Comedians like Tina Fey pretend to be plain to avoid the trap of being dismissed as being too pretty to be funny. This can spill over into a slut-shaming tendency that belies their faux feminism
The numbers that survive in my phone don't belong to those boys and men who were best at fucking me, but the ones who were, and are, best at telling me how—and why, and where, and also in which places—they would fuck me.
A few months ago, I dissected a squid. The squid was unsurprisingly strange: all tentacles and ooze and sets of sharp hidden teeth. But the dissection was strange, too.
What is perhaps most significant about Gibson's fiction, then, is what he chooses not to write about. None of his nine novels has been set in a world that requires the annihilation of our own.
I spent an earlier chapter of my life not as someone who played basketball, but as someone whose entire identity was structured and defined by being a basketball player. Basketball was my special pass-card that allowed me into the zone of black America, a realm that didn’t belong to me.
The idea that we could enter a virtual realm once eased the cognitive dissonance brought on by technology. But now it sustains an illusory divide between what we do online and off