Here’s how I experienced Shrill’s WAHAM episode firsthand
This season of Shrill explored commodified feminism in its WAHAM episode, spoofing a Goop festival. Back in October 2019, I experienced it firsthand.
The sixth episode of the newest season of Shrill finds Annie (Aidy Bryant) excitedly seizing upon a new story after returning to The Weekly Thorn. At first, Annie seems genuinely excited by the potential of an empowering day at the WAHAM (Women Are Having a Moment) Festival.
But when she enters the conference with head-to-toe pink banners and sponsorship logos everywhere, unease settles in.
She’s late for her interview with the WAHAM “She-EO” (played pitch-perfect by Bryant’s SNL co-star Vanessa Bayer) but still manages to sneak in a question about the price point of the conference and how that jives with the mission of “inclusion” despite being a bit starstruck.
It’s one of many moments in the episode that perfectly skewers the commodification of feminism, without feeling too preachy or on the nose. The episode was apparently inspired by co-creator Lindy West’s actual reporting on her day at a Goop festival.
Watching the episode, I was struck by the eerie similarity to an event that I had recently experienced myself. In October 2019, one of my best friends invited me to attend a Together Live event to see Glennon Doyle speak.
With the goal of sharing “women’s real stories of personal transformation,” Together Live is different from WAHAM in that it isn’t a full-blown festival, but rather a speaking engagement tour.
To be 100-percent honest, I didn’t know who Glennon Doyle was beforehand, but there were other speakers I was interested in, and I wanted to spend time with my friend, so I said yes and we road-tripped on a Friday night from our small college town in Oklahoma over the border to Arkansas.
On the way in, I noticed the well-placed sponsorship booths with products from popular hygiene brands. There were bars that served wine in sippy cups, as well as a private VIP lounge with more bars and shorter lines, but it was unclear what one had to do to get behind the velvet ropes.
Parking was crazy — it turns out that the women of Northwest Arkansas turned out for this event — so we made it just in time to find our seats and catch our breath before the mania started. We made a game of trying to count how many men were there (it was less than five).
The stage was decorated, much like on Shrill, with couches, armchairs, and a big rug, rather than folding chairs or stools one might see at a similar speaking event. This was further amplified when, once the event started, and everyone was introduced. Queen Glennon herself, shoeless and cross-legged, said to think of it as her living room.
The night itself was fairly formulaic as each woman spoke for about 10 minutes with group discussion in between. Doyle’s wife, Abby Wambach, kicked things off with an overview of her story as told in her book Wolfpack. (Hearing her speak was a highlight.)
I am privileged enough to have heard many people and many incredible women speak throughout my life. Aside from a few standouts, the speakers mostly felt just fine. Nothing to write home about.
With such a vague mission statement and goal, the event overall seeking to make people “empowered” and basically leave feeling good, it all ended up — for lack of a better term — basic.
Much like Shrill‘s WAHAM, when someone is selling empowerment to you, rather than it being something you are actually finding within yourself, it is very easy for it to come off as hollow, especially when a bunch of white women are essentially yelling at you, “Aren’t you so empowered?”
The event ended exactly like it did on Shrill. The final speaker was, of course, Queen Glennon who pulled her chair up to the front of the stage, everyone else exiting, and leaned forward on her knees the whole time as if it was just a chat between girls.
As soon as she finished, some song by P!nk played, and she hopped up, the rest of the women returning to the stage, as the lights flashed and she yelled for everyone to get up and dance.
My friend and I looked at each other and she clearly hesitated. Doyle again commanded that everyone get up and dance — it didn’t matter if we felt silly.
Much like in the episode when Annie felt embarrassed and totally didn’t get what was happening, my friend and I had the same experience. She wasn’t going to dance, but I forced her into it. She had dragged me here, after all.
We got up and clapped very half-heartedly as two-time Olympic gold medalist Abby Wambach kicked child-sized soccer balls into the crowd and women screamed. It was surreal, to say the least.
The whole thing was basically a tent revival for liberal, white women. There were no Earth-shattering or groundbreaking ideas about feminism to be had.
There were, however, some icky feelings about a certain prominent Arkansas-based global company having their name slapped all over a “feminist” event when a few months later, the latest in a long line of news stories would prove the opposite.
Ultimately, though, I felt much like Annie did, I think, which is that if a few people who only had this as their gateway into feminism and female empowerment found the event to be worthwhile, if it allowed them to meaningfully connect and engage with other women when they otherwise couldn’t, then maybe WAHAM, Goop, and Together Live are just fine.
Next. Shrill’s second season doubles down on the excellence. dark