Being a “bad b*tch” is strongly correlated with women having perfect bodies. You see it on social media every day. Women with flat tummies, slim waists and a derrière that is as big as the egos of a thousand Anglo-Saxon men in suit and ties. That is big.
Not to say that the women on Instagram do not work hard, but what about women with the average body who accomplish so much at work and at home? What are we, chopped liver?
Being a “bad b*tch” sounds pretty fun. It sounds like something I would LOVE to experience, so I did. I was a “bad b*tch” for a day only to realize that I have been living the REAL narrative of being a “bad b*tch” since I have been in college.
My first encounter as consciously being a bad one was trekking across the UK’s campus to attend my everyday classes. How was this qualified as a “bad b*tch” experience? It was 30 degrees, raining and I was without an umbrella (Casper took it then returned it a few days later).
My second and final encounter was on the very same day in the exact same conditions. Plot twist? I had to walk through what seemed to be ALL of downtown Lexington to find a building most students have never even heard of to interview the manager of the campus meat market. The cherry on top was that I do not eat meat and I cry watching “Charlotte’s Web.”
I say all of this to say that a true “bad b*tch” gets sh*t done and then some, it is all about hustle. Being a true “bad b*tch” will never truly equate to having an “Instagram worthy” body, our era of womanism has come too far for that.