retreat to the less messy feminism you find in textbooks. Yes, "Operation Strip for Your Grade" was ballsy. And it was traumatic. It allowed the Women's Studies department to vicariously try on overt objectification like a pair of shoes. And I don't think it was out of need to identify or understand so much as to judge and write reports. No one wrote a paper on the justification or motivations of the male audience at a strip club. Say what you will about my decision to finally get implants -- 10 years is a long time to debate whether you should have something you want. Or rather, whether you should want something you want. I used to fantasize during sex about how it would feel to have big tits. For all of my 20s, I was ashamed to admit that I wanted big breasts -- almost as much as I was ashamed of my little ones. Of course, I told myself the real issue was my self-confidence. I even wondered whether pining away for those disgusting porn-star breasts that only served the patriarchy was itself causing my self-hatred. But you know what I learned from a teenage eating disorder? Not how to love my body unconditionally, nor how to accept it for the perfect, unique beauty it is. I learned that when you eat a cupcake, you can either barf it back up, run three extra miles to make up for it, or enjoy the taste of a cupcake because