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The Women Who Took Down Larry Nassar on Life After the Ruling


At the 2018 Women of the Year Summit, a group of women who helped take down former USA Gymnastics doctor Larry Nassar—accused of years of sexual abuse—came together on stage to discuss the extensive challenges they faced, before the trial and after his sentencing. As Glamour executive editor Wendy Naugle, who moderated the conversation, said in her introduction, “They’ve changed the way we talk about sexual assault and abuse in this country.”

Rachael Denhollander, the first woman to publicly accuse Nassar of assault, joined Andrea Munford, the detective who led the investigation, and Angela Povilaitis, the assistant Attorney General who led the prosecution. These women reflect but a fraction of the army that came together to bring justice against Nassar: More than 140 people came forward to file civil lawsuits against the disgraced doctor, including Olympic gymnast Aly Raisman, alleging sexual abuse under the guise of treatment for injuries. Judge Rosemarie Aquilina, who presided over the case, came up after Denhollander, Munford, and Povilaitis left the stage. (Because Nassar has asked permission to repeal his sentencing, Judge Aquilina cannot speak to Denhollander, Munford, or the survivors, hence why they appeared separately.)

After hearing over 150 statements ranging two decades, Judge Aquilina sentenced Nassar to up to 175 years in prison. The response to the ruling was instantly huge, which surprised her at the time: “After it was over, I took a break and went and did four probation violations. I had no idea that the world was exploding,” the judge told Glamour in her WOTY profile. “I just did what I always do.”

In the panel titled The Collective Power of the Sister Army, Denhollander, Munford, and Povilaitis discussed how they banded together, prepared for a historic trial, and support survivors of sexual abuse. Then, Judge Aquilina spoke about why she allowed survivors to speak out in the courtroom. Below, the biggest moments of the panel.

PHOTO: Ilya S. Savenok / Getty Images

Wendy Naugle, Rachael Denhollander, Andrea Munford, and Angela Povilaitis at Glamour’s Women of the Year Summit

On the culture of silencing survivors.

“I felt sick to my stomach when I made that phone call,” Denhollander remembered of when she first came forward. “I lost ten pounds in a week after giving the first interview.” By the time she came forward, she explained, she had experienced first-hand how survivors of sexual abuse were treated because of her church. Denhollander knew it would be important to come forward with a group, as opposed to a singular, anonymous voice.

“When you’re surrounded by the details, all of the time, it’s incredibly difficult,” Denhollander continued. “But what I was really the most afraid of was the investigation and the prosecutor I would get—I knew I could do everything in my power to move that case forward, but if I didn’t have an investigator and a prosecutor with the integrity and the skill to do what needed to be done there was nothing I could do.”

“When I met her I remember thinking she was so powerful and yet so nervous at the same time,” Munford said. “I had to do a lot of ensuring that I believed her, that I’d take this case [seriously], and that I wasn’t going to brush it aside no matter who it was.”

On why we must believe survivors.

Believing survivors of sexual assault is at the center of Povilaitis’s approach to prosecution of these cases: “A victim’s involvement in the criminal justice system shouldn’t create more trauma,” she told the audience. It’s important, she explained, “that we don’t blame them for their assault. That we allow them to have choices in their participation.” This thinking was essential to the plea agreement her team put together that allowed the survivors to give the victim impact statement during the Nassar trial. “It means the victim is a participant and that they have legitimate choices,” she added.

Povilaitis asked the audience: “If your friend came forward, how would you think about it? Start by believing and supporting that victim with their choices… These cases for decades have been treated with some skepticism. When a woman comes forward, she must have some motive to lie, or something to gain—and, quite frankly, as we’ve seen in the last few months with Dr. Ford’s testimony, there’s so much to lose by coming forward with your story—and no guarantees.”

On the paradigm shifts that need to happen to protect survivors.

Denhollander believes that the first step to encouraging survivors come forward with their stories is making them feel protected when they do. “As a survivor, it’s an incredible healing process to get to the point of verbalizing—when you spoke those words, it makes your assault real,” she shared. However, their experiences aren’t normally treated with care. “When you are in the middle of it, you’re hearing those lies—’you should’ve known better’—so loudly in your head, it’s safer to stay silent. Ultimately, that means the perpetrator keeps getting away.”

Munford also noted it’s important to be aware of how we react to someone’s story of a sexual assault: “A lot of people, they want to distance themselves from that—[they’ll think,] ‘That wouldn’t happen to me. So that victim must’ve done something wrong to have that happen, because I would’ve done something different. I would be safe. I would get out of that situation.’ I think we all need to be aware when we’re doing that, because every time somebody says, ‘she did something wrong’ or ‘she did something to deserve it,’ a survivor of sexual abuse, domestic violence, harassment hears that and it silences them. They think, ‘Well, now I’m not going to tell anybody because that’s the reaction I’m going to get.’”

2018 Glamour Women Of The Year Summit: Women Rise

PHOTO: Astrid Stawiarz / Getty Images

Judge Rosemarie Aquilina at Glamour’s Women of the Year Summit

Judge Aquilina about why she let survivors speak in her courtroom—and why it’s important that they did.

“I don’t see my role as [that of] a punisher—I really look at my role as one of rehabilitation for the safety and healing of any victim,” she said. “I’ve been a judge for fourteen years, and I’ve always let everybody speak. And that is because I know it’s so healing. When you look at the victims, they’re not the only [ones]: Their families, husbands, communities are all victims. It’s the people’s court. They have a right to speak.”

“I have found, throughout my fourteen years of being a judge, that allowing victims the safe place for the defendant to say, ‘You hurt me, I’m mad, and it’s not just me, it’s my husband and my kids…’ the healing begins,” Judge Aquilina continued. “And defendants need to hear that what they did was wrong and the effect [it had.] And that has an effect on defendants—most of them, not Larry Nassar, but most of them get out of prison. If we’ve treated them right, and if we’ve also listened to them, they change in a good way; if we make them angry, we shut them down or shut them out, the same way the sister survivors were shut down and shut up… they come back out and they do worse crimes. So I try to treat the courtroom as a community and give everybody a voice.”

“I would’ve listened to a 1,000 girls if that’s what it took,” she added.

Judge Aquilina on the ripple effect of the Nassar trial.

In response to accusations of judicial impartiality, she recalled hearing from some of her peers who disagreed with allowing so many testimonies in court—but those, she said, “were few and numbered”: “There are always going to be naysayers—I don’t listen to naysayers, I never will and never have. Most of the judges said, ‘I watched you, and I’m going to rethink what I do in the courtroom…because I saw the transformation.’ That’s not just from my community—it’s from around the world.”

“What’s happened now is people come to court… They’ve watched the videos of the Nassar case,” she said. “They use that as the model. They come to my courtroom and tell me what happened. If they’re afraid, they bring their grandmother, they bring their friend… It’s clear to me that that’s what happened. The ripple effect is ongoing… It’s been an incredible feeling that this tragedy has turned into something so valuable.”

Find out more about Glamour‘s 2018 Women of the Year here.

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Yvonne Orji: I Didn't Have $7 to Buy Pizza. Then God Sent Me a New Life Plan.


At Glamour’s 2018 Women of the Year Summit, Yvonne Orji opened up about how her faith led her to a starring role on HBO’s Insecure. Her story, below.

I’m Yvonne Orji. So some of you may know me as Issa Rae’s very messy best friend Molly on HBO’s Insecure. Thanks for watching! But what you may not know is that the journey to get there was entirely faith-led. Like, y’all, I could not have this life or anything. Nothing about the six-year-old girl who emigrated from Nigeria to America who was destined to be a doctor…if you know anything about Nigerians, you’re a doctor, lawyer or engineer. My mom is still praying, “Just one day. Maybe just one day…” It’s like, no. But nothing about my story pointed anywhere to comedy.

And that is where God comes in. Y’all that was all His idea.

I was raised as a Catholic, so God was always kind of a part of my life in a way. But as a freshman in college, I attended a Bible study that completely changed my life. That’s where I became a born-again Christian. Now, I know some of you are like, “In college?” Yes, because nothing about freshman year says Scripture, OK? Because I had a plan, so I was like, where are the boys? But I attended a bible study, and the minister there kept referring to God as, “Daddy.” I’ve never heard anybody refer to Him so intimately, and I’m really competitive—I have three older brothers—so for no reason I was like, “I want what she has.”

One night, when I was trying to figure out what was next and needed some clarity, I heard Him say, “Do comedy.”

I wanted that level of intimacy, so I said yes to the invitation—and from that, I too developed a very intimate relationship where I hear God. And one night, when I was trying to figure out what was next and needed some clarity, I heard Him say, “Do comedy.”

I’m sorry, what?

Because I wasn’t funny. I was like, nobody laughs at me. They used to laugh at me. Nobody was like, “That Yvonne is SUPER funny.” But at that point, I was on my way to becoming a doctor. I was stalling because I got my masters in public health. This is what you do when you’re the child of immigrants—you go to school to avoid going to school. And then after I got my masters, I was still not ready to be a doctor. I wanted to go to Liberia, which was just finishing a war, because it was easier for me to go to a war-torn country than tell my parents that I wasn’t going to be a doctor.

So I was wrestling. I was wrestling with God’s words. I was like, “What do you mean you want me to do comedy?” Here’s the thing, how many people have challenged God and won? You know, you can’t wrestle with Him. I’m not a fighter, look at me. So clearly I took His advice and I did comedy.

Sounds daring and fun, but pretty soon after I moved to New York I found myself with zero dollars and zero leads. Let me tell you right now: That’s not sexy. OK? Because Sallie Mae wants her money, like all of it. So one day I found myself incredibly hungry. I was in Harlem, and if you live in New York you know about 2 Bros. Pizza. It feeds the artist and the homeless, guys. It was $1 a slice of pizza, and if you’re really fancy you can get two slices and a soda for $2.75. I see some people shaking their heads. 2 Bros. Pizza is where it’s at! But here’s the kicker: I’m living in Queens at the time, and I didn’t have the $4.40 to take the subway to get there and back. Here I was, 25 years old, with two degrees, and not even the $7 to get a slice of pizza.

I was like, was this really the life I risked it all for? I have a family that loves me and cares about me, and I am broke. I am poor.

PHOTO: HBO

Orji on ‘Insecure’

But God must have sensed my doubt because, in that instant, I promise y’all I got a download from Heaven…I grabbed a pen and paper, and I wrote everything I heard as He dictated plans for my life. And in that moment, it was like, this is amazing…I took a nap, and when I woke up I was like, I’m just going to say yes.

What followed was a series of saying yes. Because if He has plans for me, then I should just go with it. So I said yes to the temp job I hated but allowed me to perform comedy at night. I said yes to taking over a stand-up show in New York City. I said yes to a residency in a college production in Richmond, Virginia, that gave me two days to get there. I said yes to being a writer in the writers room for a TV show in L.A. At the time I didn’t know what that was, but, guys, it’s pretty self-explanatory. That’s what Google is for.

Say yes. What’s the worst that could happen?

So there was a lot of hustle and there was a lot of setbacks. I’m not going to front. The road to comedy was not sexy. I make it look very sexy now, but it was hard. That show that I was writing on got canceled—but from that point forward, I just kept listening. … I put every idea I had into creating the trailer for a show called First Gen, a series about a Nigerian girl who drops out of Med School to become a comedian (sound familiar?). This was back in 2016, and the trailer for First Gen became my audition tape for Insecure. It’s what Issa was able to see and turn to the producers and say, “Give her a shot.” I didn’t have an agent, manager, anything, I had never acted. So this is HBO—Home Box Office—this is not like, a small production. And this thing that I hunkered down and accomplished was what Issa was able to be like, “Let’s try her out!”

So, I’m not a surgeon, I’m not. Don’t get sick around, I’ll probably just give you Advil. But I’m definitely fulfilling my purpose. Inside all of us exists some kind of compass—whether it’s divine or otherwise—but it’s something desperately trying to navigate you and all of us to the life we know we were destined to live. So I think the choice is pretty simple: Keep letting fear sidetrack you or take what you’ve been given, maybe even told from God above, and say yes. But whatever it is, keep going. Keep doing it. Why not? That’s what Glamour Women of the Year is all about—women who are not afraid to go after what they want.

Say yes. What’s the worst that could happen?

Find out more about Glamour‘s 2018 Women of the Year here.

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My Life as a Work-at-Home-Mom Was Hell


The heater blasted in the car as I typed furiously on my laptop. I was psyched because I was about to meet my deadline. Suddenly, my baby started wailing. I shut my laptop as if clocking out early, crawled into the backseat, whipped out my boob, and fed him. Over his head, I typed up an apology to one of my bosses on my phone—my work would be late.

The first year-and-a-half of my son’s life, I was a Work-At-Home-Mom, known as a WAHM. I thought it was the best way to have everything I wanted—a career as a freelance writer, a child, flexibility—but it took an immense emotional and physical toll on me. Our culture prides working from home as the holy grail of job arrangements. But doing it with a newborn, my vision was blurred from exhaustion. I worked when we could afford a babysitter and when he slept, if he slept. With few breaks from each other, he tended to nurse every other hour. I felt like a busy water cooler for a parched coworker. And after he turned one, my son had five months of back-to-back viruses or infections. A feverish toddler literally screams “no” when you need a bathroom break.

But being a WAHM still felt like my best option. Even if both my partner and I had full-time jobs, we would barely scrape by paying for daycare, which costs about $1,500 to $2,400 a month in Boston where we live. My partner works 40 hours a week at a UPS store, then comes home to do housework and play with our son. I do a lot of the unpaid, unseen work—shopping, paying bills, scheduling our lives, and managing mundane childcare duties. When our son is sick, I take off from the work I didn’t get done and stay up at night.

“That kind of multitasking, that emotional labor—it wears on you. I rarely feel fully rested or restored.”

Similarly, Leah Charney, 34, cares for her infant son while working at home as a marketing and operations consultant in Colorado. Postpartum, she returned to a demanding job but quickly left to scale back and work from home while her husband still worked full-time. Her son goes to daycare two days a week—that’s when she schedules meetings and tackles larger projects. On other days, she works while he eats and naps.

“It’s not impossible to work from home with children, but it requires planning and a willingness to be more flexible than Gumby,” she says. “I pride myself on being adaptable, [but] that kind of multitasking, that emotional labor—it wears on you. I rarely feel fully rested or restored.” She describes being a WAHM as “brutal.”

The American workforce needs women, but neither the government nor most employers make it easy for mothers to actually work. The Organization of Economic Cooperation and Development analyzed maternity leave in 42 countries and found that the U.S. was the least generous of all the industrialized nations, guaranteeing no leave or pay. Bulgaria has the best policy with almost 59 weeks of paid leave. The International Labour Organization says that protecting expectant and nursing mothers from job discrimination is “a precondition for achieving genuine equality of opportunity,” yet workplace discrimination against mothers in the U.S. is rampant—from getting paid less than men to having a job offer rescinded because of a pregnancy.

Women who don’t work in fields with high earning potential and cannot afford full-time childcare are often forced to craft their own work lifestyles at home. Women are more likely to leave the workforce to care for children than men, according to a 2016 survey by the Department of Labor. When asked, 43 percent of women with children under the age of five said they passed up a promotion or asked for reduced responsibilities at work to care for a family member. Some women then work from home.A 2017 Gallup poll found that 43% of employed Americans spend some time working remotely, a rise over previous years.

The real struggle lies in trying to ensure you’re fulfilling the duties of being a good parent while showing employers you can handle their workload and meet expectations—all on little sleep and an unpredictable schedule

Professor of Psychology at Arizona State University, Suniya S. Luthar, examined the work-life satisfaction in new mothers. Her research shows the most satisfied are those who wanted to go back to work and did, as well as those who wanted to stay at home and did. The study didn’t address WAHMs, but she says from her own parenting experience, being a WAHM is “just not doable. It’s a distraction. One ear is always listening for them. The kid is looking for mom to feel safe…You’re not going to get your work done properly and you’ll end up being a mass of nerves and guilt.”

The challenges of WAHM-hood are plentiful, but the real struggle lies in the emotional labor of trying to simultaneously ensure that you’re fulfilling the duties of being a good parent while showing employers you can handle their workload and meet expectations—all on little sleep and an unpredictable schedule. You are nanny, mommy, and employee—at the same exact time. It’s a constant tug-of-war.

“My mom tried telling me I couldn’t have it all—but as it turns out, it’s possible to have it all but it’s impossible to do it all well,” says Meredith C. Carroll, 45, a Colorado-based freelance writer who’s written about her WAHM challenges. Carroll has two daughters, ages seven and 10. As a WAHM, Carroll felt she missed much of her eldest daughter’s early childhood, so she stayed home with her second child to fill in the gaps. “The stuff I missed wasn’t necessarily tangible,” she says. “It was more about being emotionally absent in the many small moments that quickly add up.”

Olivia Howell, 33, works in social media management and cares for her two sons, ages two and five, in New York. She works throughout the day, every day, on her phone until around 1 a.m. and tries to wake up before her kids. ”I feel so blessed I get to be flexible for my boys,” she says. “But I never have time for myself ever, and I never sleep, like, really.”

“My mom tried telling me I couldn’t have it all—but as it turns out, it is possible. But it’s impossible to do it all well.”

Howell does have a babysitter who comes six to ten hours a week and family nearby that helps occasionally, and flexibility from her clients is key. “Most of my clients are women with children, so often they understand my hours,” she says. “I need people who understand the work will get done, just on my time.”

Another real challenge of WAHM-hood for me was the loneliness. I used walk around stores just to chat with clerks for a break from baby babble. Luthar says that women with young children—especially those working from home—need to connect with people for their well-being. She suggests parent support groups, including virtual ones, like her Authentic Connections program. “Moms are not like the Energizer Bunny, an endless well that stays filled without replenishment,” she says.

Like other WAHMs I spoke with, I have a partner who supports my career. But the fallout from my stressful situation did strain our relationship. In the evenings after work, my son wanted “dada” and I wanted dada’s arms—to carry the baby away from me. We tried not to have the “who does more” fight, because we were both always “on.” But I shouldered more emotional work, which did make me resent him at times.

Some WAHMs have a smoother system down—like on-call relatives, they live near a coworking space with on-site childcare, they set up working playdates, or have mom friends with whom they swap babysitting duties.



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Here’s Lady Gaga Living Her Best Life on a Boat for Your Viewing Pleasure


Lady Gaga knows how to make an entrance. She’s been doing it for 10 years. There was the time when she showed up to the 2011 Grammys inside a literal vessel. Or how about the 2010 MTV Video Music Awards, when she arrived on the carpet with discharged soldiers to make a statement about Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell? Red carpets and events aren’t just shallow opportunities for Mother Monster: They’re chances to say something—loudly.

So it’s no surprise she arrived to the 2018 Venice Film Festival on Thursday (August 30) hanging on the side of a boat. No, really: the pop icon made her entrance to annual celebration—which she’s attending to promote her film, A Star Is Born—wearing a short black dress, her hair done up, and a single red rose as her accessory. An outfit that chic calls for an equally-as-chic mode of transportation. Enter this mahogany speedboat, which Gaga sat on like the Queen greeting commoners during Trooping of the Colour. Gaga waved, blew kisses, and basked in the sun as the boat zipped all over the water. The photos, naturally are really something. Peep 10 of them, below:



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I Tried to Make Myself Seem Less Asian My Whole Life. Then I Saw Crazy Rich Asians.


Before you have your first slice of pizza, you have no idea what you’ve been missing out on. Once you get a taste of that melty cheese, tomato sauce, and crispy crust, though, you can’t imagine life without it. Watching Crazy Rich Asians was like that for me: I never knew how good it felt to see only Asian faces on screen until it happened. And now? I’ve been living in a white-washed world for 27 years, and I don’t want to go back.

OK, maybe pizza, a quintessentially Italian-American food, was a weird example to share how overwhelmed I felt by Crazy Rich Asians. But it’s indicative of the way life has always been for me, relating to the world through the lens and interests of white people. I was adopted from Seoul, South Korea at seven months old by a loving (and very white) family in upstate New York. I was the only Asian person in my graduating class; at the time, I could count my Asian friends on one hand. I learned a bit about my heritage in bits and pieces—by going to a Baptist church briefly as a kid, attending a Korean mentor program at the local college, and exploring New York City’s Korean restaurants. But I always felt, as Goh Peik Lin (Awkwafina) describes Rachel Chu (Constance Wu) in the movie, like a banana: white on the inside, yellow on the outside.

As I watched the film last week—amongst a crowd of mostly Asian people—I realized I’d grown up without any meaningful pop-culture examples of women who look like me. Growing up, the biggest Asian figures in my life were, well, figure skaters. I idolized Michelle Kwan and Kristi Yamaguchi, both of whom were so talented and beautiful. I tried ice skating to be more like them—and failed miserably. The yellow Power Ranger was cool, but not as cool to me as the pink Ranger. And I liked Japanese-American Claudia from The Baby-Sitters Club fine enough, but it was the four-eyed, red-haired Mallory who I related to most at 13.

I rarely saw Asian characters who weren’t a stereotype. To be fair, I didn’t seek them out, either, because I didn’t feel Asian. In fact, I was so afraid of being seen as a stereotype—or worse, an outcast—that I distanced myself from things like Korean pop music, anime, and Pokémon to appear “normal.” Maybe if I had seen a movie like Crazy Rich Asians as a kid, I wouldn’t have felt so alone.

Crazy Rich Asians might be the first time I didn’t see a white person for two hours, period.

Instead, I had to wait until I was 27; Crazy Rich Asians was the first time I saw a full Asian cast in anything. It might be the first time I didn’t see a white person for two hours, period. But after that initial, “Wow! Everyone is Asian!” feeling, I realized the movie is no different than any other (predominately white) romantic comedy I’d watched before. This isn’t a story that’s only accessible to Asian people; the friendships and relationships are nuanced and interesting, but they’re not groundbreaking. A makeover to impress a boyfriend’s family? Seen it. A battle against mean girls? Done before. What really got me was that I could finally see myself in the leading role. And the best friend role. And even the weird brother role. All of these characters are Asian, and none are the punchline.

My friend Marianne, who is half Filipino, agrees. “Seeing people who looked like me portray characters in a rom-com storyline that would typically have a white cast—with an ambiguously brown sidekick because, you know, diversity—was a huge deal,” she says. “I related to Rachel’s overall experience of, yes, she is Asian, but not quite Asian enough.” Kristina, who is also Filipino, echoed this. “I felt emotional seeing a protagonist [Rachel Chu] that not only looked like me, but she was someone who was complex, confident, vulnerable, and passionate.”

But Rachel wasn’t the only relatable character. The theater roared when Peik Lin (Awkwafina) made her grand, pajama-clad entrance. Later, as we watch her family’s lavish lunch, I teared up when her mom said “simple food, lah,” a Malay term used frequently in the book that didn’t have to be subtitled or explained. It just existed. The audience cackled when Peik Lin’s dad scolded his youngest kids to finish their chicken because there are “lots of starving children in America.”

PHOTO: ©Warner Bros/courtesy Everett Collection / Everett Collection

This difference stuck out to Emily, who is Korean and says she was moved by the way the movie navigated the cultural differences between Asian Americans and “Asian Asians.” This came through in the differences between Eleanor, an Asian tiger mom dedicated to family and loyalty, and Rachel’s mom Kerry, a first-generation immigrant who raised her daughter on her own. “What the film does beautifully is not pit these two women or cultural styles of parenting against each other, but embrace the validity in both,” Emily says. “I grew up with a mix of both, and it was touching to see both sides explored in the movie—and also gain a greater sense of appreciation for my family, too.”

I may not ever understand what it’s like to be a crazy rich Asian, passing down traditions of dumpling-folding and Mahjong (although my Jewish grammy is great at the game), but I do understand feeling like I’ll never be enough. Rachel’s monologue about knowing she’ll never measure up hit close to home, and I considered how I would be seen if I dated a man from a traditional Asian family. Would I be accepted? I’d like to think so.

By the time the credits started to roll, everyone in the theater was clapping, cheering, and wiping away tears. It felt like a celebration of being Asian, and that buzz has stayed with me ever since. I hope this shows Hollywood that an all-Asian cast won’t keep people from relating to a movie. Just like how I, a Korean-American woman, can relate to She’s All That and A Walk to Remember, people of all races can find similarities in stories about family ties, relationships, and that outsider-looking-in feeling. It’s time for more stories to be told with all kinds of people represented, and I hope Crazy Rich Asians is just the first of many Asian-led movies and TV shows I’ll see in my lifetime.

Maybe I’ll even see a story about an adopted woman trying to figure out her identity. Maybe I’ll even write it.

Alyse Whitney is a writer and editor at Bon Appétit.

Photos: Warner Bros./Everett Collection



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I Held a Pre-Wedding Ceremony to Banish My Exes From My Life


As I prepped for my nuptials, I knew I didn’t want a traditional bachelorette party, but I definitely wanted some form of celebration with my friends. I was already feeling uncomfortable with the traditional pressures of a wedding ceremony and reception and frustrated with the subtle gender roles forced on me. I felt like I had to be the one to decide wedding colors, plating choices, table dimensions, invitation fonts, and so many more details.

It quickly became clear to me that in the eyes of society (and the wedding planning industry), the bride is the dreamer and decider of all aesthetics and the groom isn’t expected to be capable of making such decisions. Instead, he gets a slap on the back and glass of whiskey while the bride frantically creates Excel spreadsheets and Pinterest boards.

“It’s the bride’s day. You only get to do this once,” people around me said, encouraging me to enjoy the frenzy. “Hopefully,” I shot back sarcastically.

I tried to take a “whatever” attitude toward these choices, but I realized every lackadaisical response I served my mother and friends caused more drama. Being a “whatever” bride doesn’t make sense to people: It sets them in a panic, wondering how it’s possible for you to not have an opinion. So I pretended to care about linen fabrics and quietly decided the bachelorette would be done on my terms.

The bachelorette parties I’ve attended have fallen into one of two categories. Either the party mourns the death of singlehood with stripper-centered entertainment, or it mourns the death of girlhood with light-hearted games and giggling whenever anyone says the word “penis.” Neither choice was enticing or applicable to me.

At the time of my engagement, I’d been living with my partner and our dog for six years, so the death of a “single” lifestyle had already happened. I think it may have quietly passed in the middle of the night when I accidentally farted and he didn’t stop big-spooning me, or perhaps it happened once we started asking each other twice a day, “Did the dog poop?”

To create positive pre-wedding vibes, I realized there was only one event that could give me what I wanted: a cleansing ceremony. Specifically, a d*ck-cleansing ceremony.

And as for my “girlhood,” as far as that’s code for “virginity,” that too had dissolved well before I hit my thirties, and I had zero regrets about that. Even the tradition of wearing white for your wedding gave me pause, even though I planned to go along with it: As a mature thirty-something woman, why should I wear a color associated with virginal purity? Cultural norms may praise the virgin and throw shade on promiscuity, but I refused to have a bachelorette party that did too.

My bachelorette, I decided, would be a celebration of my transition into marriage, and there would be no mourning of past lives. In order to celebrate my future, though, I still felt I needed to honor my past. After all, each past lover helped me grow into the partner prepping for a healthy and loving marriage, so gratitude to former relationships was a must. To create these positive pre-wedding vibes, I realized there was only one event that could give me what I wanted: a cleansing ceremony. Specifically, a dick-cleansing ceremony.

In terms of technical flow, I wasn’t entirely sure what a dick-cleansing ceremony would entail. I’m not particularly spiritual, but I grew up in a Latinx household that frequently burned sage to clear or recover from mal ojo, or negative energy. I figured if I came with pure intentions, I could sketch this out.

I decided I needed my ceremony to provide two things:

1. Blessings to my new phase of marital sexual freedom.

Did getting married mean I was destined to watch Big Bang Theory, purchase socks for my husband to wear under his sandals, and succumb to sexual monotony? Nah. But it did represent a new phase for me and my husband, one marked, I hoped, by hot sex. In my dick-cleansing ceremony, I wanted my best friends to send me happy future coitus wishes.

2. Cleansing of any leftover vibes from my past lovers.

I’m grateful for everything I learned from them. Past lovers have taught me to be more considerate, generous, and vulnerable, but I wanted any residual juju left on me by them to disappear. As Drake says in “Nice For What,” “You ain’t stressin’ off no lover in the past tense. You already had them.” It was time for me to channel past experiences into marriage.

The last step was to educate my bachelorette party attendees and get their buy-in. I explained the purpose of my dick-cleansing ceremony to the group and prepared them to direct positive energy with me. In an uncharacteristically Bridezilla-like moment, I also set a dress code of sorts, demanding they wear something that made them feel powerful.

As for the script, I suggested that on the day of the ceremony we just improvise and see what happened. My friends were intrigued, but also skeptical about how we could possibly cleanse 14 years of sexual activity in one go. I reminded them that there was no wrong way to do this since I was literally making it all up: I just needed them to come ready with positive energy, which everyone confirmed they were fully capable of bringing.

My bachelorette party was held over a weekend in Palm Springs, filled with desert vibes and lots of snacks. Saturday night was the scheduled dick-cleansing ceremony, and my girlfriends came dressed in their most powerful looks: Envision seven women dressed as a mix of Stevie Nicks, Rihanna, and Lily Tomlin. We were off to a strong start.

We gathered around a table and placed three large penis-shaped candles in the center. These candles represented my sexual past and would be burned accordingly. My friend Lisa then asserted herself as the lead bruja and explained that once the candles were lit, the ceremony would begin, and once they were out, the ceremony would end. As Lisa lit the candles, we all became strangely solemn — then, to my surprise, each girlfriend brought out a contribution to the ceremony.

To cleanse the space of negative vibes, Stassi lit a sage smudge stick and placed it in the center of our circle. She also brought rose quartz crystals, which are said to open your heart chakra and allow more love to enter your life. Katie brought a framed painting of a Día de los Muertos husband and wife with the inscription “Until death separates us” in Spanish, which she placed in the center of our circle, alongside the penis candles. She and her husband had received it as a wedding gift the previous year, and she hoped it would bring my marriage good luck.

PHOTO: Courtesy of Nicole Dellert

Brittany brought handmade cards with images of Dolly Parton, Erykah Badu, vaginas, wombs, and entwined lovers printed on the front; she scattered them face-up on the table and told us to channel these images into our ceremony. Finally, Scheana brought the holy sacrament of tequila for ceremonial shots. The vibes were officially set.

Instinctually, we all held hands to form a circle and took a breath, and Stassi suggested we each share a happy wish for my new marital sex life. As each friend took their turn, I felt like Sleeping Beauty when the fairies gave her wishes of beauty and song, except my fairies were my closest girlfriends giving me blessings of a strong libido and sexual adventure. Close enough.

I felt like Sleeping Beauty, except my fairies were my closest girlfriends giving me blessings of a strong libido.

When the last wish had been shared, we were all still holding hands, and it felt electric. Maybe it was the tequila or all the snacks we had eaten, but I felt powerful. We sat in a solemn circle, smiling in silence, and as the shadows of the dick candles lit the face of each one of my friends, I was filled with gratitude for all of them. Not only were they humoring my request to hold a ridiculous and totally made-up dick-cleansing ceremony, they came willing to play, and that moved me.

Then, at the perfect moment, Lisa leaned over and blew out the dick candles. The ceremony was officially over. We sat looking at each other until I broke the spell by announcing, “I just felt my hymen grow back.”

It hadn’t, nor did I want it to, but I did feel refreshed, grateful, and eager to embrace my next phase of life. For me, a bachelorette filled with penis straws and strippers wasn’t going to provide that. My DIY ceremony did. Bachelorette parties can be beautiful occasions that recharge brides for the pre-wedding sprint and center them in what’s important. Mine reminded me that love and gratitude is the center and driver of life transitions, not seating charts or invitation card stock. Whatever way you do it, taking a breath to enjoy the lessons you have learned and the unconditional love of your friends is a proper send-off to married life — whether or not that breath also blows out a dick candle.

For anonymity, all names have been replaced with the names of the cast of Vanderpump Rules.

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