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Chloe Brown

The Women’s March: Community and Material Culture

The Women’s March on Washington is considered the largest protest in American history, with estimated participation rates of between 3.2 and 5.2 million people worldwide

(Easley: 2017). The March began with a proposal by a woman in Alaska, and quickly turned into a worldwide protest. On January 21, 2017, I participated in the Women’s March, and walked through Washington, D.C. with my wife and the largest gathering of women I had ever seen. I was fascinated by the pussy hats, the incredible variety and creativity of protest signs, and the palpable feeling of community. This paper will explore the material culture of the March, along with the many ways that the March created and sustained community. For my project, I interviewed 12 individuals; 11 were women, 7 were students, and 5 were professionals of varying ages. My group also included 4 members of the LGBTQIA+ community, 3 people of color, and 3 mothers. The diversity of experience in the group of people that I interviewed reflects the March’s success in uniting individuals from vastly different backgrounds. Although the March was popularly considered an anti-Trump protest, I found that many individuals I interviewed were also marching for many progressive causes. There was no singular, accepted meaning of the March, pussy hats, and phrases like “nasty woman.” Each individual that I interviewed offered new insights and information, establishing the March as a truly multivocal event.

Throughout his presidential campaign, did much to anger and offend women. On October 7, 2016, released a video featuring Trump and Access

Hollywood’s Billy Bush on the set of Days of Our Lives. Trump, unaware he was being recorded, made many disturbing and inappropriate comments about women. In the video, Trump said, "I'm Brown 2 automatically attracted to beautiful [women]—I just start kissing them. It's like a magnet. Just kiss. I don't even wait. And when you're a star they let you do it. You can do anything ... Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything" (Fahrenthold: 2016). Trump’s comments incurred severe public backlash, and were almost universally condemned. Although Trump had made misogynistic comments throughout the 2016 campaign, along with many offensive comments about other minority groups, Trump’s “grab them by the pussy” comment served as a rallying point for members of the opposition party. After the election, many were upset that a man who had admitted to sexually assaulting women could become president, and many of the signs, t- shirts, and pussy hats of the Women’s March reflect this outrage.

In “The Other Side,” Karl Vick et. al acknowledge the influence that Trump’s comments had on the Women’s March: “By the look of the demonstrations, the Access Hollywood tape also became a uniquely unifying factor. What Trump dismissed as ‘locker-room banter’ . . . gave Jan.

21 its palette (pink), its signature attire (the pussy hat) and its rules of engagement” (2017: 26-8).

Although much of the verbal art and material culture present at the Women’s March served as a direct response to Trump’s misogynistic comments, many people used folklore to communicate other messages that were important to them. While the majority of marchers wore pussy hats and carried signs, the March allowed for a great deal of individual expression. Pussy hats served to unify those attending and supportive of the Women’s March, but varied greatly in color, form, and style, and were interpreted differently by each marcher. Many marchers were unified in their carrying of protest signs, but the signs also allowed for freedom of individual expression. I argue that the unique combination of clothing and signage of each marcher can be viewed as femmage, a visual text created by each marcher that communicates their values and beliefs. The Women’s

March created community in a variety of ways, including the creation of material culture and the Brown 3 formation of small, active groups. Marchers came together in order to create signs and pussy hats. The Women’s March also led to the creation of smaller groups dedicated to activism and community.

Pussy Hats: Coding and Creativity

The pink pussy hat became a signature image of the March. The hats were created by those who could not attend the March, but wanted a way to be present in spirit. Many knitters made multiple pussy hats and gave them to friends, family, or strangers, helping create visual unity among marchers. In order to better facilitate the creation of the hats, the Pussy Hat Project was founded; knitting patterns for the pussy hats were posted on the Pussy Hat Project’s website, along with blog entries related to news about women’s issues and the anti-Trump resistance movement. The mission of the Pussyhat Project, as listed on their website, was: “1. Provide the people of the Women's March on Washington D.C. a means to make a unique collective visual statement which will help activists be better heard. 2. Provide people who cannot physically be on the National Mall a way to represent themselves and support women's rights” (Pussyhat

Project: 2016). The goals of the Pussyhat Project were clearly accomplished: pussy hats became the most recognizable symbol of the Women’s March, and many women who knitted the hats and could not attend the March felt as though their voices were included. It is important to note, however, that pussy hats are the latest example of a long tradition of women using the fabric arts to make a political statement.

A previously effective use of political needlework can be seen in the Ribbon

International’s “ribbon around the Pentagon” project. In 1985, project participants (most of whom were women) knitted panels that had specifically anti-war, pro-nuclear disarmament messages. The Women’s March shares many similarities with the “ribbon around the Pentagon.” Brown 4

Both protests began as small movements, and grew to large public events. Both protests also include material culture that is central to the purpose of the protest. The panels of the “ribbon around the Pentagon” project, much like the Women’s March pussy hats, became a central image of the anti-nuclear war message. In The Ribbon Around the Pentagon: Peace by Piecemakers

(1996), Linda Pershing explains that the panels were the latest iteration in the tradition of women’s political needlework:

The Ribbon arose out of a tradition of political needlework that has existed for centuries. Women in the , like those in a number of other countries and cultural settings, have used needle and thread as a way of expressing their views on social and political issues of the day. In circumstances in which women’s perceptions may be stifled, trivialized, or ignored, the fabric arts, which have come to be associated so closely with domesticity and female practice, have provided many women a means of conveying their allegiances and critiques of the societies in which they have lived (1996: 48).

The fabric arts have served as a medium of political expression due to both availability and social expectation. Women have traditionally been expected to be able to knit, sew, and do other textile work. Because many women know how to knit and sew, it is conceivable that these practical skills can be appropriated to serve a political purpose. Another reason women adopt political needlework as a strategy is because the materials are readily available to them; knitting a hat or a panel is relatively inexpensive, and many women already have most of the required materials.

It is also likely that many women view political needlework as a “safe” form of protest.

According to Pershing, “Embedding social and political expression in seemingly innocuous or artistic activities can disguise the fact that such endeavors may have deeper and more subversive meanings than the obvious ones. Although at times the fabric arts have conveyed explicit political messages, even in these situations the messages were muffled or at least mediated by the form. Dissent, patriotic support, or critical commentary are somehow softened when expressed Brown 5 through fabric” (1996: 185). Although pussy hats are clearly a critique of Trump and the broader

American culture of misogyny, the medium of expression (fabric) made the critique appear innocuous. This is due to the cultural devaluation of the “feminine” fabric arts. Pershing, citing folklorist Marta Weigle, explains that women’s expressive forms are considered informal, trivial, and often go unacknowledged (1996: 50, as cited in Weigle 1982: 293). Since the fabric arts are culturally equated with femininity, the skill, creativity, and aesthetic choices inherent to the fabric arts are ignored, dismissed, or undervalued. When asked about her opinion of the pussy hats as a craft or art form, Laura Bianco discussed knitting as a traditionally feminine art, the importance of the color pink, and the symbolic power of pussy hats (Interview, April 12, 2017):

Things like knitting, crochet are traditionally seen as a women’s craft and I think that’s a big part of it, and the whole idea of power, things like the color pink, you know, those are the things seen as traditionally feminine, knitting and the color pink. So I think that had a big part of it and also the reference to pussy and it having cat ears. I think it’s also cool because you can really wear it out and about and people won’t necessarily know what it means, but I think it was really empowering. And it was really cool how many were there or how many people had one and the variety of those as well. There was serious skill and craft going into a lot of those.

Bianco suggests that pussy hats are important because needlework has traditionally been considered a women’s craft, and even though most pussy hat creators are women, the function of the hats differs drastically from traditional expectations of needlework. The inversion of a traditionally feminine craft for a political purpose is empowering because it is a reclaiming of the feminine – it is using an art form, traditionally denigrated by men, to invade a male-dominated space.

Bianco’s comments also incorporate the idea of coding. According to Joan N. Radner and

Susan S. Lanser in “The Feminist Voice: Strategies of Coding in Folklore and Literature,” coding is defined as “the adoption of a system of signals – words, forms, signifiers of some kind Brown 6

– that protect the creator from the dangerous consequences of directly stating particular messages. Coding occurs in the context of complex audiences, in situations where some of the audience may be competent to decode the message, but others – including those who might be dangerous – are not. Thus a coded text is by definition complex, and its messages may be ambiguous” (1987: 414). Coding is a means of covertly communicating, and is often used as a means of secret communication between women. Pussy hats, when worn at the Women’s March, are a clear symbol of women and women’s rights. The hats are not “coded” because in the context of the Women’s March, the audience is aware of their meaning. However, when pussy hats are worn outside of the Women’s March, they become a coded way of communicating with other individuals. Those who did not attend the Women’s March, or did not pay attention to press coverage, may not understand the meaning(s) of the pussy hat. This is indicated in

Bianco’s comment, “you can really wear it out and about and people won’t necessarily know what it means.” The lack of attention that men pay to pussy hats allows coding through trivialization. Trivialization is a strategy of coding in which coding is communicated through a form “that is considered by the dominant culture to be unimportant, innocuous, or irrelevant”

(Radner and Lanser, 1987: 420). A pussy hat, to the uninitiated, is just another hat. However, those who attended the Women’s March or are part of the broader resistance movement will understand the significance of the pussy hat and will recognize its wearer as another member of the community.

Pussy hats serve as group identifiers, tacitly signaling a person’s membership in the

Women’s March community. In an interview with Allison Adams, I asked if the Women’s

March had effectively formed a community. In part of her answer, she explained how she feels when she sees another person wearing a pussy hat: Brown 7

If you see someone walking around with a pussy hat, you can say, “Yay!” It’s like being a Harry Potter fan kind of . . . we’re connected in a broader community in a way because we’re connected through something that’s very near and dear to our hearts . . . they’ll smile and we immediately we’ll be friends. I feel like it’s the same thing with the Women’s March. So even if—even for people who aren’t maybe active in the community, if they are wearing a pussy hat…[I will think] that they’re a good person. They’re like a decent fucking person . . . it’s also nice to be able to know that this is somebody who I share [concerns/values with]—if it’s a stranger. Somebody that I don’t know very well, especially living in a red state, it’s like I don’t want to say anything that will purposely offend somebody. I’m not going to actively try to instigate something, but at the same time with the news cycle happening constantly on a day to day basis, that is what’s on my mind. That is what I want to talk about. So it’s like those kind of identifiers that is nice to be in the community. And it’s like “oh, this person, I can say something and we’ll be on the same page,” hopefully (Interview, April 7, 2017).

Adams’ comments demonstrate that the pussy hat is a form of coded communication. By wearing a pussy hat, a person identifies as a member of the Women’s March community, and signals that they support the March’s goals and values. The wearing of pussy hats allows the

Women’s March community to unite outside of the March context by allowing members of the large, geographically disconnected group to identify each other publicly.

The pussy hats could also be considered coding through appropriation, where a traditionally women’s activity is appropriated for a new purpose. In “Strategies of Coding in

Women’s Cultures,” Radner and Lanser define the coding via appropriation as a means of

“adapting to feminist purposes forms or materials normally associated with male culture or with androcentric images of the feminine” (1993:10). Radner and Lanser continue, “a feminist parallel

[of coding] would entail appropriating not a masculine practice but an androcentrically feminine one, thereby converting ‘subordination into an affirmation’ to dismantle ‘the place of [woman’s] exploitation by discourse” (1993:13). Radner and Lansing’s idea of “appropriation” is similar to material culture scholar William Nicolaisen’s idea of “distorted function,” which is described in

The Ribbon Around the Pentagon: Peace by Piecemakers by Linda Pershing. By “distorted Brown 8 function,” Nicolaison means, “the secondary use of an item for purposes other than that for which it was originally intended”

“Nicolaisen noted that in some cases the reappropriation and recontextualization of objects may involve the choice of a particular medium because of the symbolic meaning it embodies. In political needlework women have acknowledged and manipulated the conceptual association of the fabric arts with femininity, domesticity, and compliance with socially prescribed gender roles. They have learned to use this to their advantage in order to convey their views through a medium that has been acceptable to the general society and readily accessible to women. Political needlework may be encoded or quite blatant in its messages, and particular pieces may be designed to make public political statements. Nonetheless, the function of this type of fabric art is distorted in that it is modeled after a traditional form – such as the quilt, sampler, or embroidery painting – that was originally designed for other utilitarian or decorative practices” (1996: 54, as cited in Nicolaisen, 1979: 223).

Nicolaisen’s definition can usefully be applied to pussy hats. The “distorted function” doubly refers to the use of needlework for political purposes and the political function of a seemingly practical and utilitarian clothing item, the hat.

Radner and Lansing also state that the term “appropriation” includes some aspects of

Barbara Babcock’s “symbolic inversion,” and Luce Irigaray’s “ironic mimicry,” in which “a patriarchally designated feminine position is repeated with exaggeration in order to expose it”

(1993:10). Women may wear pussy hats intentionally, in protest of a recent social or political event, but even if the hat is worn in a context that is seemingly devoid of political or social intent, others can still decode a message communicated by the hats.

Barbara Babcock’s idea of symbolic inversion can be applied to many elements of the

Women’s March. In The Ribbon Around the Pentagon: Peace by Piecemakers, Pershing cites

Barbara Babcock, who defines symbolic inversion as “any act of expressive behavior which inverts, contradicts, abrogates, or in some fashion presents an alternative to commonly held cultural codes, values, and norms be they linguistic, literary or artistic, religious, or social and Brown 9 political” (1996:182, as cited in Babcock, 1978:14). As previously mentioned, the pussy hats are an example of symbolic inversion due to the use of a traditionally feminized art form for political action. The home is traditionally considered the “women’s sphere,” and men are expected to represent the family in public life. By making pussy hats and wearing them to a political event, women are liberating a traditionally feminized art form from its expected boundary (the home), and using it for a public, political purpose in the male-dominated social sphere.

Symbolic Inversion and Reclamation: The Language of the Women’s March

Symbolic inversion can also be found in much of the language used on signs and in other expressive forms at the Women’s March. One example of symbolic inversion is the general reclamation of the word “pussy.” The word “pussy,” like other words associated with female genitalia, has historically been either denigrated, ridiculed, or used as an insult. The word

“pussy” is used frequently to refer to men who are not considered “masculine enough,” communicating the idea that being female is negative or inherently lesser than. The term is used derogatorily, referring to weakness or femininity. In Trump’s usage, the word “pussy” objectifies the female body and reduces women to their genitals - objects that exist for the consumption and possession of men. Much of the rhetoric and folklore of the Women’s March was aimed at intentionally reclaiming the word “pussy.” The importance of the reclamation of “pussy” was discussed in an interview with Rebecca Nimmo, who, when asked to explain the importance of pussy hats, described the importance of reclaiming the feminine (Interview, April 10, 2017):

For me, I look at them as being very much symbolic. I know that there were some people who took issue with pussy hats because, you know, pussy—it’s a slang term for vagina. And a lot of people were looking at that as being transphobic and anti-trans and very second wave feminist. But the way that I look at it, transphobia, homophobia, sexism, those all stem from feminine traits being viewed as lesser. And the vagina is the ultimate symbol of that viewing as lesser. . . You know, if a boy is showing any feminized traits, then he’s automatically labeled a pussy. . . So I looked at it as more of an umbrella symbol of that - of Brown 10

those feminine traits that society has deemed lesser, and the pink colored, the bright obnoxious pink color that they were all created in, not being the quiet, demur, pastel pink, the baby pink. It’s very in your face. This is us; we are standing firm. So that’s kind of what it meant to me - that it was symbolizing all of these tropes that we have traditionally viewed as lesser and putting power behind it.

Nimmo’s explanation of taking something traditionally viewed as lesser and “putting power behind it” was accomplished at the Women’s March through art, creativity, and sheer number.

Photographs taken of the March reveal a pink sea of pussy hats, with all wearers presumably supporting women and women’s rights. Many of the signs present at the Women’s March also explicitly reclaimed the word “pussy,” and included slogans such as “this pussy grabs back” and

“keep your tiny hands off my pussy.” Many of the signs at the March also celebrated the female body and included creative imagery of female genitalia. This served to celebrate the female body, but also to shift control of the female body from the patriarchal sphere of men (specifically men in politics) back to the marchers (women).

The phrase “nasty woman” was also reappropriated for political purposes. In the final presidential debate of the 2016 election, when made a passing comment about

Donald Trump’s penchant for dodging taxes, Trump interrupted her with the phrase: “such a nasty woman.” The phrase was considered incredibly disrespectful, and became associated with the difficulty many women face when entering the political sphere. Male politicians are expected to be aggressive during debates, but female politicians are labeled “bitchy” or “nasty.” In

“Violence Against Women in Politics,” Mona Crook explains, “Efforts to impede women’s political participation are not new. Many societies around the world have long associated men with the “public sphere” of politics and the economy and women with the “private sphere” of home and family. Women are thus often regarded as interlopers in the “male” space of politics, giving rise to various forms of hostility toward female leaders” (2017: 74). Trump’s comments, Brown 11 although much more blatant than traditionally ambiguous political rhetoric, were consistent with the long history of misogyny in politics; the comments, however, were particularly unwelcome in an election cycle where the majority of Americans had expected a woman to finally “shatter that highest, hardest glass ceiling” (Clinton: 2016). The term “nasty woman” became a rallying cry for women participating in the Women’s March, and was included on signs, t-shirts, and bumper stickers. Donna Kasznel has fully embraced the term “nasty woman.” The phrase, according to her, is something she identifies with because “nobody ever says that men who are powerful and forceful are—they don’t give them negative stereotypes . . . the language that they use to define them is not negative. But for women it is. And I think that needs to stop. So that’s why I embrace it” (Interview, April 7, 2017). Kasznel identifies so strongly with the term that she labeled the group of women with whom she attended the March the “Medium Rare Nasty

Women.”

Rebecca Nimmo identifies with the term for similar reasons; she said,

I actually have a bumper sticker. It’s not on my car because I’m saving some of my memorabilia from this past election to pass on to my children, but I have a bumper sticker that says ‘Nasty Women Vote.’ I feel like the connotation behind nasty woman when he said it in the debate and called her - called Hillary a nasty woman - he was referring to the way that she was not willing to just sit by and let them talk. And she was doing what a lot of men do, you know, interrupting, and saying, “No, you’re wrong. This is what’s really going on.” And she wasn’t letting him talk over her and I very much support that (Interview, April 10, 2017).

By reclaiming the phrase “nasty woman,” the marchers invert commonly held beliefs that women are not supposed to be assertive and participate in political debate. When marchers label themselves “nasty women” and march on Washington, they are confronting and subverting social and political expectations about women in politics.

Protest Signs: An Avenue of Individual Creativity and Expression Brown 12

While much of the material culture incorporated into the Women’s March serves to solidify group identity and communicate group values, there are many avenues for individual expression. Many marchers, for example, created protest signs that reflect their personalities and convictions. The Women’s March supported a broad range of progressive causes, and united many different groups under the same heading. The signs created by marchers reflect this diversity of opinion and life experience. Erin Slaughter, for example, created a sign that expressed her support of the LGBTQIA+ community, and also advocated for radical compassion; on one side, the sign said “Make America Gay Again,” and on the other side it said

“Compassion Trumps Fascism.” When asked to explain why she chose those particular messages, she explained:

Well I was trying to find puns, but I couldn’t think of any good puns the night of, which was strange. So the “Make America Gay Again” one . . . I chose that because one of the main reasons why I was marching was in solidarity with LGBTQ rights. And it was also really empowering and freeing for me because I probably wouldn’t have a year ago posted Facebook pictures of me at a protest at all because of people who would disagree, but I also wasn’t out to my family as bisexual until this past fall. So it was really empowering to be able to post that - a picture with that particular sign and to be able to hold that sign and to not feel I was hiding anything. It was sort of empowering in this double way. The other one, “Compassing Trumps Fascism,” is, I mean, of course, a play on Trump and so I was trying to do something clever there. But it was really sort of- I don’t know, I guess it gets at one of my core philosophies, which is radical compassion, and that being powerful and meaningful in some way - that that can take precedence over other kinds of things (Interview, March 22, 2017).

The signs that Slaughter made reflect her identity as a writer and member of the LGBTQIA+ community. The signs allowed her to maintain individual identity and express her creativity in the midst of the folkloric output of a large group. Slaughter’s use of puns, although considered disappointing by her own aesthetic standards, is an example of the type of verbal art often employed at the Women’s March. In “Verbal Art,” William Bascom defines art as “‘form for its own sake,’ which cannot be adequately explained in utilitarian terms, but which involves Brown 13 questions of tradition, style, and aesthetics” (1955: 247). The intentional inclusion of puns, jokes, and wordplay on protest signs is an aesthetic and artistic choice – a form of verbal art.

Another form of verbal art is Allison Adams’ joking mockery of Trump. Adams also had a two-sided sign; one side was serious, and said “America can’t be great until black lives matter,” and the other side said, “If you grab women by their pussies, you don’t know how to fuck.” When asked to explain why she chose to include those specific phrases, Adams explained her anger related to the public response to Trump’s misogynistic comments:

The whole “grab them pussy,” personally really affected me. I was hearing . . . people defend it or . . . not even defend it, but pushing it under the rug . . . I think it was a petty sign because I think I was essentially getting down on their level, but it’s like—I feel like because the people who are defending it, they are the people that are so hyper-masculine. It’s like, “You’re not even good in bed, so the one thing you think you have, you’re awful.” And that was just petty (Interview, April 7, 2017).

Humorous protest signs ranged from lighthearted puns (like Erin Slaughter’s) to more serious and darkly funny mockery (like Allison Adams’). The range of humor demonstrates the variety of aesthetics and artistic competencies of individual marchers, all of which can be considered verbal art and Women’s March folklore.

Popular culture is often adapted for political and social commentary in protest signs. One example of the incorporation of popular culture is the frequent use of quotes and images of

Carrie Fisher, who died shortly before the Women’s March. Fisher had been a vocal critic of

Trump prior to her death, and her role as Princess Leia solidified her as symbolic leader of the anti-Trump resistance. WKU student Annalicia Carlson is a fan of the play, Hamilton: An

American Musical, and incorporated a line from a song in the play: “I may not live to see our glory, but I will gladly join the fight.” Hamilton: An American Musical, though not overtly progressive in its politics, is an idealized dramatization of the founding fathers, and certainly Brown 14 contains language that exalts revolution. Although Sophia Nasato did not make a sign, she had a memorable bonding experience with a woman who quoted Mary Poppins:

There was one girl that, I saw her, and I was like “I love her,” because she was wearing a sign . . . it was the lyrics to one of the songs from Mary Poppins, “our daughters’ daughters will adore us, and will sing in grateful chorus, well done,” and Mary Poppins was my favorite movie as a little kid, and seeing that I was like, “Yes! This is awesome!” And I even went up to her and told her I loved her sign, and we even started singing the song together, and we got other people to sing, and it was so cool (Interview, April 5, 2017).

Popular culture is an effective means of communicating ideas important to the marchers because it is a point of reference for many people. The moment between Sophia Nasato and the other marcher demonstrates that incorporating elements of pop culture increases audience recognition and participation, which creates community and leads to communication. Because many

Americans can easily recognize popular movie quotes and song lyrics, the incorporation of pop culture references can easily and creatively communicate the ideas of protesters.

Lena Ziegler chose to incorporate folk protest music from the 1960s and 70s to encourage the audience to consider hard topics and ask difficult questions:

So my signs had two different sides as well. The first side, “Which Side Are You On,” which was a famous folk song. . . the reason I picked that song, specifically . . . I’m very impassioned about folk music, the protest music of the 50s and 60s and early 70s, but I also feel this is the most urgent time in our country since then, and so calling back to that was something I wanted to do. But with that song in particular, “Which Side Are You On,” it’s this song that is forcing you to question your complacency with things and forcing you to really ask yourself which side of history you want to be on. And being at the rally was like-I needed to make people think about that, question that, you know? The other one I had was also “Surround Hate and Force It to Surrender” . . . And the whole concept of it is if there’s love and compassion and faith and humanity, it can overcome [in]humanity, you know? And I love that. So those were to me, making you ask a question, but also kind of giving hope, and I like it for those two reasons. They were really important messages to have (Interview, March 22, 2017).

Ziegler incorporated references to famous folk songs because she saw clear parallels between the

Civil Rights Movement and Vietnam War Protests and the atmosphere in the country after the Brown 15

2016 election. She incorporated the phrase “Which side are you on?” to force her audience to ask themselves a difficult question. The two signs, considered together, encourage the audience to

“pick a side,” and to then actively take on hate and “force it to surrender.” The signs challenge and encourage the audience to be active instead of passive citizens.

Femmage: The Individual as Text

Another way to view the material culture present at the Women’s March is by considering the combination of signs carried and clothing worn by individual marchers as femmage (a particular kind of bricolage), allowing each marcher to be considered an individual text and piece of art. Although most marchers carried signs and wore pussy hats, most of the signs were entirely original, and no two pussy hats are the same. The specific signs, hats, and clothing signals were intentionally chosen by each marcher, communicating important information about their aesthetic systems, values, and beliefs. According to Pershing, “More than just randomly using readily available materials, femmage implies a sense of intentionality, the purposeful repositioning and recontextualizing of personal symbols in a manner that is particularly meaningful for the artist. Because it involves combining bits and pieces of materials that signify specific moments and relationships in the life of the creator, the practice of femmage is imbued with personal value and emotion” (1993: 341-2). Based on observation and information collected in interviews, it is clear that many women spent a significant amount of time determining the combination of text and textiles that they would take to the Women’s

March.

Kristina Arnold, a marcher with a history of progressive activism, wore a t-shirt from the

1989 march in Washington, D.C., one of the first marches she participated in. When asked whether she wore any clothing that was particularly meaningful to her (in Brown 16 addition to the pussy hat we had already discussed), Arnold said, “I had layers. I marched in

1989 Planned Parenthood shirt (which I still own) . . . I had a Women’s March t-shirt on, too. I had, another friend who couldn’t be there made me a scarf, so I had that . . . And I think I had my pink pants on and we had a banner that said ‘Kentucky Women March for Freedom, Justice,

Equality for All’” (Interview, March 22, 2017). Arnold’s clothing, a combination of memories of her past, enthusiasm for the Women’s March, feminist ideology, and support from friends, creates a visual text that allows for self-expression within a larger form of group representation.

The aesthetic choices made by Arnold reflect a set of values, relationships, and memories specific to her, and the visual text created by this assemblage of words and materials cannot be replicated by another marcher. Arnold’s choice of attire range from the personally meaningful to the overtly symbolic, reflecting her personality as an artist, activist, woman, and friend.

Zona Ascensio, a mother and activist, wore her daughter’s shoes because she could not attend the March, but wanted to be represented. Ascensio said, “I wore her shoes and I wore her friend’s jacket and they wear them to school and they’re like, ‘This was in the Women’s March’”

(Interview, April 26, 2017). Ascensio’s March costume was primarily inspired by the deep emotional connection she has with her daughter. She said, “knowing that she’s watching it on

TV, that I’m wearing her tennis shoes, that I was walking for her, that made it even more powerful.” By wearing her daughter’s shoes, her daughter’s friend’s jacket, and a pussy hat,

Ascensio symbolically represented three other people. Ascensio’s clothing served an emotional and political purpose, and allowed three other women to symbolically participate in the event.

Two individuals, Donna Kasznel and Sophia Nasato, wore shirts with clear political messages. Donna Kasznel chose not to wear a pussy hat, but still incorporated pink and a political message into her attire. When asked whether she wore a pussy hat, Kasznel said, “I did Brown 17 not. I don’t like hats so I just—we didn’t wear them. We wore pink. I have a shirt that I got at the

Human Rights [Campaign]—it says, ‘Love Conquers Hate.’ I wore that. But we didn’t wear hats” (Interview, April 7, 2017). Kasznel’s shirt, created by the Human Rights Campaign, sends a clear message of hope and support for LGBTQIA+ rights. Sophia Nasato also wore a shirt with a clear political and social message. When asked whether she wore anything special to the

Women’s March, Nasato said, “I did have a t-shirt on and it said ‘Raise boys and girls the same way,’ and then on our way to the March, there was a woman and she was giving out the pink hats, and so we all got one. And yeah, that was fun. But I really wish I had-I didn’t have time to make a poster or anything, but I really wish I had had time to do that. Because there was a lot of really cool, interesting ones there. Really creative ones” (Interview, April 5, 2017). Although

Nasato did not carry a sign, her t-shirt and pussy hat communicate clear messages in support of women’s rights and against misogyny.

Material Culture: Community and Collaborative Performance

The creation of pussy hats and protest signs was frequently done in groups, building and solidifying group identity. Rebecca Nimmo, who made many pussy hats for the Women’s

March, described the creation of the hats as “collaborative.” She said, “pussy hats are very much a meaningful piece and I feel like it’s very much an almost performative, collaborative, sort of artwork because it caused people to come together and have this uniform [style], and they are all very unique, but different ones have these different touches.” When asked to explain why she labeled the making of pussy hats a type of “collaborative performance,” she cited the Pussyhat

Project website, which provided an aesthetic foundation for the hats and allowed individuals from across the world to participate in the project together. She also explained that her artistic Brown 18 effort was done in collaboration with an online community, the Nerdfighters (a community created by fans of John and Hank Green and their YouTube series):

I’m part of several Nerdfighter groups on Facebook, but one of them is a crafting group. And a lot of people in this group will make things for The Project For Awesome, which is a YouTube based charity event, and they will do other activism events. And we had a group on there who were tallying their pussy hats and sharing patterns and things like that and sharing pictures of the completed ones and all of that sort of stuff. And I know there were other similar groups who were doing the same sort of thing. Even if they couldn’t meet in person, they were sharing what they were doing, and even though it was not an in-person shared experience, it was still a shared experience (Interview, April 10, 2017).

Nimmo’s description of group experience brings up important issues of group and togetherness.

Though the Nerdfighter group was created as a way of uniting fans of John Green, his brother, and their YouTube series, it provided a means of connecting with individuals who identify as part of the Women’s March community. Members of this new group-within-a-group used the already existing communicative infrastructure as a means of spending time together and performing a collaborative art project. The Women’s March, though an event with specific time constraints, created a community that united individuals around a set of goals, beliefs, and actions. This community was created before the Women’s March, and (as demonstrated earlier in

Allison Adam’s discussion of community identifiers) continued to solidify group members after the event.

The Women’s March community also brought members together prior to the event in an effort to prepare protest signs. Four of the individuals that I interviewed, Conor Scruton, Erin

Slaughter, Allison Adams, and Lena Ziegler, attended the march as a group and created signs together the night before. The “sign-making party” became a significant event in the group’s friendship, solidifying the four-person makeup of the group and providing a sense of togetherness and mutual understanding that all group members needed after the election. When Brown 19 asked to describe the gathering, Allison Adams said, “We had a sign party the night before, and it became a very communal event . . . we kept on mentioning just how happy everybody was”

(Interview, April 7, 2017). Erin Slaughter’s comments were similar to Adams’; she said, “It was actually really great. So the night before we got together at Lena’s apartment and we all brought cardboard and paints, and we were just all on the floor, painting and making signs for it and listening to 60’s folk music. It was a protest playlist, and I felt like I was in a movie - like a movie of what I hope my life would one day be. And so, yeah, that just felt really good to have that time together and . . . get excited for the protest the next day” (Interview, March 22, 2017).

On one level, the gathering served the practical purpose of creating materials to take to the protest the next day; on a deeper level, it satisfied the need for community and belonging that the group members needed in the wake of the election. Conor Scruton’s description of the event demonstrates the emotional importance of the night:

The night before was so fun. And I mean, yeah, it kind of felt like the world was burning down in a very real way. I couldn’t watch the inauguration. I just really couldn’t, and that’s something that I never really had to do before, but I definitely do now. I know when to turn off the news. I know when to stay off a little bit, and that was certainly a day I had to turn off the news. I really couldn’t deal with this. But that night, yeah, we all went over to Lena’s and she had a playlist of old protests songs from the sixties and seventies, and a bunch of Pete Seeger and Woodie Guthrie . . . when you walked into her apartment, the atmosphere was really electric in that way. But we were all - we had all talked before about change and what we could do to affect change in America, but here we were doing something real. Physical actions. It wasn’t even the act of marching, but you’re just taking brushes and physically marking them on posters. There’s something so tactile about it that . . . made it feel really satisfying. In some ways, even more satisfying than actually marching. I don’t think it was, but in some ways. There was just something really empowering about being in this little apartment with a bunch of people that we knew and loved. We all knew we were there with each other, together for that march and for our cause. And so, yeah, it was such a positive atmosphere because nobody was trying to hide the political or social reality of America at that point. You know, we weren’t trying to run from it anymore, but we were recognizing it and there was such a kind of shared strength in that group that night, and maybe that’s why I started to say the atmosphere was Brown 20

even more, in some ways, even more empowering than the next day (Interview, April 13, 2017).

As Scruton explains, the sign-making party served an important emotional function because it provided a sense of group unity and, through the physical creation of protest signs, helped group members feel as though they were taking concrete action. The communal feeling as well as the physical, tactile application of paint to sign contributed to the significance of the event. After the

2016 election, many individuals felt as though they were powerless in the face of the democratic process; Hillary Clinton had won the popular vote, and still lost the election due to the electoral college vote, which many felt was not truly democratic representation. The Women’s March was the first event that created a feeling of action, empowerment, and accomplishment amongst participants. According to Linda Pershing, the Ribbon Around the Pentagon project had the same effect: “The Ribbon encouraged women to become more politically involved and made them feel as though they had at least tried to change something. It gave them a feeling of accomplishment”

(1996: 162-3). Although citizens are free to take individual action, a feeling of collective unity can be more empowering and validating. In “Performing Politics: Image, Embodiment, and

Affective Solidarity during Anti-Corporate Globalization Protests,” Jeffrey Juris explains that protest serves an important emotional function for participants:

Protest performances generate powerful emotions, which prepare activist bodies for action (Lyon and Barbalet, 1994; Thrift, 2004). As Randal Collins (2001) suggests, protests are characterized by ‘high ritual density,’ resulting from the bodily awareness of co-presence among ritual participants who are physically assembled and share a mutual focus of attention. As performative rituals, [protests] operate by transforming affect: amplifying an initiating emotion, such as anger or rage, and transferring it into a sense of collective solidarity. Collins refers to this kind of Durkheimian collective effervescence as ‘emotional energy.’ Here I refer to such feelings in less mystical terms as ‘affective solidarity.’ Emotion is not incidental to activism. Rather, organizers use emotion strategically in order to generate the commitment necessary to maintain participation (2008:65). Brown 21

The “initiating emotions” leading to the groundswell of enthusiasm for the Women’s March included outrage, powerlessness, and desire for unity. The Women’s March effectively amplified these emotions; the event fulfilled an important political function by bringing awareness to the size of the resistance movement, but the March also served an important function on an individual level, giving marchers a sense of action, community, and empowerment. The negative feelings that inspired the Women’s March were transformed through protest into a feeling of

“affective solidarity” that has since sustained the resistance movement.

“Wild Bunch: Initiate”: The Women’s March as Community-Making

The Women’s March, though relatively unacknowledged by those in power, formed a community of people that share many of the same values and goals. The Women’s March was not an end in itself, but a catalyst that propelled the broader resistance movement forward. The

Women’s March, occurring in major cities throughout the United States and the world, led to the creation of smaller groups that have continued to engage in activist work. I encountered many examples of this during my fieldwork. As previously mentioned, the small group including Erin

Slaughter, Conor Scruton, Allison Adams, and Lena Ziegler was solidified through their participation in the Women’s March. After being called “The Wild Bunch” by one of their professors, the group adopted the phrase as their group name, labelling their specific four-person group as its own collective entity. Allison Adams explained the process of adopting the “Wild

Bunch” moniker and how their participation in the Women’s March solidified the group and led to continued activism:

We ran into Dr. LeNoir . . . It was amazing. So we were marching, and we were all yelling. It was when we were actually walking, and all of a sudden we see Dr. LeNoir and his wife. It was so great, and he took our picture. And then he goes, “Oh, it’s the Wild Bunch. It’s so great to see you.” So now we call ourselves the Wild Bunch. Whenever we hang out and it’s just the four of us, it’s the Wild Bunch. We all four went to the Betsy Devos [protest]. We all four went to the Brown 22

Muslim Ban march, and so I think it solidified our small group as the politically minded . . . But, yeah, I think that going [to the Women’s March], we actually commented on that a lot, especially at the Muslim Ban march. Because at that time, that was the third march we all went to together. And it’s like, “You know what? I’m really glad we four are going,” because we were saying, “we feel like we’re all here because we really, really care and we’re not just here because we want to hang out with friends.” All that kind of stuff. And so we, the four of us, I think it made our friendship a lot stronger and it also just kind of made us solidify . . . I think it definitely did because . . . at Emily Atkins’ house after the initial thing [a large gathering after the election meant to encourage friendship and activism] and it’s like that kind of vibe, it’s great but then it dissipates. And then with the Wild Bunch, I felt like it didn’t, necessarily, dissipate the same way . . . so I think it was definitely a catalyst in terms of I don’t think I would have gone to the Betsy Devos march . . . It was a very small march, but it was just as fun. I don’t think I would have gone to that, honestly, even though Betsy Devos terrifies me. And even the Muslim Ban march, that was a very last minute thing. It happened and all of a sudden, Wild Bunch: initiate. And we were all like, “Okay.” And I don’t think that would have happened without the Women’s March (Interview, April 7, 2017).

Although the members of the Wild Bunch were friends prior to the Women’s March, the march created an intense feeling of group identity. Prior to the election and the March, the four friends still spent time together, but they did not feel compelled to identify themselves as a cohesive group. Conor Scruton stated that after the election, the group began moving toward a cohesive unit, but the creation of the group was solidified by the Women’s March. Scruton acknowledged the significance of assigning a specific name to the group. He said, “I think it just made a lot of sense to give ourselves a name and make an actual cohesive group, or like a really specific designation, or label” (Interview, April 13, 2017).

In two cases, groups were created to allow marchers who do not regularly see each other to keep in touch. Donna Kasznel created a GroupMe with the small group that were part of her

Women’s March group. Kasznel stated that she thought it was important to start the group to maintain momentum. The group’s communication is centered primarily on activism:

We started a GroupMe group with just the six of us or eight of us who were at the house. And we talk to each other about actions that we’re doing, things, Brown 23

opportunities that are available, letters that we’re sending. My sister’s a lawyer. She wrote letters to the senators in Pennsylvania and gave us copies of it so that we could use some of the language that she uses to talk to Mitch McConnell and Rand Paul . . . that’s another way that we’ve been supporting each other . . . We stopped at this place to eat on the way home that’s called Medium Rare . . . we call ourselves the Medium Rare Nasty Women, and that’s the name of our group. And so that’s how we correspond with each other. Leanne will post things so that my sister and her friend can see it and my friend Debbie. We talk about different huddles that we belong to because we’re from Pennsylvania. My sister is from a part of central Pennsylvania. Debbie is from Philadelphia. Leanne and Tammy are in Franklin. I’m from here, so we’re kind of spread around a little bit. We just talk about different opportunities and what we can do (Interview, April 7, 2017).

Although the Medium Rare Nasty Women group is partially dedicated to socializing, their primary goal is activism. The momentum created by the Women’s March was strong enough to sustain the group into perpetuity. Group members share experiences, advice, and hold each other accountable. The group shares a clear set of goals and values. The women involved in the

Groupme entered into two new folk groups through participating in the Women’s March: the

Medium Rare Nasty Women and the broader Women’s March community.

The largest group that was created by participants of the Women’s March is the BGKY:

Social Justice Clearinghouse. Kristina Arnold decided to create a Facebook group for the individuals from the Bowling Green area who rode the bus to Washington:

There were 54 people on the bus, and I realized nobody has a list of all these people. And I was like, “Nobody is doing this. I’ve got to do it.” So . . . I found a notebook and I was like, “Okay,” so I stood at the—there was a loose microphone at the front. I was like, “Okay this is what we’re doing. I don’t know what we are going to do with it, but we need a list, and everybody write down your name and email address and if you’re on Facebook.” . . . So everybody, I think 50 out of 54 people did. And that’s what I started the Social Justice Clearinghouse Facebook group with. It was that list. It was the Women’s Bowling Green Bus to the Women’s March list (Interview, March 26, 2017). Arnold, unexperienced with creating Facebook groups, accidentally set the group controls so that anyone could join the group. The group quickly grew in size, and is currently the largest grassroots social justice Facebook group in the Bowling Green area, with 581 members. The Brown 24 creation and rapid popularity of the group catapulted Kristina Arnold into a leadership position, and she is now an important leader in the Bowling Green social justice community. Because the group is aligned with the Women’s March, Arnold led the group in completing the March’s “10

Actions in 100 Days,” and leads Women’s March huddles and other activist events. Arnold stated that the group’s primary focus is to not just be “another group,” but to connect people who want to become activists with other, already existing local groups. The group brings together those who participated in the Women’s March in Washington, D.C., but welcomes all members of the community who want to contribute to the resistance movement. The group’s Facebook page posts Daily Acts of Resistance, and contains a calendar of upcoming activist events. The

BGKY: Social Justice Clearinghouse was created in order to allow a small group of people

(Washington, D.C. bus riders) to keep in touch, but has become a means of extending the

March’s energy.

Will it Last?: Concluding Thoughts on the Women’s March

The Women’s March was the largest protest in the history of the United States, but in a sense the March is not “over.” The March continues to be effective because it successfully created many small, passionate groups. It contributed to the creation of the powerful progressive resistance movement currently active in the United States, and the energy created by the March seems to be sustaining itself. It is possible that a resistance movement could have emerged from other sources, but the Women’s March was undoubtedly effective in uniting, inspiring, and exciting people. The March’s success was due in part to the incredible creativity and artistic expression found in protest signs and pussy hats; the March was a visually-striking event, which ensures it will remain in the public’s memory. Although the marchers have returned to their daily lives, the energy and the feeling of collective unity live on. Almost all of the marchers that I Brown 25 interviewed are clearly still experiencing the residual energy of the March, and almost all of them said they intend to remain active in their local communities. Kristina Arnold’s concluding comments about the March (Interview, March 26, 2017) effectively summarize this approach: “It definitely feels like a beginning. I would like to believe that it’s a paradigm shift, that the revolution is real. And I’m going to choose to act as if that’s true, and going forward, make it happen.”

Brown 26

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