My name is Malone Manipulaire. I am 21 years old. I have a stick-and-poke tattoo of my mom’s maiden name and I study Film and Media, so I’m a feminist. I have a nose ring, and I thrifted my Doc Marten boots, so I am comfortable in my masculinity. I go to therapy every other Tuesday. I have sex exclusively with women but identify as bisexual. I am currently reading Women, Race & Class by Angela Davis, and I really need you, female passerby, to ask me about it.
A month ago, I flipped through two whole pages of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar underneath a tree on cross campus. Much to my surprise, no free spirited, fun-loving gal struck up a conversation with me.
The following week, I opened up The Color Purple by Alice Walker while waiting in line for a Yale Health STI test. Despite testing negative for BOTH genital herpes and hepatitis B, no girl with sunkissed curls and hand-sewn clothing pulled me aside and asked to have sex with me.
Defeated, I cuddled up with The Communist Manifesto at the end of the Trader Joe’s frozen food aisle. Then, she finally appeared. When I laid my eyes upon her, my gray world turned technicolor. A tinge of torture revealed itself from within her twinkling, emerald eyes. She looked at me, a man who reads, with a seductive curiosity. She asked me why I was holding my book upside down.
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This summer, please pull me into an academic yet flirtatious, thought-provoking yet tension-filled dialogue on how I read intricate socio-political theory. Please have sex with me immediately after, because the TikTok video essays I watched on each of these books only spoon-fed me about two insightful comments. If you don’t go to Yale, are taller than 5’6, or have a bra size under 32C, I have created this GoFundMe page so that you can help me from far, far away.
I recently learned that women only make 82 cents to every male dollar—God, tears are welling in my eyes just thinking about it—but if you have a paid summer internship, please click the yellow “Donate Now” button above or venmo @All-Bodies-Are-Beautiful33 to help me purchase the following items:
Books Off Of My Goodreads Reading List:
- Feminism Is For Everybody by bell hooks (Did you know that Gloria Jean Watkins chose not to capitalize her pseudonym to focus the attention on her community rather than herself? I am always putting the words of our Black female foremothers into practice.)
- A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf (Speaking of which, if you’re ever passing through Hoboken and need a place to stay, I have a room of my own).
A Subscription to The New Yorker
I just purchased a $130 recurring subscription to The New Yorker. I am excited, because there might be pictures in this one, and I cannot read. Regardless, the free tote bag acts as a nice canvas for my “Abortion is Healthcare” and “Michelle Obama 2024” pins. Plus, it is just big enough to fit my annotated copy of The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan and the keys to my 1998 Honda Civic (Yeah, I drive stick).
Hearing Aids
I was recently diagnosed with Stage 4 Sensorineural Hearing Deterioration after using headphones to listen to my Spotify playlists on full volume in Koffe?. I’m now in need of hearing aids, but I still want female café-goers to pass by and think, “Wow, that effortlessly desirable, 6’4 guy is listening to The Strokes AND Nuetral Milk Hotel.”
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Why, you might ask, when America is confronting, like, the military-industrial complex and systemic racism, should you help me out? For one, I think the patriarchy is the single biggest issue faced by modern society. In a time where the Supreme Court thinks it can just seize control over female bodies, I think having sex with me is an empowering way to reclaim agency over your reproductive system. And, by providing me with the funds to expand my literary repertoire, you are helping me sexually liberate even more women. What’s more feminist than that? Lesbianism? I support that, too.
Just think about it. By donating to me, you are flipping the script. I don’t feel the need to make my own money because, truthfully, I’m not emasculated by female breadwinners—although I wouldn’t mind it if the female had a giant rack, the bread was copious amounts of sex, and I’m the only one winning.
— G. Cohen
