When I was ten years old, my childhood best friend read me passages from “Our Bodies, Ourselves” in a bedroom in Park Slope, Brooklyn. It was her mom’s copy. Years later, I saw it on the bookshelf of every hippie, woman-loving communal house in college. It was a cultural icon for my generation, and it harked back to a to a prior era that was inspiring for us.
Each year, when it’s time to decide what to be for Halloween, I think about ways to celebrate my culture. It’s important to me to not culturally appropriate, and this leads me to spend a good amount of time thinking about my own origin stories. Other criteria for my Halloween costume: I want it to be political — or at least consciousness raising — to be unexpected, and to make people laugh.
This year, I landed on the idea of “Our Bodies, Ourselves” as the perfect costume to meet those, and even read criteria (such as a major thumbs up from the queer community). The Halloween before, I was a Diva Cup.