Women Will Bring It
The Women’s March in Washington, D.C.
In the run-up to the 2016 election, I phone banked, I knocked on doors, I took my youngest with me to the voting booth so we could cast my vote together. I took her to see Hillary Clinton at a Town Hall, and I told her that if she was elected, Hillary would be the first woman President of the United States. My daughter’s reaction was startled and disbelieving, quickly turning to outrage. There had never been a woman President? Why not? She couldn’t believe it. I loved that she took it for granted that women had been President – indeed, why wouldn’t they have been? Then, when I went to bed on election night, all I could think was “What do I tell her?” How could I explain to her that, in twenty-first century America, a person who has no problem denigrating and abusing women, who actually glories in it, could sit in the Oval Office? That almost half the voters in America think that because she is female, her rights don’t matter? That her bright future might be a lie, because she’s a girl?
The Women’s March in D.C.
We had that difficult conversation, and we have had many more since. Taking her and her brother to the Women’s March in D.C. was incredibly helpful. We experienced generosity and a coalescence of community on a scale I had never known before. Strangers offered us places to stay. Women gave out extra pussy hats they had made for those of us not blessed with the talent to make our own. I heard a man in the crowd comment that you could tell this was a women’s march because everyone was so thoughtful and polite, and a good friend of mine posted on Facebook that “the women are out in D.C. showing us how it’s done”. The camaraderie of the March was truly special. Having like-minded others nearby and visible, identifiable, showed us that together we are strong. And loud.
The Birth of Brass Ovaries, LLC
In the days after the March, there were pussy hats everywhere we went. On the Metro and the Mall, in the museums and restaurants, we saw this easily identifiable symbol of common sympathy. A mutually recognizable expression of “We’re here, we care, we’re doing something about it.” We shared a smile, a wave, a thumbs-up, or a conversation with many people who were otherwise strangers, connected by the common bond symbolized by those hats. We were constantly reminded that there are a great many of us.
More than a year and a half later, I saw a man wearing a camouflage hunting cap, and I thought “Why does that guy’s hat have fallopian tubes on it?” That stopped me dead in my tracks, thinking “Surely not.” I actually walked around him to get a better look, and realized it was a stylized deer skull. Then I laughed at the thought of his reaction if I had said “Hey, I love your hat! Girl power!” The thought of the similarity stuck with me, until I wanted the hat I initially thought I had seen, and Brass Ovaries was born.
We are Not Alone
I haven’t seen a pussy hat outside of a Women’s March since January 2017, but I think Brass Ovaries has much the same meaning; the symbol doesn’t even need explanation. Women see it and say “I get it”. Women live Brass Ovaries every day. The symbol, for me, is an identifier of our common sympathy and goals. I hope that it will help us identify one another the way the pussy hats did at the March, to help us remember we are not alone, to recognize that we stand united, and that we are not going away.