Please excuse the group message. Also, #NotAllMen! Just those of you who’ve tried to weasel your way into a sexual conversation.

First of all, don’t send me a private message to apologize. Really. If you wonder whether I’m talking about you, don’t write me all worried and then apologize for something you might have done. I’ll make it clear who you are. As for an apology, that’s yet another way to demand my time, and I’m done making men feel better about their mistakes.

Two nights ago when I thought about writing this, I was a lot angrier than I…


For those of you who have been exposed as part of #MeToo, there seems to be some confusion about when, precisely, you’re allowed to come back into the world and pick up where you left off. It’s not just your male allies asking. I’ve had a couple of women friends say, “Now what? Are they just supposed to disappear forever?”

Speaking for myself, I wouldn’t care if you did; I don’t think the world has been worse off without you in the public eye. But that’s not practical, yada-yada, plus it makes me sound like a crazy extremist.

So. You…


The other night I was on a Tinder date at a bar in Los Angeles. I liked the guy — and he, I think, liked me — but there was something I wanted to tell him if there was going to be a second date. He needed to know that I was one of the women who accused Dustin Hoffman of sexual harassment.

I hate this part of dating. My role in the #MeToo movement is something I want potential boyfriends to know about me, but without my having to tell them. It’s easy enough information to uncover: All you…


Photograph by Amanda Friedman

Last December, when NBC’s Cynthia McFadden interviewed me and two other women about our experiences accusing actor Dustin Hoffman of sexual misconduct, she asked, “How has it felt? The three of you have been vilified.” I said, “Really? My corner of the internet has been largely supportive.”

From the moment my story accusing Hoffman of sexually harassing me when I was a 17-year-old production intern on Death of a Salesman was published last November in The Hollywood Reporter [THR], the support had been overwhelming, due in no small part to my online community of Smith women. …


A friend called me recently, anxious. Like many men, he was scared he might get caught in the net of sexual harassment accusations. “Anyone with a grudge could make up a story about me and get me fired,” he said. “Is that OK with you, if innocent men lose their jobs and careers?”

I took a breath, hoping to offer a measured response. Instead, I snapped: “If you had any idea how hard it is to get these stories published, you wouldn’t be worried about your career.”

Since early November, when I published a personal essay alleging that Dustin Hoffman…


This is a story I’ve told so often I’m sometimes surprised when someone I know hasn’t heard it. It begins, “Dustin Hoffman sexually harassed me when I was 17.” Then I give the details: When I was a senior in high school in New York City, interning as a production assistant on the set of the Death of a Salesman TV film, he asked me to give him a foot massage my first day on set; I did. He was openly flirtatious, he grabbed my ass, he talked about sex to me and in front of me. One morning I…


He scared me, but only emotionally

Photo: Gareth Wonfor (TempusVolat)/Flickr

Toward the end of my sophomore year of college, a married man twice my age asked me to lie down with him. I didn’t want to — he made me nervous. But I also felt excited, which is why I’d gone to his apartment in the first place.

It was late May, and the day was sluggish and hot. His wife was up in the country, as she usually was. He was on the bed and I sat on the one chair in his Upper West Side studio, drinking a can of Coke and swinging my foot.

For months, we’d…


On sex, solitude, and female friendship

Photo: E. Dean / Stringer / Getty Images

Nineteen years ago I spent an evening with a person who had been madly in love with me — his words — when I was 23. We’ll call him V. When we met for dinner, it had been seven years since we’d last seen each other, and it felt as though a lifetime had passed. He was newly married. I had recently moved back to New York after several years in New Orleans. When I was in my early twenties, all I had done was push him away, but now I was devastated.

The next day I wrote him a…


The original title of this was Let’s Celebrate Abortion. Which I know I’m not supposed to say. So let me amend: Let’s celebrate the easy ones.

These kinds of abortions don’t get talked about, much less celebrated. Because apparently the first rule of pro-choice PR (and I get this, I really do) is that we need to “respect the other side” and talk about abortion as a sad, painful, and complicated decision.

Well, sorry, sisters in the trenches and I don’t want to set the cause back 50 years, but fuck that. Our stories may not get told, but there…


1) Got a tattoo

Don’t worry, it wasn’t a rash decision. I’d wanted a cherry blossom for years and researched LA artists known for their delicate line work.

When I made the appointment six weeks earlier, my husband and I had been separated for a couple of months, but we were still talking about “living independently” and having “adventures.” In an email I sent to about 20 friends and family, I made it sound like the decision was mutual and said, “No one’s talking about divorce.” On some level I must have known we were headed there. …

Anna Graham Hunter

Brooklyn native, LA convert https://twitter.com/annaghunter

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