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By Iris Loome
Photos by Elisa Ciappi


So you might be wondering why I have such a large package hanging from my waist. Don’t be alarmed, I’m not here to threaten your masculinity. I’m here to threaten 10,000 years of systemic oppression. That’s right, I am a Fanny Pack Freedom Fighter.

That’s right, I guess you could say Radical Change and I are attached at the hip. My girls and I (and by “my girls”, I mean the other intersectional feminist badass bitches who are in it to win it this fashion season, NOT my breasts. But sure, my breasts too…) are finished with the reign of patriarchy — or should I say, PANTriarchy — that has plagued women since the invention of clothing.

You heard me. I’m talking about the tiny-ass pockets (not to mention the tiny ass-pockets) us ladies are expected to carry everything in.

This oppressive fashion regime has finally ended with the resurrection of a decades-old fad: fanny packs. These nifty, utilitarian devices attach around the midsection and allow us ladies to almost feel as if we could navigate the world as complete, autonomous bodies. Now when we pass by sketchy cat-callers on the street, we can rest reassured that these men can take our pride, but not our purses.

But lasting change must go beyond the sacks of cloth buckled around our breasts. We demand pockets as deep as our pussies. And trust me, those things are deep.