Winona Dimeo-Ediger

As we prepare to take to the streets to protest the inauguration of a racist, sexist, xenophobic demagogue, we need to LOOK GOOD doing it.

How does that old cliché go? “Love is not a noun, it’s a verb”? Loving your body is a verb. It’s an action — and in many ways it’s a sacred and defiant one.

If you give a White girl a pumpkin spice latte, she’s going to ask for a gluten-free vegan apple spice muffin.

In 1897, a little girl named Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of the Sun, asking if there was a Santa Claus.

While buttoning my pants today I found to my dismay / that my skinny jeans get skinnier with every passing day. / For the past few months, in fact, I’ve watched with shock and wonder / as my stomach’s gotten softer and my thighs accrued more thunder.

Dear Winona, I’m addicted to black. Exhibit A: my closet. Am I fashionably lazy? Or is it because it just goes with everything—mainly me?

You don’t have to compromise on music or air conditioning temperature or snack break times. It’s just you, your car, and the open road. Ah, freedom!

When I felt a familiar wave of insecurity creeping up and threatening to mute my movements, I looked to you for inspiration, and I danced even bigger.

Our resident aesthetic ace offers fashion advice to our writer Joni who's in a quandary about her distressed jeans and yoga pants.

Please feel free to join me in sending these GOP leaders a stack of postcard versions of their hypocritical Tweets. Join the resistance, #RavsResistance.