Re-Feminist History (aka Bitchstory)

Something wickedly wonderful has risen from the retrograde — BitchScopes is officially back. Our cosmic comeback is bigger, bitchier, and more goddess-driven than ever. Think astrology rewritten through feminine eyes — part oracle, part rebellion, all empowerment. Each week we’re mapping the skies with asteroids, archetypes, and attitude. If you haven’t yet, come find us at Patreon.com/BitchScopes — because the stars have stories, and we’re finally telling them our way. And speaking of stories… let’s talk Gothic women. Because this week on Bitchstory , we descended into the candlelit catacombs of literary history with Violet Paget — better known by her pen name, Vernon Lee — a queer, cerebral, and hauntingly brilliant writer who turned the Gothic into something richer, stranger, and more psychologically alive. The Women Who Haunted the Gothic Before vampires sparkled or haunted houses had hashtags, women were already writing the dark stuff — and doing it better. The Gothic was the...

We all know The Mary Tyler Moore Show changed television — a single, career-driven woman tossing her hat in the air and into history. But what most people forget is that Mary Richards wasn’t just a character — she was a collective creation by the women who wrote her, shaped her, and made her laugh like she owned the soundstage. This week, we’re tossing our hats (and a little shade) to the women behind the curtain — the ones who wrote her in. When The Mary Tyler Moore Show premiered in 1970, TV writing rooms were basically cigar lounges with typewriters. Women were rare — decorative, if present at all. But by 1973, MTM Productions had changed that math: twenty-five of the show’s seventy-five writers were women. One of them was Treva Silverman , who helped define Mary’s blend of sincerity and bite. Treva once said she didn’t want to write about “women looking for a man,” she wanted to write about “women living their lives.” That might sound ordinary now, but in 1970, it was radical. She ...

  Before “cancel culture” was a buzzword, before Twitter could turn a joke into a career-ending headline, a fictional news anchor named Murphy Brown found herself at the center of a very real national debate about women, morality, and the right to speak her truth. It was 1992. The Murphy Brown writers had given their hard-drinking, sharp-tongued journalist heroine (played by Candice Bergen) a baby — on her own. No husband, no ring, no apologies. America mostly loved it. Vice President Dan Quayle, however, did not. He took to a campaign podium and scolded the show for “mocking the importance of fathers” and contributing to the “breakdown of family values.” Translation: a woman on television had made a choice outside patriarchy’s comfort zone, and men in power had feelings about it   Murphy Brown wasn’t some edgy underground  show — it aired on CBS, for heaven’s sake. But creator Diane English had built it as a Trojan horse: a mainstream sitcom that snuck feminist and...

  Roseanne Barr has always been a contradiction in denim. She was once the voice of the working-class woman — loud, brilliant, pissed off, funny as hell — and she became the cautionary tale for what happens when that same voice refuses to shut up. Her story is messy, uncomfortable, and important. Because if we’re going to talk about women, TV, and free speech, we can’t only talk about the ones who make it easy to clap. The Domestic Goddess Revolution When Roseanne hit the air in 1988, it was like someone opened a window in a stale sitcom kitchen. The Conners weren’t aspirational — they were real. Bills piled up. Kids were smartasses. Marriage was equal parts love and negotiation. Roseanne’s character wasn’t there to prop up a man’s ego or giggle from the sidelines — she was the engine of the story. Barr herself fought for that. She wasn’t just the star; she was the creative force who made sure the show didn’t turn into another “nagging wife, lovable husband” rerun. She hired wo...

    Listen to the podcast episode for this article now!  SHUT UP & SMILE: THE PRICE OF WOMEN’S FREE SPEECH ON TV Television has always been more than entertainment. It’s a cultural battleground where voices get amplified — or silenced. For women, especially those who dared to stand for feminism, civil rights, or political truth, the cost of speaking out has often been steep. Hazel Scott: Jazz, Justice, and the Blacklist   In 1950, Hazel Scott became the first Black woman to host her own national TV show. She dazzled with her music but terrified sponsors with her courage. Hazel refused to perform for segregated audiences and testified against racial injustice before HUAC. Within a week of her name appearing in Red Channels, her show was gone. Not because of ratings — but because truth was “bad for business.” Dorothy Thompson: Too Opinionated for TV One of the first American journalists to warn about Hitler’s rise, Dorothy Thompson had authority and char...