What Did You Call Me? On Labels.

A while back, I wrote a piece called "Reasons Women Aren't Funny." The day after it came out, I was sitting in a coffee shop with a writing friend, and because I'm a compulsive spaz and/or JUST LIKE EVERY WRITER EVER, tracking its progress.

"You should write something else about feminism," she said. "I could maybe help you get it into Slate."

Slate was fantastic, of course. I'd burn as many bras as Slate wanted me to burn if it meant they'd take my stuff. But still, what my friend was saying didn't make much sense to me.

"Yeah, but I'm no expert on feminism. I don't even think of myself that way."

"Seriously, Jilly? Your name is basically synonymous with feminism right now."

Really? Because of one humor piece?