by Jennifer Basye Sander

Here’s how this feminist spent her day: taking a sick child to the doctor, vacuuming the living room, running a couple of loads of laundry through the washer and dryer, and baking a loaf of whole wheat bread. (Lest you hate me right off the bat, I will admit to using a bread machine.) In between loads of laundry, I read the obituary of the writer Elizabeth Janeway, who died this year at age 91. The headline in my local paper identified her as "Elizabeth Janeway, feminist author," and the article went on to say that "among feminists, Mrs. Janeway was a less strident, but still powerful voice." Less strident? Where did this notion that feminists are strident come from?

It certainly seems prevalent on the airwaves nowadays, from one end of the dial to the other. Would the description of my typical day come as a surprise to Rush Limbaugh or some of the other conservative pundits who carry on about "femi–nazis"? How do they imagine a feminist spends her time? Perhaps I should have been at the Bush inauguration holding up a sign stridently supporting the inalienable rights of women or busily writing a strident letter to the president of Harvard to protest his remarks that differences between the sexes might explain why fewer women reach the pinnacle of success in science and math. I’m sure some feminists did exactly those things, and stridently too, but like I said, I had some clothes to wash.

How is it that the word feminist came to be so unappealing? I have a theory from my long-ago days as a political consultant. It seems that whoever manages to define a term to his or her advantage and make it stick wins the contest. Men who don’t want women as equals seem to have loud voices. Over the years, they have reshaped the word feminist as a slur, and now many women and most young girls are reluctant to define themselves with that word. Rush-like guys call feminists a bunch of loud–mouthed man–haters and cry out, "Who’d want to be like them?"

Man–haters? Odd, but in all the years I spent at a girls’ high school in the ’70s, a women’s college in the ’80s, and in business in the ’90s, never once did I hear any woman denounce men. Maybe I was out of the room at the time, talking to a boyfriend.

Feminism, for me, has never included the thought that men are an enemy of any kind. Rather than allowing the word to be tarnished by negative stereotypes, why not focus instead on what it really means?

What does the dictionary say?
Curious about the root meaning, I turned to the bookshelf. I first sought the advice of a reassuringly thick and heavy edition of the Random House Dictionary, this one published in 1966. Now, 1966 is a year that most of us would associate with the early stirrings of the modern feminist movement in America, and this dictionary defines "feminism" in a very mild way — the doctrine advocating social and political rights of women equal to those of men.

Mine is a two–writer household, with several dictionaries on hand. Browsing through the shelves again, I found a newer one, a 1998 Merriam–Webster Collegiate Edition. Feminism here is defined as the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes. I was glad to see that money had been added to the equation. That was a primary motivator for Elizabeth Janeway, too, according to her obit. As the wife of economist Eliot Janeway, she was no doubt well aware of the importance of money, and she wanted equal pay for equal work. This seems like a reasonable expectation.

Both dictionary definitions sound perfectly positive to me. They are evenhanded descriptions of the possibilities for women, not indictments of the circumstances that have held us back.

Unwilling to focus only on my own thoughts about feminism, though, I polled a few friends — a woman in her 60s, another in her 50s, and one in her 40s. I guessed that each woman’s age and experiences shaped her willingness to describe herself as a feminist. I’m 46 myself, and my life parallels so many of the advances won by the women’s movement in the ’70s that I sometimes feel as if I’ve just bobbed along with the wave of progress and ended up on shore exactly when it did. Here, then, are the responses I received when I asked these three women if they are feminists:

Judith: "Of course! I believe that women have rights equal to men."

Barbara: "Certainly! I’m proud of it. The suffragists were amazing, and we have so much to be grateful for. By calling myself a feminist, I feel connected to their work. Lucky us."

Deina: "No! Well, some parts I agree with...like that women deserve the same rights as men, but I just don’t think that they deserve to play in the NFL."

Huh? I guess I missed the part about playing in the National Football League as one of those advantages feminists were bucking for. I must have (once again) been outside the room talking to some cute guy while all the high–level political planning was going on. That’s not to say that some women wouldn’t want to play for the NFL and make boatloads of money. However, I don’t know that that is at the core of what we are discussing here.

Anyway, can you guess the ages of my friends by their answers? Judith is in her 60s, Barbara is in her 50s, and, yes, Deina is 41. I have not yet polled someone in her 20s, but I would be interested to learn what her response would be. My guess is that she might not want to be too closely associated with the word.

Empower your inner princess
As a writer and lecturer, I have often climbed on a soapbox to urge women to take charge of their money and their careers. Build up your net worth! Build a business of your own! But how many ways can you write about personal finance? As a topic, it had worn thin for me. In the past two years, I’ve shifted from writing about women and money to writing about small luxuries, moderate indulgences, and losing weight. Instead of addressing large groups of women on the topics of investing and savvy marketing, I now stand on the stage in a bright pink St. John suit and giggle with women about martinis and massages.

About midway through my talk on small and inexpensive ways that women can take care of themselves, I begin to call myself as a "fuzzy–sweater feminist." The fuzzy–sweater part is a reference to my book Wear More Cashmere: 151 Luxurious Ways to Pamper Your Inner Princess. Not exactly what one might imagine as a feminist’s creed. Ah, but one would be wrong. Scattered among the suggestions on how to feel like a movie star (high-heeled mules and a sarong — instant glam!) and an inexpensive way to duplicate the very expensive hot rock spa massage (a couple of rocks, a crock pot, and some massage oil) are long passages in which I remind women that they have the ability to create the life they want rather than sitting back and waiting for someone to do it for them. Empower that inner princess, honey.

The fuzzy–sweater feminist line always gets a laugh. Not only is it my intention to get a smile from the women and men in the room, but also (in as non–strident a way as possible) to gently reclaim and re–brand the word feminist as, well, more feminine. Ultra–feminine, in fact.

I extended the fuzzy–sweater feminist philosophy to losing weight in a recent diet book. A feminist diet book? Indulge me while I offer some advice from the final chapter of The Martini Diet: The Self–Indulgent Way to a Thinner, More Fabulous You (feel free to picture me standing before you in that bright pink suit, which, I must tell you, as a thrifty Lutheran woman, I bought secondhand).

I firmly believe (as I say in my book) that you and I are in charge of our own destinies, responsible for our own lives, and perfectly capable of creating our own opportunities. At the same time, I am appalled at the way women are actively discouraged from feeling pleased with the size and shape of their bodies. We must be strong in the face of the unhealthy messages we receive. We must be strong and courageous in the face of advertising that is designed to make us feel weak, inadequate, and imperfect — unless we buy the advertiser’s product.

The martini theme has to do with restraint when approaching food, the same way that you only have one drink instead of six or seven. Quite a bit of the guidance in my weight–oss book has to do with encouraging women to be proud of who we are now and not absorb the negative messages we receive. Far more important than gaining entry to the NFL, I think. Like Judith and Barbara, I say "of course" I am a feminist. Should the dictionary folks get wind of my less strident but still powerful voice and ask me to help write the next edition’s entry, here is what I suggest: Feminist: a woman who believes in her own unlimited strength and courage.

Ah! The buzzer on the dryer has sounded, and it smells like the bread might be done. Time for this fuzzy–sweater feminist to get back to her family. Here’s hoping that my fuzzy sweater fits you, too.

Jennifer Basye Sander is the author of Wear More Cashmere and The Martini Diet. She lives with her husband, Peter, and sons, Julian and Jonathan, in Granite Bay, Calif.