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Zusatztext 78089291 Informationen zum Autor Alida Nugent Klappentext "Hilarious...[Nugent] documents her journey to feminism while skewering misogynist tropes and delivering some painful truths."-Publishers Weekly (starred review) "Feminist" is not a four-letter word, but Alida Nugent resisted it for a long time. She feared the "scarlet F" being thrust upon her for refusing to laugh at misogynistic jokes at parties; she withered under the judgmental gaze of store clerks when buying Plan B, and she swore that she was "not like other girls." But eventually, like so many of us, she discovered that feminism is an empowering identity to take on. It's okay to criticize beauty standards but still love dark lipstick, investing in female friendships is the most rewarding thing ever, and no woman should feel pressured to eat an "unseasoned chicken breast the size of a deck of playing cards" as every sad dinner for the rest of eternity. With sincerity, intelligence, and wit, Nugent invites readers in to her most private moments of personal growth. From struggling with an eating disorder for most of her teen years to embracing all aspects of her biracial identity, she tackles tough topics with honest vulnerability making it a perfect gift for teens and young adults. Smartly-written, unapologetic, and laugh-out-loud funny, You Don't Have to Like Me is perfect for readers of Roxane Gay, Rebecca Solnit, and Sloane Crosley.***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof*** Copyright © 2015 Alida Nugent Introduction It’s an unseasonably warm winter morning, and I am in a good mood. The first thing I see when I arrive at work, twenty minutes late, is an e-mail. The subject line reads “Be Safe,” and it is e-addressed to three of my girlfriends. “Hey,” it begins. Innocuous start. I am intrigued because the last time this friend sent me an e-mail, it was about paying her forty dollars for an all-you-can-drink brunch in Lower Manhattan. “Looks like there was an attempted assault in your neighborhood.” I nod slowly and sip my coffee, like go on, you have my attention . “Just be extra vigilant.” It ends with a news link, as proof. I click it. A man pushed a woman down to the ground while she was walking on the same block on which I buy my eggs, and she was now in the hospital. I think about myself on that block, hands full with bags of chips, Brie, and diet ginger ale. The woman would survive, the article said, but her attacker had gotten away. The police released a description whose sole detail was the fact that the man “wore a sweatshirt.” The comments in the article were about how stupid the woman was for walking home so late. Again, I think about myself, walking home tipsy from two-martini happy hour. I think about two a.m., when I don’t have enough money in my wallet for a cab. I think about risk. My friend Caroline responds to this e-mail first. “I walk that way a lot. This makes me VERY NERVOUS.” For once, I don’t find the caps overkill. I pitch in next: “Guess it’s good I already hold my keys like they’re Wolverine claws!” I add a little humor to mask what I really want to say: “I’m always afraid of walking alone at night.” “Do we have to be worried everywhere we go?” And, of course: “It could have been me.” These are thoughts I have all too frequently, not just when something happens on my block, or in Brooklyn, or in New York. It’s because this type of story is unavoidable anywhere you are. Every time you read the news or turn on the TV, it’s like some sort of monstrous Groundhog Day: assaults that happen to women on a college campus, or on a street, or in the house of someone they trusted, or while on a jog around the neighborhood. And every day, we read these stories silently, at our desks or on our phones, finding reasons why it wouldn’t have been us. Well, I don’t really wa...
