Suzannah Weiss

"Hey, you're a feminist. What do you think of that?" If we feminists got a dollar every time someone at a party asked us this question, we just might close the wage gap.

“Some of the smartest thinkers . . . are university professors, but most of them just don’t matter in today’s great debates”—or do they?

When the police arrested Wendy Barnes's pimp, it appeared as if she were free at last, she recalls during our phone interview. “Maybe this nightmare ends,” she thought. But that's when they handcuffed her, brought her to the station, and charged her with the exact same crime: prostitution.

The more conversations I have with fellow millennials, the more I realize we’re all going through similar growing pains. Professionally, we’re often struggling either to find our niche or to advance in the careers we’ve settled on. Socially, our friendships are in flux, with people constantly moving around and revising their values. And romantically, many of us still have nothing to report while we watch one friend after another pair up.

When I was first diagnosed with anorexia ten years ago, I vaguely knew that eating disorders were a feminist issue.

If they could go back, a lot of women in their 30s would reassure their 20-something selves that they really don’t need to worry. “No one has it all figured out yet. You're going to be fine."

Talking about sex may make you uncomfortable, but so would having children who grow up in ignorance and fear.

I won't lie: When it comes to my appearance, I'm not my own biggest fan. Others may disagree, but catching a glimpse of myself in my mirrored closet doors is not a pleasant experience.

Those who know and love people with depression usually want nothing other than to help. But during the times I've been depressed, even the most well-intentioned efforts to help often backfired.

I was six the first time I remember sucking in my stomach.