Review by Booklist Review
Entertainment journalist Bowen coined the term trap feminist, which is the intersection of where feminism meets hip-hop. Here she meticulously deconstructs the elitist veil of feminism and honors Black women from the hood with long nails, loud voices, and tough exteriors. Bowen writes from an authentic space for Black women who are often left out of feminist conversations due to respectability politics, but who are just as deserving of the same voice and liberation. The pro-woman lyrics of rappers such as Megan Thee Stallion, The City Girls, and Cardi B provide principle and standards for women, who Bowen also lovingly refers to as "real bitches." Through personal essays, Bowen dissects the complexities of dealing with fat phobia, queerness, owning one's sexuality, and the importance of friendship. She doesn't shy away from the tough experiences of her first fight, a shoplifting conviction, and even her past choice of being a sex worker. Black women are encouraged to re-center themselves in their lives, focus on their paper, and have unwavering standards when it comes to dating. Bowen's insight empowers the unapologetic women who culture loves to emulate and highlights the inspiration behind some of hip-hop's most memorable songs.
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Journalist Bowen's bold and winning debut fuses an unabashed love of hip-hop with a feminist consciousness that is "educated, but always willing to throw these hands" and a celebration of the social power of "ratchet Black girls." Blending cultural analysis and memoir, Bowen explains why being a shoplifter able to code-switch "in a way that could both impress and disarm white folks" was an expression of power, and how her and a white male friend's different experiences after being arrested for stealing from Nordstrom's highlighted "disparities of class, race, and gender" in the justice system. Bowen also discusses fatphobia within hip-hop culture, defends plastic surgery ("I want no part of a fake ass body positivity that allows people to uphold unrealistic standards, shame women for not meeting them, but still demand that we love and embrace our bodies"), and celebrates the "raw realness" of Megan Thee Stallion and other "misogynoir"-busting female rap artists. Throughout, Bowen uplifts "the resilience, defiance, and attitudes of Black girls," while pointing out the "racial microaggressions" of mainstream, majority white feminist groups such as Planned Parenthood. This is a powerful call for a more inclusive and "real" feminism. Agent: Nick Richesin, Wendy Sherman Assoc. (Oct.)
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Review by Library Journal Review
Part memoir, part cultural analysis, this first book by journalist Bowen (who coined the term trap feminism) is an introspective work on making feminism more inclusive, and a searing indictment of mainstream versions of feminism that leave so many people behind. Bowen begins with an overview of the intersection of feminism and trap music, then offers meditations on blackness, queerness, and fatness; for Bowen, they all overlap in the forms of racism, sexism, and fatphobia. The entire work is remarkable, but especially its engagement with discourse about body positivity and beauty and fashion standards that are upheld by mainstream society. Bowen is perhaps at her best when exploring the nuances of what it means to call a Black girl confident and analyzing how the label is applied to Black women artists like Lizzo and Megan Thee Stallion. Similarly, she deconstructs the hypersexualization of Black women in popular culture and mainstream media, and unpacks why Black women (particularly those who are sex workers) are often devalued. VERDICT Expertly interviewing personal anecdotes with pop culture, Bowen has written a necessary work that centers Black women in the modern history of feminism. Pass along to fans of Hood Feminism, by Mikki Kendall.--Stephanie Sendaula, Library Journal
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Review by Kirkus Book Review
This colloquial debut weaves memoir with cultural studies to illuminate genuine stories of surviving and thriving--and necessary lessons in between. "I'm fat," writes Bowen in the first chapter. "Let's start there." This frankness sets the tone for the book. Framing the text around trap music, "a hip-hop subgenre that expresses some of the realities and aspirational views of Black folks from the hood," the author uses specific experiences as points of reference to explain her life's guiding empowerment principle--what she terms "trap feminism." Before she named it, Bowen clarifies, this creed "was written into the codes I learned growing up broke, curious, Black, resilient, and female in some of the worst parts of Chicago. It's what I learned through fistfights, sex work, queerness, and fatness….It's still how I navigate and make sense of the world." Throughout, the author, the former entertainment editor for Nylon magazine, compellingly addresses themes of racism, sexism, body politics, anarchy, an unreliable justice system, confidence, money, and sexuality, among many others. In differentiating sex work and sex trafficking, Bowen shares her account of a man trying to pimp her out when she was 14, and she makes a case for decriminalizing sex work. "My love for trap makes me what Roxane Gay would call a 'bad feminist,' " Bowen writes, acknowledging that the music is frequently deemed misogynistic. Still, over decades of listening to female rappers, the author notes, "I learned to prioritize my own desires, ambitions, and pleasures, because for all the ways that they might reflect how men talk about us in their rhymes, these women are also adding a key piece of nuance…women, especially Black women, are inherently valuable." Of trap feminists, she concludes, "We do what we have to when we can't do what we want to." Bowen's writing will appeal to readers undeterred by profanity who are interested in both contemporary hip-hop and feminist autobiographies. Direct, driven, occasionally dirty, and undeniably fresh. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
