The last two days were chilly, windy; the days before were those things and rainy, too. But Tuesday? Tuesday, improbably, the temperature got up to 80 degrees, and the sun shone down like a memory.

Carpe diem, they say — and carpe we did, with both hands. Only a few of us made it out to Central Park at lunchtime, but those who could did, and enjoyed cupcakes from Magnolia,

advance copies of Gregory Mcdonald’s SNATCH, the glorious colors of the changing foliage, and a live saxophone soundtrack courtesy of one of Central Park’s itinerant troubadours. (We’d call him a wand’ring minstrel, but he was playing Rodgers and Hart, not Gilbert and Sullivan.)

What more could we ask for? Well, a few months of this weather rather than a few hours. But that would be greedy. We’ll take what we can get. And when the spring comes, we’ll be glad to get more.

In the meantime, don’t think the cold weather means our merry band will stop meeting! We’ll just shift to indoor venues and more creative outlets for our topfree impulses. As always, if you’re a body-positive woman in the NYC area and would enjoy hanging with like-minded souls, please contact us, since we’d love to meet you. Write to us at toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com. There may just be a spa day in your future…

When we’re not performing Shakespeare naked ourselves, we enjoy watching other groups tackle the works of the bard — naked or clothed, we’re open-minded.

We especially enjoy a creative, original take on the material. Which made the invitation we received from the Drunk Shakespeare Society irresistible.

This merry band meets eight times a week in a tiny theater lined with 15,000 books (catnip for book-lovers like us) to perform their own version of one of Shakespeare’s masterpieces…enlivened by the addition of a) improv comedy, and b) one of the actors downing four shots before the performance begins.

We arrived early to get good seats, doffed our tops after our presence was announced to the audience (one of us may have gotten started early…)

and watched a fine performance of what those in the theater community like to call The Scottish Play — only this time with extra Scotch.

The male lead was the only one of the actors to join us in going topless, although his mortal enemy, Macduff, did get down to a sports bra. But all the actors did a smashing job (whether smashed or not) of bringing the play to life. The vile concoction the three witches brewed was an alcoholic one, of course, and a waggling sex toy made a brief appearance — but brief appearances were also made by serious performances, startling the audience with moments of emotional depth among all the hilarity. (Okay, not too many. But there were some!)

After the show we took some photos with the cast,

and with the lucky couple chosen as the king and queen for the evening.

Then took ourselves off to Shake Shack for some post-theater French fries and shroom burgers. Not topless there, alas — one step at a time.

Today, Shakespeare; tomorrow, the world.

About a year ago, we invited some artists to take photos from our blog for inspiration, and the results were a lot of fun. So with colder times upon us again and fewer opportunities to exercise our rights outdoors in the real world, we thought we’d turn some illustrators loose again, ranging from the pencil-wielding variety to the ultra-modern digital sort. Once again the results brought big smiles to our faces, and we’re happy to share some of our favorites here.

Does this mean there will be no more live events until it warms up again? Perish the thought. We have our annual holiday spa visit coming up, where two dozen of us will get to hang out in saunas and steam rooms and get massages and generally enjoy being naked without being cold. And we’ve got a naked dinner planned (we’re talking with some really great restaurants!) and some other cool stuff too — if you’re a body-positive woman in the New York area and curious about spending some naked time with us over the winter, please drop us a note: toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com.

But in the meantime? Enjoy our representations at the hands of these talented artists and remember that warmer times are coming.

And so, we take our bows.

What a year 2016 was, and not only in bad ways. Oh, there were plenty of bad ways, and 2017 promises to be worse, much worse. And 2018, 2019 and 2020. A lot of us are holding our breaths and preparing for the worst. But 2016 also had some beautiful moments, some triumphant moments, and we’re proud to have been part of them.

The first-ever all-female, all-nude Shakespeare-in-the-park performances, in not one but two parks: Central Park in Manhattan and Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Our topless bicycle tour, which took us across the Williamsburg Bridge to Wall Street, Chinatown and the Statue of Liberty. Standing up to the police on the Fourth of July. Our topless snowball fight, after the biggest blizzard to hit NYC in 100 years. And, in the summer, our liberating the beaches of Coney Island.

It was one hell of a year. And let’s not forget the more ordinary adventures: just going out to the park or up to the roof on a sunny day and doing without shame or hesitation what men do without shame or hesitation every day, simply taking off our shirts and enjoying the sun and the breeze on our skin.

We hope you’ll enjoy this (roughly chronological) remembrance of the past 12 months. And if you’re a body-positive woman in NYC, we hope you’ll join us in 2017. Just email us at toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com and tell us a little about yourself. In times like this, we all need friends to read in the sun with.

There are no bigger fans of the Yuletide season than we — individually. Bright sparkly decorations on normally drab buildings, music everywhere, candy-striped leggings and floppy velvet hats…what’s not to love?

But as a group — as a group we require warmer temperatures to do what we do, namely go out without layers on (without even one layer on, specifically). Which leaves us hunting for warmer climes. And in New York City that means a spa.

It means soaking in a hundred-degree tub with whole lemons floating in the water.

It means breathing deep of the herb-infused steam in a glass-walled steam room, and enjoying the radiant heat beneath the mats of a wood-paneled relaxation room.

It means holing up in an igloo made of jade and stone and letting it bake us like a stromboli.

It means spending an evening blissfully naked with two dozen friends, enjoying warmth of another sort, remembering that even in 2016 there is kindness and love and people to share them with.

And because a few of us couldn’t make it to that spa evening, it means a trip to a second spa a few days later, for a more intimate do-over.

We’re very relaxed now.

Hoping you’re the same.

We rarely stump for individual books, but there’s a speculative fiction anthology in the works called PROBLEM DAUGHTERS that we’re very excited about, not only because it promises to collect fiction and poetry from female authors writing on the theme of intersectional feminism, and not just because the title is so great, but because one of the book’s editors, Nicolette Barischoff, is a member of our group!

You’ve seen Nicci at any number of our events; even though she lives in California, she makes her way to NYC as often as she can. And this latest project of hers promises to bring her east several more times this year. So: yay. Plus we’ll all have good reading material to dive into as soon as advance copies get printed.

But before any of that can happen, the project (which is up on IndieGoGo) could use a bit more funding — not a ton, but some, and if you’re inclined to help out, we know Nicci would be thrilled. You can find more info at https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/problem-daughters-fantasy-feminism#/. Check it out soon — the campaign ends Valentine’s Day.

Two weeks ago, it snowed in New York City. A beautiful blanket of white. Then, this past week, it rained torrentially — a beautiful blanket of wet. Neither, alas, the ideal climate for outdoor topless book-reading (or outdoor topless much of anything else). What does our noble band do on days like these?

We meet indoors. And what do we do indoors? Well, a bunch of different sorts of things, but one of our favorites is to work on our strength and serenity, since both of those are a) in short supply and b) much needed in the world today. So on the eve of the big protest marches in D.C. and New York (and every other place on the face of the planet), a dozen of us went to learn yoga and Pilates from Willow, the instructor/owner of New York’s Naked in Motion.

And what a wonderful evening it was! Talk about an inspiring leader — Willow was the model of a welcoming, knowledgable, warm and thoughtful instructor,

helping us through stretches and poses and exercises

that many of thought we wouldn’t be able to pull off. Were we sore after? Sure — but only in the best way. (And she brought strawberries and Oreos to soothe the hurt.)

This wasn’t a special naked session just for us, by the way — as the name suggests, Naked in Motion is all about the naked. (And about the motion, of course. But that you can get at any yoga class.) There are weekly co-ed nude sessions and monthly women-and-trans-only classes for anyone more comfortable in a single-sex environment. Boundaries are respected (and politely but firmly enforced), to ensure a positive experience for all. If you’d like to try it yourself sometime, or just for more information, you can write to Willow at info@nakedinmotion.com.

And if you’re a body-positive woman in the New York area and would like to join us for one of our events (can’t promise it’ll be yoga — but it’ll be something cool), drop us a note: toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com.

Either way: get naked. And savor both stillness and motion.

What’s that old saw, for public speakers with stage fright or actors with butterflies in the stomach — picture everyone in the audience naked? Or is it “in their underwear”? Well, either way, we got to make a cast of three wonderful actors more comfortable the night after Valentine’s Day when we showed up for the 8pm performance of Kristin Heckler’s new play, EXPOSED, at the Sonnet Theater in Times Square.

The play is the story of the so-called “Duke porn star,” Belle Knox, who turned to porn to pay her college tuition and was then called upon to defend the choice after being outed by a classmate. She became world-famous in the process, and though she never wanted to be one, she became a powerful spokesperson for feminism, for body freedom and sexual liberty, and for the simple premise that there’s nothing shameful about a woman choosing to make use of her body as she wishes. What could be a better fit for our group? And what could be a better play to attend…well, exposed?

So that’s what we did, arriving a half hour beforehand for some wine and Schmackary’s

then watching the mesmerizing performances, and then engaging the cast and the writer/director for a thorough Q&A.

Did we just show up and strip down? No — they not only knew we were coming, they invited us. Kristin has been a supporter of ours for ages and saw the possibilities even before we did. And we have to say we’ve never been made to feel more welcome. The theater was warm (thank goodness!) and the reception even warmer. The actors — Sarah Raimondi as Belle (here renamed “Ariel,” continuing the Disney theme); Pauline Sherrow as all the other female characters, from college roommate to porn co-stars; and Jacob-Sebastian Phillips as all the males, from dad to director to derogatory Duke dudebros — were all fully committed not only to their roles (as you have to be in a show that opens with the main character masturbating on a table) but also to the premise of the play, and of our group: that women are entitled to freedom and to respect, and to be sexual beings, and that possessing a vagina isn’t justification for abuse.

It is a harrowing show — some scenes are hard to get through — but also a powerful one, and ultimately a redemptive one. And there’s something wonderful about a night at the theater where the big nude scene isn’t one that happens on stage.

We may not be the perfect audience for every show, but for one that’s about asserting your independence, defending your right to liberty, and overcoming a sexual scandal? Yes, for that we’re the perfect audience.

We’re looking at you, Hamilton.

There’s something magical about how winter cedes its place to spring in New York.

Just two weeks ago, Central Park looked like this —

—–and it took a lot of bravery, of a different sort than we usually exhibit, to take your shirt off in the blasting cold.

A fortnight later, and it’s in the mid-sixties — practically balmy! — and people are taking their tops off left and right. And by people we of course mean men.

So why not us? Why not, indeed.

The surprise onset of warmer weather meant we couldn’t get a proper group together in time to carpe the diem, but one of our long-time members (Not even 18 yet the first time she contacted us! And now 22 — how time flies) decided today was a day for soaking up some Vitamin D.

TL/DR: The trees are still bare, and so are we. And all be want to say about that (setting aside any consideration of global warming) is: what a wonderful world.

P.S. Want to join us the next time it’s warm enough to get topless in the great outdoors? We always have room for one more. If you’re a body-positive woman in NYC and either know you want to try this or are trying to work up the nerve, drop us a note: toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com.

There’s no other feeling quite like it. And there’s no reason only men should get to enjoy it.

What are the French known for? Yes, existentialist philosophy and admiration of Jerry Lewis, but those aren’t the things we mean. Fine food, that’s one; fine wine; and a liberal attitude toward nudity.

We’re happy to report we got to enjoy all three this week at the venerable Les Halles restaurant down on John Street.

Just a stone’s throw from the World Trade Center but tucked away discreetly, they’ll serve you the classics — escargot, soupe a l’oignon, vin rouge, creme brulee — and if you ask to be seated in the tiny private room in the back, they might even let you enjoy it in the altogether.

Now, it’s still fitfully winter outside (it snowed again this morning), so in deference to the temperatures (and the furniture), we kept our bottoms on, along with the occasional sweater or scarf.

But our indefatigable waitress made it clear she wouldn’t have been offended if we’d stripped off the rest. And you know what? French food tastes better when you eat it with a roomful of naked friends. (What food doesn’t? Okay, fondue. But that’s about it.)

Several bottles of wine made a fine foundation for some intense conversations–

–and much kvelling over flavors.

Want to join us for a decadent, delicious, liberating naked dinner sometime? Or maybe, when it warms up properly, a topless dejeuner sur l’herbe in the park? Drop us a note at toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com. Women of every description welcome — just bring an adventurous appetite.

It was Christmastime, and one of us was wandering the Upper East Side, ticking items off a shopping list: tinsel, check; lights, yep; presents for the niece; and so on. When what to our wond’ring eyes should appear, but a miniature… Well, what was it? A miniature what? Not a sleigh with eight tiny reindeer — something far more intriguing than that. It was a store filled with miniature people. And pets, but mostly people. And they looked insanely lifelike, like the handiwork of a mad scientist with a shrink-ray in some old sci-fi movie. A shrink-ray combined with a freeze-ray, maybe. Or just a shrink-ray, if the mad scientist wielding it was also a gorgon. Or…

It was a place called Doob.

What Doob does is take photographs of you — 45 photographs, to be exact, all shot simultaneously, by 45 separate cameras in a Westworld-worthy, THX-1138-sterile chamber of soul-capturing awesomeness

— and then composite them into a single 3D model, which they send to a 3D printer, and…voila, six weeks later, you’ve gestated yourself a little miniature…you.

Yes, that’s right: a mini-you, in any pose you want, wearing whatever you want, in sizes ranging from action figure to Barbie to you-can’t-afford-it.

And when we saw this, we immediately knew we had to go there as a group and get miniature naked Doobs of ourselves.

Assuming, of course, that the company wouldn’t be too uptight to let a half-dozen naked women into their magic booth. Happily they weren’t. They were, in fact, a pleasure to deal with in every possible way. Their one request was that we do the shoot downtown in their SoHo location (SoHo dwellers presumably being more open to the sight of naked people getting miniaturized than Upper East Siders). So one frosty evening in January, we traipsed in and, with the aid of some body paint, some fishnets, and a few costume pieces that didn’t cover a whole lot, we got ourselves Doobed.

The results were pretty amazing — so much so that they deserve (and will shortly get) their own post. For now, enjoy these photos of the process. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them in the comments section, or just contact Doob yourself. (To tackle some common ones: Yes, it’s expensive. No, you don’t have to hold your pose for long — just a few seconds. Yes, you can take a second photo if you don’t like how the first one comes out. No, we don’t know why it takes 6 weeks from photography to having a finished printed Doob. Yes, you can order extras if you like how they came out — in theory, we could print thousands and give a miniature naked statue to every one of our fans. No, we don’t plan to.)

The whole thing was a trip. And now there are miniatures of us out in the wild. Just statues for now — but just imagine what’ll come next…

Last week, we told you about how we worked with an outfit called Doob to create little 3D-printed replicas of ourselves, and promised to show you some more photos of the end results. Herewith, then: the end results. Photographed outdoors and in, uptown and down, it’s us in miniature, taking over NYC.

First, we unboxed ourselves near Times Square —

Then a subway ride down to Washington Square Park put us squarely in the midst of the International Women’s Day march.

In City Hall Park, where the mayor does his work, we found a central spot where brides and grooms and tourists pose for selfies, and we thought, why not?

It turned into a teaching moment when a young boy with mom in tow walked over.

“What are those…bumps?” the curious lad asked, pointing. Never too young to hear the answer. Chests come in different shapes and sizes. The explanation satisfied everyone.

Back uptown we visited an office with a high-rise view:

And then back in the bubblewrap we went, for safe transportation home.

Some of you have asked if you could order copies of our Doobs, and in theory we could arrange that, but each one of these things cost a couple hundred dollars, and you only get a 20% discount for printing duplicates. So realistically it’s prohibitive. But if you like what you saw and do have the money, why not head over to Doob and get one made of yourself? Honestly, there’s nothing quite like holding yourself in the palm of your hand.

It was Erev Pesach (look it up), and — miracle of miracles! — the sun broke through, the temperature climbed, and suddenly it felt like spring. Hell, it felt like summer. And it felt so very, very good.

Several of us hightailed it to Washington Square Park, carrying baked goods from Orwasher’s, including prune and poppyseed hamentashen (wrong holiday, we know), sourdough bagels, raspberry brioche, and one very delicious, hand-filled raspberry jelly doughnut.

Also books, including advance copies of Donald E. Westlake’s FOREVER AND A DEATH, based on a story he came up with for a James Bond movie that never got filmed. Very cool.

Speaking of cool, there was also this guy dancing in an inflatable purple T-Rex costume.

How do you top that? We don’t know. He certainly got more strange looks than we did. And that felt so very, very good too.

Oh — and a tip of a hat to living in one of the most multicultural cities in the world:

 Chag sameach, y’all.

It’s May already — but the cool weather we’ve been having all spring is stubbornly persisting. Every so often, the sun breaks through, but it’s just for an hour or two at a time. So what do we do? Grab that hour or two when it comes, even if it means only two or three of us can make it.

This time, we met at the southeast entrance to Central Park, where an art installation is currently up: a set of old-fashioned sofas and tufted chairs, only made of stone rather than fabric.

Not incredibly comfortable to sit on, especially when the sun (briefly) is blazing hot, but we took a few pictures there before moving on to the grassy side of a hill just inside the park.

And what was our reading material this time? The manga Ghost In the Shell and a vintage 1972 issue of Playboy. (We spent quite a while puzzling over some of the cartoons. Some of them we literally couldn’t even figure out well enough to be offended by. People thought the strangest things were funny back in 1972.)

We also had a guest member in attendance: an aloe plant one of our members rescued from disposal on a downtown sidewalk. We named him Fred.

And then the clouds came back and we departed. But oh what a wonderful taste of summer it was while it lasted!

Rain is projected for the next ten days or so, but looking ahead, the second half of May promises to be wonderful. If you’re an adventurous (or just curious) body-positive woman in the New York area and would like to join us for one of our outings, please get in touch! You can email us at toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com, and we’ll get you out in the sun with us. We promise: if we can do it, you can too.

Twenty-five years ago this summer — in July 1992 — a New York court ruling established that women can’t be punished for going bare-chested in public places if men weren’t punished for doing the same thing.

This landmark ruling changed lives. Not just the lives of the particular women involved in that particular court case, although it certainly did that. But the lives of all the women of New York, including women who weren’t even born yet. Maybe especially ones who weren’t born yet.

Some of our members are in college today. Some are still in high school. And they’ve never known a time when, as women, they had to hide their bodies while their brothers and male cousins were free to walk unashamed in the sun. They’ve known from birth that it is their right — their equal right — to inhabit the body they were born into and to display it or cover it as they choose.

Of course, not every woman does know this, even in New York; and not every woman who knows it has been brave enough to try it, even if she would dearly like to (especially on a day when the temperature inches up into the 90s and boob sweat is a thing). And some of those brave enough to try it have had to deal with stares and catcalls and unwelcome approaches from men if they’ve tried it by themselves rather than in a group of like-minded friends.

This is why we exist: to provide ourselves and other women an opportunity to exercise our rights, free from interference, safe, relaxed, and happy. That’s what we did yesterday, on Central Park’s East Green, and it’s what we’ll be doing all summer long. If you’re a body-positive woman in the New York area, we hope you’ll join us. All it takes is an email to toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com, and we’ll find an event we can get you to.

Some are more private, some more public; some more active, some more relaxed. Some are fully nude, if we’re somewhere where we have the luxury of doing that. We’ll find the right one for you.

In the meantime,  enjoy this glimpse of the first really hot day of the Summer of 2017 — 25 years on from the momentous and eventful Summer of 1992. We had books (Girl on a Train! Turn on the Heat!)…

We had delicacies (strawberries! kombucha!)…

We had junk food (America Runs on Dunkin’!).

What we had mostly was a great time.

Bare your breasts. Breathe deep. Be free.

It’s your right.

Continuing our celebration of the 25th anniversary of the court decision legalizing female toplessness in New York, we visited the famous boulder in Riverside Park where Edgar Allan Poe used to sit and write, back before it looked out over the West Side Highway. Where better to get rid of our constricting tops and enjoy some reading…

…some delicious fruit…

..some yoga…

…and a push-up challenge?

The weather has turned rainy ever since, so we’re glad we got outside while the getting was good.

Our next event is planned for Friday, June 2nd — want to join us? If you’re a body-positive woman in the New York area, we’d love to meet you. Just email us at toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com. Liberation awaits.

We are America.

We are gay and we are straight. We are black and white and red all over. We are thick and thin, students and teachers, teenagers and old souls.

We are hungry and we are full.

We are in love and we are solitaires.

We are readers of books. Of Maya Angelou and Walter Mosley and Chester Himes. Of Donald Westlake, Erle Stanley Gardner, and Max Allan Collins. We are lovers of the written word, the spoken word, the freedom to speak and to write and to read any words we choose.

We are lovers of the human body, of our bodies, of the freedom to inhabit our bodies without shame or prejudice.

We are proud.

We are world travelers, we are New Yorkers.

We are rain and sun.

We are are ink on the unwritten page.

We are tomorrow.

Andy Golub, the visionary artist behind New York Bodypainting Day, has formed a new non-profit arts organization called Human Connection Arts, to spread the word that art and nudity can both be tools for human connection — and that the human body, in all its infinite variety, is deserving of respect and love.

The group’s first project, called “Body Notes,” took place last Friday in the middle of Times Square, with literally tens of thousands of workers and tourists, businesspeople and students, the young and the old, all present to witness and enjoy what we were doing. Who were “we”? About 200 models, women and men, including a number of members of our book club. And what were we doing? Getting completely naked and painting each other from head to toe, first with base coats of orange, blue and yellow, and then with heartfelt messages chosen by each model to express a point of view important to her or him.

It was a revelatory experience and a liberating one — to stand naked at the Crossroads of the World, with a sea of humanity around us, with police there to protect us, not to hassle us, and with the vast majority of the people in the crowd just honestly curious, and many of them enthusiastic.

So many people posed for photos with us! Or blushed at first and then asked how they could get involved. Or just nodded and took it all in. It was a profound moment of acceptance and tolerance and open-mindedness.

Every body type was represented, every age, every race, every gender.

And we all treated each other — and ourselves — with the kindness and respect we deserved.

Now, if you’d like to see how the event ended, you can Google “Body Notes” and see countless photos that ran in the media all over the world, of a mass of hundreds of painted models swarming the bleachers at the north end of Times Square and posing as a group for photos memorializing the event. Instead of repeating those, we thought we’d share some photos of how the event began, when we were all just works in progress, getting those first coats of paint on. The humanity of it inspired us — we hope it will inspire you too.

If you are inspired, take a look at Human Connection Arts and their upcoming events. Or, of course, drop us a note at toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com and join us at one of our get-togethers. There are many, many opportunities to exercise your freedom and be part of something wonderful. Don’t let them pass you by.

A couple months back, we reported on our first encounter with a place called Doob, where you enter a futuristic white chamber, some mechanisms pop and whirr, and out comes a miniature, 3D-printed replica of you, a little like the last kid in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. (Unlike the Dahl story, though, the original you remains intact and unharmed. Whew!)

Well. We couldn’t Doob half a dozen of our members without several others clamoring to be Doobed too. So we returned to their downtown studio for a second round.

Three more poses to select, three more turns through the machinery, and then three more 6-week stretches for the printing to be done (it’s not instant, like the phrase “and out comes” might suggest), and presto, three more of us have mini-me’s to cuddle and show off.

Is it worth the money? Yeah, it kind of totally is, even though these things are expensive (like hundreds of dollars each, though the kind folks at Doob cut us a deal in recognition of the number of them we ordered). Just imagine having a little naked you on your bookshelf to astonish your friends and embarrass your parents!

Or you might find other uses for your Doob. Only limited by your imagination, as they say.

More outdoor fun to report on soon. (Much, much more!) But in the meantime, we and our little friends will be getting to know each other better in the comfort of our own homes.

Twenty-five years ago, a New York court ruled that women have the same right as men do to go bare-chested in public places; ever since then, it has been legal for a woman to take her top off in any city park. Ten days ago, we continued our ongoing celebration of this milestone in equal rights, body freedom, and just plain common sense with a trip down to Nelson Rockefeller Park, barely a hop, skip and a swim away from the Statue of Liberty. A giant statue of a woman enshrining the principle of liberty! What could be more appropriate?

You’d think so. But apparently someone found the sight of our bare chests distressing — think of the children! — and called the police. And rather than just telling the complainer that there was nothing they could do since what we were doing was perfectly legal, the police came out to the park to talk to us. And not just one police officer, or two, or three, or four. Or five. Or six! Or, god help us, seven.

No, it took eight police officers, in full regalia, to investigate the menace posed by our uncovered nipples.

Eight! That’s enough cops to put down a riot, or to patrol eight neighborhoods that could benefit from an actual reduction in, you know. actual crime. But instead of doing what might colloquially be referred to as “their jobs,” these unmerry souls, bearing facial expressions better suited to a funeral than to a lovely summer’s day, came trundling over like the world’s grouchiest welcoming party.

We’ve gotten complaints, this is a public place, there are children around, we’re going to ask you courteously–

We appreciate the courtesy, we told them, but the answer is no. This a public place, as you say, and we have every right to do what we’re doing. And a right you can be pressured into not exercising is no right at all.

We also handed the officers a printout of the internal police memo from a few years back reminding all NYPD personnel that female toplessness is not a crime and that they are not to arrest any woman merely for baring her chest.

The result? Grudgingly, they acknowledged that we were right — and reluctantly, slowly they headed off.

It was a victory, no question about it. But why is it even necessary to have the battle?

From time to time people ask us, sometimes in an irritated tone, why we bother demonstrating for something we already have the legal right to do. What’s the point? You’ve already won! And that’s true. But at the same time, it’s not. It’s not nearly true enough, not yet. What it’ll take to make it true enough is more days out in the park like this one, a lot more, until finally no one casts a second glance in our direction.

The best victory is the one you don’t have to keep winning.