taste of what it’s like to be what they define to be a “man”.

I can almost hear you…. it wouldn’t be “PC” for me to judge those judgmental women. Fine! You want to nurture your anger? I’m sure you can come up with many good reasons to be so. I can come up with a few, being a woman myself. I’m not oblivious to your feelings. But claim anger! Not feminism. Claim bitterness! Not collaboration. Claim revenge! Not progress.

Step away from feminism because what you want is to be the EXACT thing you claim to be fighting against.  And  clearly, nothing good or positive will ever come from that!

— The Pretty Platform


At 58 Madonna Is Still My Material Girl

Have you ever experienced a moment that slapped you straight in to reality? A moment of self-awareness so sudden that you didn’t realize you had even stopped breathing? A jaw-dropping run-of-the-mill fact that sent you in to momentary denial? I’m sure you have quite the story to tell and I would love to hear all about it over some coffee someday.

But mine was at 6:30 this morning and I’m still feeling the effects. I was in the car driving the hubby and myself to the bus stop. Of course I was driving. When am I NOT driving? Either way, I had the radio tuned in to the Z-Morning Zoo show with Elvis Duran and the gang. Love them. And then IT happened. They read off their routine daily celebrity birthday list. Who cares, right? And I normally wouldn’t care. No big deal. We all have one of those.

But today, TODAY, this year… Madonna turned 58. 58! Fifty-eight!!! My reaction? If you didn’t already guess, I hope I’ve captured the essence of the moment here… First, an instantaneous gasp. Next, with my mouth still open I furrow my brows in disbelief. Then I let out the following… “What? What?! No way! Noooo! She can’t be 58. No! She’s 58? No! Ughhh! Damn it honey! (As I look at the hubby and I hit the steering wheel and laugh. He’s also laughing. I continue, as I’m somewhat pouting in the process) My goodness (as I shake my head side to side and my shoulders drop and my posture slumps), she’s f’ing 58! You know what this means Hun? (as I resume a high pitch) Do you?! I’m going to be 58 soon. Yeah, it’s coming and it’s coming quick. That’s going to be me. Arghhhh!!! It just got real here. Damn it!”.

A comical moment for sure. And even more comical for the spectator of this mini morning breakdown. Here’s the thing…she was my Virgin and Material Girl. She nudged me to Express Yourself. I’d daydream of being someone’s Lucky Star. I pictured myself on La Isla Bonita. My heartstrings tugged for Papa Don’t Preach. I crossed the Borderline. Felt like everyday was a Holiday. I’d fall to my knees and bellow out Like A Prayer and practiced in front of a mirror how to Vogue.

For 30 years her music made me dance like no one was watching. For 30 years her continuous transformations proved that we can always change in to better versions of our prior selves. She was never afraid to say what was on her mind. She fought for what she believed in and she took risks to reach her goals. And during all this time, she seemed to embrace a youthful spirit despite the years darting by.

But this number, 58, was just a reminder that I have to get moving. I have to hustle to enjoy and experience all that I could. That I have goals I still want to reach. I will not waste my time on other people’s drama or expectations of what I should be. That I can’t waste time thinking there is always enough time. Because time rushes by, and my 45 today will be my 58 tomorrow. I will continue to be strong, fearless and fight for what I want until then. I will continue to enjoy even the little things.  I will both laugh and cry with unparalleled emotion. I will enjoy life, people and what this earth has to offer. I will live, sing and dance like no one AND everyone is watching, shouldn’t matter.

And I will always remember that “Poor is the man (or woman) whose pleasures depend on the permission of another” — Justify My Love.

— The Pretty Platform

I Don’t Care if she’s a Feminist! Don’t Forget to be a Gentleman!

True Story –

I’m 26 years old, 8 months pregnant expecting my first child. I’m commuting back and forth to Manhattan via the A train from Queens. At this stage of my pregnancy I’m getting out of work just a tad earlier to avoid the evening rush back home. The August heat makes waiting on the platform almost unbearable. Train is approaching and the anticipation of an air-conditioned car AND a seat made me feel like a teenager waiting for the last few seconds before that dismissal bell. I step in, feeling my skin cool down. I look both ways scanning for a seat, of which all are occupied. This train in particular was of the older model which means that it’s perimeter bench seating allowed everyone to sit facing to the center of the car. With just myself and a handful of commuters standing, there’s a clear view from one end of the car to the other. Do you know what else was in clear view? My huge belly protruding from my thin frame making it an unmistakable assumption that I was truly with child. I was young, humble, not expecting much from anyone, so there I remained standing, stop after stop without a whimper or complaint. What made this ride interesting and memorable? Everyone in that car was a man. I remember that clearly because I felt somewhat bad standing with my belly right in front of any of the seated passengers. First seated passenger, poor guy kept trying to veer his eyes to any direction but forward. I move over to provide HIM some relief. Next seated passenger quickly closed his eyes in a poor attempt to seem asleep. Now I was just amused. I move again. Next seated passenger moved his newspaper so close to his face I’m sure he got smudge marks on his nose. Pitiful. I thought about any man I knew and made a mental note to remind them to never behave this way if they were in this situation.

Just then a voice, “Miss! Miss! Over here. Please come sit”. I get knocked out of my thoughts, quickly look over to the right, and at the end of the car, in the corner space was a woman. An older woman; gesturing me over to her. I smile, waddle my way over to her, not with the intention of taking her seat but to at least find some camaraderie.  I would never take a seat from an older person. I was still younger and stronger (subliminal message). I kindly rejected her persistence but thanked her dearly for her chivalry. Well, that set her off. Oh, the exhilaration of speaking ones mind. She loudly directed herself to that testosterone filled car, “You should all be ashamed of yourselves that an old woman was more of a gentleman than all of you put together. Your mothers, your daughters, your sisters and aunts would all be ashamed of you. Shame on you”. I smiled again. She got off the next stop. I took her seat and enjoyed the next 35 minutes in cool bliss.

Why would this lack of chivalrous behavior be acceptable to some and not to others? I have repeated this story throughout the years to many of male friends, acquaintances and coworkers. And one after another, year after year I heard, “I would NEVER have behaved that way. Not me. I would’ve given up my seat. I was raised differently than that”.  And yet I continue to scratch my head because I am sure the moms of those seated passengers would take offense to that comment, having spent years doing their darndest to mold them in to perfect gentlemen.

Now, think about it. When we, male or female were being raised by our very own “Best Mom Ever”, did she tell you that we could forego those well-mannered attributes toward others if you had, let’s say; a paid ride, or were waiting on-line for a while, or if you were living/working in the city, if you were tired or maybe if your boss pissed you off? Think hard. Think! Think! Can’t recall that? No? Of course not!

Just recently, on an hour bus ride back home, a middle-aged man who didn’t give up his seat to the only standing woman spoke his mind directly to her. Although she never requested to sit, he felt the need to exclaim, “I pay for a seat. You didn’t need to get on. If you wanted to sit you could have waited for the next bus”. This man felt the need to excuse outwardly what he knew would not gain him any brownie points back home. Just for the record, after about 30 minutes in, he made a 180 and insisted she take his seat. He then proceeded to say, “My daughter would kill (he actually emphasized this word) me if she knew I didn’t offer my seat up to a woman. I was only trying to make a point”. A point to whom? To this woman or to himself? Did his hibernated chivalrous right shoulder conscious finally wake up? Does he get a brownie point now?

Now, what about the counter debate that things are how they are because women insisted on equality throughout the years and THIS has become the deteriorated repercussion of it all?

Bull!!! Hogwash!!! Balderdash!!! (Fill in the blank with your own).

Look, lost in today’s society is good old fashion chivalry. Opening a door, allowing passage, picking up a dropped item, pulling out a chair and giving up a seat. Yes, women wanted equality, of course; to vote, in work, in salary, to education, to have a voice. But that should never, ever have reduced a man’s ability to be kind to women, or to other men, and even to the older generation. If men believed in years past that they were of superior quality, then shouldn’t they have raised a woman’s bar to be equally kind to men as well as to other women. Why did men allow their idea of Feminism diminish their attributes, instead of holding women up to theirs? Or is the idea of mistreating others, being unkind just appeal to them more? Does it self-gratify some deep rooted anger issue or superiority complex?

Stop using Feminism. Stop throwing around this word as an excuse and a crutch to let the monster out. Every human being needs to go back to basics and learn how to treat one another. Keep mental inventory of how your mom would expect you to behave. Refer back to the Emily Post Guide for good manners if you have to (or to my cheat sheet below). And for goodness sake, stop playing the victim and step up to every opportune moment. If you don’t, just know that some dude that mirrors your own actions will treat your daughter the same way. And then you can recount the time to her, that her “best ever” and perfect daddy (or mommy) behaved just as poorly. Good luck with that!

– Elke

When in doubt, refer to the below:
20 Way to be a Gentleman
20 Way to be a Gentleman