Yes Means Yes! Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape
Edited by Jaclyn Friedman and Jessica Valenti (Seal)
Activist writers Friedman and Valenti present an extraordinary, eye-opening essay collection that focuses on the importance of sexual identity and ownership in the struggle against rape in the U.S., as well as a number of related issues, including sexual pleasure, self-esteem and the mixed societal messages that turn “nice guys” bad.

The anthology includes not only an essay by yours truly, but many by writers I love, including Kimberly Springer, with whom I did a Q&A here. Congrats to everyone involved, and thanks, PW!

I first realized I’d hit a nerve when I linked to it on Twitter, and the retweets started pouring in, continuously and (as of this writing) endlessly. (There have been hundreds involving “@kateharding” at this point; no clue how many links to it altogether, but I just realized bit.ly tracks clicks on your shortened links, and that one’s had 6,883 so far.) I figured something was really up when I was invited to be on a right-wing talk radio show, and I saw the article tweeted by a high-profile conservative blogger. (Who knew being disgusted with Roman Polanski would turn out to be the ever-elusive common ground between right-wing dudes and liberal feminists?) Then more media requests came in, including one from France. (I’ve been turning them all down, mostly because they all want me to do it live during work hours.) Also, an unprecedented amount of fan mail, coming via my published address, Facebook, and the general Broadsheet addy. Plus an appreciative tweet from Cheryl Strayed, a writer I’ve adored for years and certainly never expected to “meet” via her saying mywork was awesome. And then a couple of letters from journalists not looking to interview me, just telling me I’d nailed it.

The post went to number one on Salon, and is still there at this writing. This morning, I found out that in less than 24 hours, it got over 100,000 page views. (I hope I’m not revealing site secrets here, but let’s just say that’s awfully rare for Broadsheet.) Then a friend e-mailed to tell me Amy Sullivan at Time called it “the best, most comprehensive rebuttal” to Polanski supporters. Another friend pointed out the Salon post was cited on the Wikipedia entry for Polanski. Later, over at Newsweek, our new pal Kate Dailey wrote, “There have been a lot of smart and convincing rebuttals to these objections, most notably Kate Harding’s forceful, powerful essay on Salon.” Around which time, my editor wrote and said, “OMG HOW BIG IS YOUR HEAD NOW? I am putting an end to this well-deserved praise pile-on by telling you that there is something funny on your nose.” Because she is awesome like that.

Today, I wrote a follow-up rant for Jezebel, focusing on the ridiculous amount of celebrity support Polanski is getting. Neither my editor there nor I expected it to get anything like the traffic of the Salon piece — the news is a day older, I’ve already said plenty — and who knows if it ultimately will, but 45 minutes after it went up, she IMed me and said, “It’s already gotten 5,000 page views.” Just checked, and it’s about 6 hours later, it’s gotten 24,000.

Yes, my head is enormous right now, but that’s not the point of this post. Well, not completely.

Here’s the interesting thing about all this: All I’ve done is say that Roman Polanski raped a child, fled before he could be sentenced for it, and thus, by any reasonable standard, deserves to be punished — all of which is a matter of public record, except the opinion on punishment, which is common sense. I didn’t break any ground here. I didn’t uncover any news. I didn’t turn a phrase so exquisite it will be studied in lit classes in 100 years. I just called a fugitive child rapist a fugitive child rapist.

And it turns out a whole lot of people were waiting to hear someone say just that, straight-up, unencumbered by a bunch of bullshit about the importance of his work, his artistic genius, his age, whether his victim looked 13 or not, the judicial misconduct that marred his case or, most gallingly, the “punishment” he’s already “suffered” by spending more than 30 years in “exile.” (If being wealthy, successful and almost completely free to roam Europe counts as exile, sign me up.) A whole lot of people really just wanted to hear someone in the media say, “He raped a child. He fled the country. He damn well should have been arrested, he should be extradited, and it really shouldn’t have taken three fucking decades to make that happen. The end.” But very few people in the media did.

Why is that? Why have so few journalists stated the obvious? Why have I only heard about three people in the film industry (Kevin Smith, Luc Besson and Greg Grunberg) saying, in essence, “He fucking drugged and raped a kid, and he’s not above the law,” while hundreds of celebrities are signing petitions demanding his release, wearing “Free Polanski” buttons and trying to spin his arrest as an attack on artistic freedom? Why am I suddenly a freakin’ darling of the right, while a bunch of liberals argue it’s been such a long time, he’s suffered so much, he’s so old, he survived the Holocaust, his wife was murdered, and oh yeah, did you see Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired? JUDICIAL MISCONDUCT! JUDICIAL MISCONDUCT! (Let me be clear: Judicial misconduct sucks, and there does seem to have been some here. Polanski and his lawyers have every right to vigorously protest that. But whether he raped a child was never at issue — only his sentencing for it — and also, HE FLED THE FUCKING COUNTRY instead of pursuing his concerns through the legal system.) As Mother Jones editor Clara Jeffery tweeted earlier today, “Seriously, all it takes for smart lefties to believe Polanski [should] not be punished for child rape is agitprop documentary? Pathetic.”

Pathetic indeed. And yet.

The overwhelming response to my posts is as heartening as it is head-embiggening. Far more people than I could have imagined were thrilled that someone came along and stated the obvious. But still, “Roman Polanski raped a child, end of fucking story” is far from the dominant media narrative about the case right now. Still, people are endlessly debating whether it was appropriate to arrest a fugitive child rapist.

Why do you suppose that is?

The photo was taken by the amazingly sweet and talented Becky Hill, and the text, by plus-size modeling agent and entrepreneurial genius Ben Barry, reads in part:

[W]e are not going down, because Chicago’s Kate Harding is on our side. Kate, 34, shares Susie Orbach’s vision for her generation; she is a fat-acceptance crusader who uses the voice and vehicles of today to rip apart the fictitious links between weight, health and human nature, to expose why diets don’t work and set us on the path to peace with our bodies. Combining sharp wit and compelling arguments in blog posts and tweets — as well as in her book, Lessons from the Fat-o-sphere — she reminds us that fat is still a feminist issue. For now. The more we learn from Kate, the more we will free our time and money from trying to change our bodies and turn to rediscovering ourselves.

There’s more, but since the whole thing is only two paragraphs, that’s copyright violation #2. In return for Chatelaine’s unwitting generosity, I offer this: DEAR EVERYONE IN CANADA, PLEASE GO BUY A REAL COPY RIGHT NOW. BETTER YET, SUBSCRIBE! LOVE, KATE

OK, so about that photo. I look pretty, right? (If you disagree, drop dead.) In the spirit of the “Impossibly Beautiful” series at Shakesville, I want to talk about how I got that pretty. In this case, it wasn’t Photoshop (though there might very well have been some — since it’s not screamingly fucked-up, that’s not the point this time), but it was still artificial as hell.

I arrived at Becky’s studio with my hair and make-up already done for a big-deal magazine shoot — or so I thought. Already on my face and hair at that point: Moisturizer, primer, foundation, powder, blush, mascara, eyeliner, lipliner, lipstick, lipgloss, eyebrow powder, eyeshadow, leave-in conditioner, Kiehl’s Silk Groom Serum, hairspray — much more of all of it than I would normally use. Oh, and I’d hot-rolled my hair, because I’m retro like that.

Then Becky introduces me to Antonette. Who is there to put another layer of pretty much everything on my face (right over top of the first round), re-curl my hair, and put another bottle or so of hairspray on it. This is very similar to what happened before I was on CNN, with one exception: Antonette uses airbrush make-up. Which involves instructions like “OK, just don’t inhale for a minute while I do this.” Also, she put that shit all the way down my chest.

So. At this point, I have already had a far more serious hair and make-up job than I did for my friggin’ wedding photos, and that’s only the beginning. Because Antonette (who is such a doll, and if you are a Chicagoan in the market for the sort of make-up job that involves holding your breath, you should call her) comes with us to Earwax, where we took that photo (on their back patio, which has a fabulous circus-themed mural, hence fat lady behind me). And not only does she touch up the hair and make-up every 10 seconds, but she keeps rearranging my belt and skirt — and cami and slip and chub-rub-preventative bike shorts; Antonette and I got to know each other reeeeal well — to make sure everything’s smooth and perfectly positioned. Every time I take a fucking breath, she fixes the two hairs I blew out of place, the fabric that’s bunched up — imperceptibly to all naked eyes except hers — and the belt that’s now a millimeter lower than where she wants it.

And on top of all that, Becky and her assistant are running around maniacally, finding the best angles and best light, adding light where it’s insufficient, asking me to move an inch (literally) this way, then an inch back, helping me up onto the bench I’m standing on, then down so they can move the whole bench an inch that way, then back up, back down, move the bench, move the Kate, change the light, WAIT! NOW YOUR HAIR’S STUPID AGAIN!

And all that was before we moved on to the second location, just in case the 8 bazillion photos she took at Earwax weren’t to the photo editor’s taste.

It was actually a really fun afternoon — they were great, it was a novel adventure, Becky bought me a smoothie (which is, in fact, the price of my affection) — but holy crap, even if I had been born with genes that made me 6 feet tall and thin, I would not last one day as a model. Total time invested in getting this one photo: 4.5 hours.

Anyway. So far, I have gotten numerous responses to that photo, including but not limited to:

• hubba hubba
• Gorgeous!
• DAMN!
• Awesome picture Kate!!!!!!!
• Rowr!

And even I am willing to say that yes, the FOUR OF US, not to mention the art department at Chatelaine, made a very nice picture of me. But now it’s time for the reality check. When I’m on my own? It comes out more like this:

It takes a village to make a magazine-quality photo, y’all. Don’t ever forget it.

(Oh, and for the curious who haven’t already learned this from the 90 other times I wore the same outfit in media appearances and posted about it: Dress and belt are from Igigi.)

Update: Bitch Ph.D.’s M. LeBlanc saw that tweet and replied, “@KateHarding I read ‘cervicide crap’ as ‘cervical cap’ and ’slank’ as ’skank.’  i.e. People who use contraception are whores!” Yikes! Perhaps I should have chosen less easily confused code words.

Craig Lassig for the NYT

So, this picture was taken the day after my wedding reception, when I could barely walk, was so tired I wanted to die, and — stupidly not having anticipated either of those eventualities — had to give a reading. And then had to meet up with a photographer for the New York Times right before that. Best planning ever. But at least this one picture turned out surprisingly well!

In case you’re wondering, the giant, black-and-white finger growing out of my left shoulder belongs to a model in the Victoria’s Secret window display behind me. (The juxtaposition of her and me was supposed to be all deep and shit, but then the lighting didn’t really work out.)

Anyway. That photo, by the lovely Craig Lassig, accompanied this Thursday Styles piece by Mandy Katz, which was a sidebar to this article. Two mentions of the book in the NYT in one day! I am beside myself! And also beside a giant, black-and-white finger.

In other fancy media news, Lee Randall wrote a terrifically flattering column about Shapely Prose in the Scotsman yesterday. And then the following conversation took place on Twitter.

KateHarding @randallwrites Just saw it now! Thank you so much!!

randallwrites @KateHarding no, thank you. i need such regular boots up the jaxsie to keep me relatively sane.

KateHarding @randallwrites I will be the boot up your jaxsie any time. Though I’m only guessing what a jaxsie is.

Lee kindly confirmed that a jaxsie is exactly what I suspected it was.

Also, I just set up an interview with Never Say Diet over at iVillage, and in the course of that up-setting (uh, wait…), I discovered that Linda Vongkhamchanh wrote the most fantastic review of Lessons there, over a month ago! WAY TO FAIL ME, GOOGLE ALERTS. Anyway, check this out:

Harding and Kirby, both self-proclaimed fat girls, have founded the ultimate fat girl’s bible, with lessons of positive body image, healthy living, and most importantly loving yourself and being healthy in your current body and at your current weight. It’s possible to be fat and healthy, just as it is possible for someone to be slim and unhealthy. Interesting concept, right? It totally goes against society’s view of women, where skinny is in and fat is just not all that. We love us some revolutionary non-diet literature! And, not to mention, their witty firsthand accounts that go along with the life lessons for the rotund reader make them all the more trustworthy.

Love!

Kate Harding: Harding jokes that she’s a “professional fat chick” on her Twitter page, but really, she’s a Salon.com Broadsheet blogger and one of the brilliant ladies behind the fat blog, Shapely Prose.

Awww! Thank you, Jessica Wakeman!

Update: I got a shitload of new followers in the 24 hours after that posted, so really, thank you, Jessica Wakeman.

At least I can ramble about writing and reading a bit on the Powell’s bookstore website, where I’m guest-blogging this week. My first post, about the book’s title, went up today. Two more are coming (and Marianne is taking Tuesday and Thursday).

But what I’m thinking about now is inappropriate for Powell’s, for reasons that should be obvious from the post title: It’s about why I love my Kindle so damn much. And that reason is very simple: instant gratification. By which I mean instant gratification. I bought a Sony Reader a couple of years ago and loved the concept — 80 books in my purse at once! — but quit using it as soon as the novelty wore off, which was about 2 weeks later. Why? It was linked to the very limited Sony store, and I needed a PC to download books. Not a computer, a PC — the fucking thing wasn’t even Mac compatible, so I had to use one of Al’s computers. The Sony store has “tens of thousands of books”; the Kindle store has a few hundred thousand and counting. (And when I can’t get a book I want there, I can at least get the satisfaction of clicking the “request a Kindle edition” button.) I can get a book delivered to the Kindle with 1-click ordering from any computer, or wirelessly via the Kindle itself, if I’m sitting at an airport, for instance. (Last time I flew, I went into the airport bookstore as usual, but ended up writing down titles to download instead of buying books to lug with me.)

The truth is, I don’t give a shit about the design of my e-book reader or any bells and whistles. And I certainly don’t give a shit who makes it — if Sony or another competitor linked up with B&N or Borders or Powell’s or any other online bookseller, and offered the same purchasing options, my loyalty to Amazon would dissipate, if not disappear, instantly. But as it is, Amazon’s getting a huge portion of my book-buying dollars these days, because the Kindle is so damned convenient, especially when I’m traveling so much. The device is nice, but they didn’t do anything with the hardware that knocked my socks off. What they did was make it really, really easy to buy books and start reading them immediately, in as few steps as possible.

And given that I spend most of my life online, that’s exactly what I’ve come to expect. If I want information these days, I should be able to find it with a few search words and a couple of clicks. Buying a book for the Kindle is just an extension of that — yeah, I’m paying for it, but it doesn’t involve extra clicking or filling in my credit card info and billing address every time, and the books don’t take any longer to download than a PDF. It’s as seamless as web-surfing. And man, that makes a huge difference in my continued interest in using the product and spending more money on it.

I still love real books, of course. My house is full of them, and when I go to a bookstore, I rarely leave empty-handed. But the Kindle did exactly what technology is supposed to do — it improved upon the original experience, offering desirable extras I couldn’t get from the old version. Sony just didn’t go far enough with that — if I had to go wire up the Reader to Al’s computer, only to find they didn’t have the book I wanted anyway, what was the point? (If I’m going to be disappointed that they don’t have what I want, I might as well get out of the house and go to a bookstore.) Amazon gave me a reason to want and use an e-book reader, despite my abiding love for real books and real bookstores. Whatever issues I may have with them, they did what it took to change the way I read and make me a loyal customer. I’m happy to reward that kind of innovation and market savvy, even if I also wish they had some real competition for me to check out.

Photo by Elizabeth Jochum, from the Vive la Femme book launch/anniversary party on May 15. Oh, hello there, left boob!

Reading in Philly

Unbelievably, the book tour is already half over! Philly (left), Boston, and the Chicago launch at Vive la Femme all went fantastically well — thanks so much to everyone who came out!

If you missed me in Chicago, you’ll get another chance to see me on June 11, at Women & Children First, 5233 N. Clark, starting at 7:30 p.m.

If you’re in Brooklyn next Friday night, June 5, please come out to Re/Dress and see both Marianne and me! There will also be awesome vintage plus-size shopping and a DJ/dance party once we’re done reading! 

Finally, the last confirmed date on our tour is June 28 in Minneapolis, at Magers & Quinn, starting at 6 p.m.  We’ll both be there for that, as it’s the day after my belated wedding reception/6-month anniversary party. Right now, I’m not-so-patiently awaiting the custom Jane BonBon dress I ordered for that, which is only slightly less important to me than the book. Or, you know, the marriage. 

I’m still trying to figure out a date to hit St. Louis in July, but as soon as I do, the internet will be the first to know. Beyond that, we’re trying to set up some college appearances in the fall — if you have any pull with the folks who bring in speakers at a college, please let us know!