created, maintained, and curated by womyn, for all.
April's theme is
MOTHERS & SISTERS.
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RAINCOAT is a community of musicians, writers, visual artists, filmmakers, and more. We champion the work of womyn and the nurturing of safe, dynamic spaces that encourage its creation and distribution.
(I’d call you unborn but that makes it sound as if you’re in my womb at this very moment which you are NOT). There are things I’ll never tell you. About your looks. About your boyfriends, or girlfriends. About your nose, which could be crooked. About how some days you’ll feel so tired you’ll think you could never feel this tired again, and how the next day you’ll wake up and feel the same way. I’ll never tell you about your weight, lost or gained. I’ll never tell you your hai
“What do you think of me drinking decaf coffee?” I texted my sister today. We talked about it, and then I told her how nervous I was about writing this article. We planned a phone call for her to give me wisdom, at which point she said, “I know that what you write is going to be fantastic.’ “Oh, Leah,” I said, knowing my own ability to be atrocious and her ability to be right about everything. Then she sent me three articles she wrote for this magazine so I could have inspira
Upon graduating high school, I wanted nothing more than to get away from the house in which I grew up, and into NYC, away from everyone I’d ever known. Tbh, I blame Gossip Girl for making the big city look so beautiful and clean, and for portraying disgustingly independent teens whose parents never seemed to be around. Regardless, this was the dream, and it would’ve worked out perfectly, maybe, if I hadn’t been too unmotivated to fill out the Common App. Because of this, I fo
I used to be incredibly emo because I allowed myself to wallow. For example, after school, I would take the train back home, even though it took twice as long as the bus, because then I could be alone and watch the city go by. At that time every single person on the Internet aged 14-18 was emo too. We enabled each other’s wallowing. Because of the Internet I found Los Campesinos!, a band that I could only describe as “using a lot of glockenspiel” for lack of better terminolog
@ 9 years old: I look in the mirror and think I’m hot shit even though my mom still chooses what I wear each day (some combination of a white top and navy blue bottom for school uniform). I take, like, five minutes to get ready in the morning, and then I race my dad as we walk to school, trying to be the first one to touch the flagpole. I’m the first one in my class to have a “boyfriend.” I’m not aware, however, that in a couple months this person who says he “likes me” will
I. When I was little and drew wedding processions, I knew the wedding dress should be long and flowing enough that it would trail way behind the bride. It needed to trail way behind so that it could be gently held up off the ground by flower girls’ avid little hands. If the dress didn’t trail, what would the flower girls do? Flower girls were the most important part of any wedding, so it follows that the dress had to trail. I drew the bride’s smiling face and smiling hair, th
As I reflect on the last few months of teaching English in Japan, I find my memories each leave a distinct aftertaste. Take late September, for example: as summer humidity recedes, I wear glasses to school instead of contacts. One of the grade 5s in the special education class tells me the glasses suit me, and gives me an ear-to-ear smile. I grin right back. During recess, we walk to the library holding hands, and my heart is as warm and gooey as apple pie. Then for Halloween
If I had to name my ideal man with whom I’d move in, adopt a cat named Pickles with, and hyphenate my last name for (who isn’t Bradley Cooper, Seth Cohen from The OC, or any of my favorite emo band frontmen), it would be Jay Baruchel. I absolutely live for that nasally voice, baby face, and slouchy posture that just screams, “I’m very uncomfortable here. Please kill me.” To make my dream come true and hear that swoon-worthy speech in person, I got my boyfriend to take me to a
January 2011. I’m alone in my dorm room, bored, excited. Classes haven’t started yet. My friends aren’t back from winter break. No one has seen me in almost a month. My body still needs to adjust to the East Coast/West Coast weather shift, so I’m sweating a little. It’s the perfect moment for a transformation. “New year, new you,” I say, smiling at myself in the mirror. Sometimes it’s a giant, omg-I’m-having-so-much-fun!-smile. Other times it’s a coy, I-know-something-you-don
LOST: Asians in Josh Schwartz-Created Teen Dramas Like everyone else, I was (perhaps too) proudly obsessed with The OC and Gossip Girl. These shows followed the fictional lives of wealthy kids in wealthy neighborhoods who listened to whatever indie rock band was hip at the time. Everyone’s dream. While my disbelief was suspended as Seth Cohen only applied to one college and Blair Waldorf got straight-As while still managing to plan her annual Kiss on the Lips bash, one thing