The women who are first to get naked, howl at the moon and jump into the sea. The women who drink too much whiskey, stay up too late and have sex like they mean it. This is for the women who seek relentless joy; the ones who know how to laugh with their whole souls. The women who speak to strangers because they have no fear in their hearts. The women who know their worth, who plant their feet and roar in their brilliance. This is for the women like Gloria Steinem who, when she was told, “We want a writer, not a woman. Go home,” kept writing anyway. This is for the women who drink coffee at midnight and wine in the morning and dare you to question it. For the women who don’t give a damn about pleasing the world, and do sweetly as they wish. For the superheroes—the single moms who work three jobs to make it. I salute your resilient, cape-flapping, ambitious selves. The women who create wildly, unbalanced, ferociously and in a blur at times. These are the women I want around me.
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