On this, the first day of Pinkfuckingtober, I propose an alternative.
Let’s call November the month of Pinkover!
For one thing, we can collectively exhale from the drone of commercials, walk-a-thons, ribbons, and all of the other mishegoss to which we’re subjected for the month. Plus, here in the United States it’s also the month in which Thanksgiving falls. So while we’re enjoying this month without being drowned in pink, we can eat to our heart’s content on the last Thursday of this glorious month and give thanks that Pinktober is behind us.
Pinkover can be a month where breast cancer is not sexualized, corporatized, or in other ways pinkwashed. This might be a month where we can show real pictures of real breasts with real disease so women know what the hell they’re looking for when they do a breast self exam. Which is better? 1) Awareness that breast cancer is pink, or 2) Awareness on what to really look for that might save your life?
This new month of commemoration, Pinkover, can be a month where ribbons are banned. It can be the month where the ribbons for awareness/survivors and metastatic breast cancer get tossed in the shredder where they belong. Instead of a bra burning, we can have a ribbon burning to liberate ourselves from the constant din of ribbonfuckingpalooza.
During Pinkover we will take back pink; it will once again become just a color. One that promotes calm, is the color of bubble gum, and, when worn, will take ten years off of you. And to fill the void created by the end of a bazillion walk-a-thons, bake sales, and car washes, women with breast cancer can meet for something much more important: a drink. Because when you’re stuck with this diagnosis you need a drink a hell of a lot more than you need a fucking ribbon.