“She thinks she’s so special. Someone should put her on trial for real.”
“She’s a bad mom for working.” “She’s lazy for staying home.” “Her dress is a distraction.” “Her suit is hostile.” “She smiled wrong at the Oscar nominee.” “She didn’t smile at the barista.”
As the lights dim, the stage transforms into a livestream chat. A new comment appears, posted 0.3 seconds ago. It is the first evidence for Trial 128. The Trials Of Ms Americana.127
In other words, the sentence is life.
One hundred and twenty-seven iterations. One hundred and twenty-seven distinct charges. And the verdict, each time, is the same: Not guilty of what they say. Guilty of what they don’t say. Hung jury on her own existence. The series, conceived by the elusive artist-jurist collective known only as The Venire (a Latin term for a jury pool), began in 1999. The first “Ms. Americana” was a pregnant Staten Island waitress named Desiree Falco. She was tried for “excessive hope.” The prosecutor: a disembodied voice modulated to sound like every male news anchor from 1987. The defense: a single, looping voicemail from her mother saying, “You could have been a lawyer.” “She thinks she’s so special
The sentence: Ms. Americana.127 must continue to exist. She must wake up tomorrow. She must shave or not shave. She must work or not work. She must have children or not have children. She must apologize or not apologize. She must grow older. She must be seen.
– She wears a sash. It is always, perpetually, just a little bit crooked. The crown, often borrowed and never quite the right size, sits heavy. Her smile is a legal document—meticulously drafted, signed in blood, and subject to immediate appeal. It is the first evidence for Trial 128
Outside the theater, the real world is waiting. A senator is calling a colleague “emotional.” A CEO is explaining that she’s “not a diversity hire.” A mother is apologizing for her toddler’s tantrum. A teenager is deleting a selfie because three people didn’t like it.
Tonight’s co-conspirator is a 29-year-old graduate student named Priya. She is asked to read a series of statements she posted anonymously on a now-deleted forum for “high-achieving mothers.”
“Ms. Americana is not on trial for what she did. She is on trial for what you fear she might do next: stop caring. Stop performing. Stop smiling. Stop being a Rorschach test for your own anxieties about gender, power, and the terrifying fact that half the human race has been running a marathon on a broken track, and you’ve been calling it ‘dramatic.’”