Power Trip
Brett Kavanaugh and the Power of Public Trauma
For the first time, a whole nation of women are being triggered at once, and they’re not afraid to speak
Pick a woman in your life. Any woman. Odds are, if you look at her right now, you’ll see it in her face: the brittleness. The weary rage. The way the laughter coming out of her mouth never quite makes it to her eyes. The way she regards people on the street, with a set to her jaw that says, Not today, Satan.
If you’re a woman yourself, maybe you’ll see something a little more tender, too. Maybe she’ll go out of her way to be kind to you. Maybe you’ll get that fleeting moment of eye contact that says, with silent eloquence, Don’t let the bastards grind you down.
On Friday night, with that sham of a hearing mercifully done and the vote to confirm Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court still in wretched limbo, my wife and I put on jewels and heels and went out to dinner. One needs a break from all this misery. We told our server we were in need of some oysters and champagne because of the garbage world, and she smiled the most beautiful smile and told us she had bought herself roses on Thursday for just the same reason. We left her a $50 tip. My wife wrote “for more flowers” on the receipt. I don’t know…
