Author: Eryn 🐰

I’m not sure if you’re on my side of TikTok, but apparently phrases like “Hot Girls Read” and “Hot Girl Walk” are trademarked now.

And honestly? What the actual hell.

Maybe I’m just being grumpy, but it feels ridiculous to me that common internet phrases are being locked down and treated like proprietary intellectual property.

The thing that gets me is that neither of these creators invented the concept of being a “hot girl.” In modern pop culture, that phrase is practically synonymous with Meg Thee Stallion. She built an entire movement around being a Hot Girl. She’s arguably the Hot Girl. Yet you don’t see her firing off cease-and-desist letters every time someone captions a selfie “hot girl summer” or uses the phrase in a TikTok.

Because that’s what culture does. People take phrases, remix them, adapt them, and make them part of everyday language.

What’s especially strange is that most people didn’t even know these phrases were trademarked in the first place.

The average podcaster, blogger, book club organizer, or Spotify playlist creator isn’t sitting there running trademark searches before they name something. They’re using phrases that have become part of the internet’s shared vocabulary. Then suddenly they’re finding out these words are protected because they’re being asked to take something down.

And that’s where things start to feel weird.

Particularly with Hot Girl Walk, which seems to be at the center of a lot of the legal enforcement conversations. Maybe there’s a legal justification for it. I’m not a trademark lawyer. But as a regular person looking in from the outside, it’s hard not to wonder why a Spotify playlist needs to disappear. Why does a podcast need to be renamed or removed?

I thought we were all supposed to be in the women-supporting-women era.

Instead, it sometimes feels like women building communities around books, wellness, fitness, and self-improvement are being treated as legal problems because they happened to use a phrase that’s become incredibly common online.

And maybe that’s what bothers me most.

A strong brand isn’t just a phrase. It’s the person behind it. It’s the community, the content, the personality, and the trust you’ve built with your audience. If your entire brand can be threatened because someone else used three words that have become part of the cultural vocabulary, then maybe the phrase wasn’t the brand in the first place.

People trademarking popular sentences will never stop being weird to me.

Maybe that’s why I was relieved when courts rejected attempts to lock down phrases like “Rise and Shine” after a viral Kylie Jenner moment. Especially because that clip didn’t go viral because people were inspired by it—it went viral because the internet collectively thought it was funny.

The same goes for Donald Trump’s attempt to trademark “You’re Fired.” That’s a phrase people had been saying long before reality television existed. Some expressions are so embedded in everyday speech that trying to claim ownership over them just feels absurd.

I understand trademarks exist for a reason. Nobody wants someone else impersonating their business or confusing customers. Protecting a unique company name makes sense. Protecting a logo makes sense. Protecting a product line makes sense.

But trying to claim ownership over phrases that have already entered the public conversation feels different.

The cynical part of me wonders if the endgame isn’t actually building a lasting brand at all. Sometimes it feels like the real business model is creating a trademark and then aggressively enforcing it against anyone who accidentally wanders into the same territory.

Maybe I’m missing something.

Or maybe we’ve reached the point where every catchy phrase on social media gets trademarked until we’re all afraid to name a podcast, a playlist, a book club, or a walking group without first consulting an intellectual property attorney.

Either way, it’s weird.

Since today is Juneteenth, I’ve spent a lot of the day thinking about heritage, identity, and the stories we pass down to the next generation.

And that has led me down a bit of a rabbit hole.

How exactly do you raise a mixed kid to appreciate all of their cultures without accidentally minimizing part of who they are?

For context, I’m Black and Hispanic, and Hector is Honduran. More specifically, his family is Garifuna. If you’re not familiar with Garifuna culture, they’re a vibrant Afro-Indigenous community found throughout Central America, especially Honduras.

Which means our daughter is going to grow up with a lot of cultural influences shaping who she is.

And lately I’ve been wondering what that looks like in practice.

I’ve written before about being Black and Hispanic. I’ve celebrated Black History Month, talked about Juneteenth, shared my experiences growing up mixed, and spent a lot of time reflecting on what my identity means to me. My Black heritage has always been important to me, even when my relationship with it hasn’t always felt straightforward.

Because being mixed can be complicated.

I grew up in a predominantly Black community, but there were still moments where I felt like I didn’t fully belong. There were times when I felt too Hispanic for some spaces and not Hispanic enough for others. Too Black for some people and not Black enough for others.

Even now, there are moments where I catch myself overthinking things. I’ll find myself wondering whether I’m “allowed” to do something that is part of my own heritage. Rationally, I know the answer, but identity isn’t always rational.

So now I’m thinking about my daughter.

I want her to know about Honduras.

I want her to know about Garifuna history and traditions.

I want her to know about the Black side of her family.

I want Juneteenth to matter.

I want Black History Month to matter.

I want Hispanic Heritage Month to matter too.

I want her to know where she comes from, not just on paper but in a way that feels real and lived.

The good news is that she’ll probably grow up in a different environment than I did.

We live in a pretty diverse community. There are mixed families everywhere. There are kids who identify with multiple cultures and multiple backgrounds. Being mixed won’t be some unusual thing she’ll have to explain every time she meets someone.

But I still find myself wondering how much of this is taught and how much of it is simply experienced.

Maybe the answer isn’t trying to divide her into percentages.

Maybe it isn’t worrying about whether she’s “more” one thing than another.

Maybe it’s making sure she grows up surrounded by all of it.

The food.

The stories.

The music.

The holidays.

The family traditions.

The history.

Maybe my job isn’t to tell her which identity should feel strongest.

Maybe my job is to give her access to all of it and let her build her own relationship with each part of herself.

Because if being mixed has taught me anything, it’s that identity isn’t a math equation.

And hopefully, by the time she’s old enough to ask these questions herself, she’ll feel less pressure to fit neatly into a box than previous generations did.

At the end of the day, she won’t just be Black. She won’t just be Hispanic. She won’t just be Garifuna.

She’ll be all of those things at once.

And that’s something worth celebrating.

Update: Pregnancy brain has struck again.

After publishing this post, Hector informed me that while he thinks his mom’s side of the family is Garifuna, he is not actually 100% sure. Apparently I may have taken something he said at some point and filed it away in my brain under “established fact.”

To be fair, I would have sworn this was a conversation we’d already had. But at this stage of pregnancy, my memory is operating on a “sounds familiar, must be true” system.

The good news is we’ll be seeing his mom tomorrow, so I plan to investigate this mystery and get an actual answer from the source.

Until then, please enjoy this reminder that pregnancy brain is real, fact-checking your husband is important, and family history is apparently more complicated than I thought.

I am so tired of protein being treated like the solution to every problem.

Every doctor’s appointment lately feels like the same conversation. Eat more protein. Watch your carbs. Lose weight. Gain weight. Eat more protein. Have you tried more protein?

Being plus-size and pregnant is already confusing enough. On one hand, I’m growing an entire human being and I’m supposed to gain weight. On the other hand, I’m constantly reminded that I should lose weight because of my BMI. Somehow I’m supposed to do both at the same time.

Then there’s the protein obsession.

Before pregnancy, I was anemic. During pregnancy, my anemia got a little worse, which is pretty common. Now my iron levels are back in the normal range. That’s great news. But somehow every nutrition conversation still comes back to protein.

And yes, before anyone jumps into the comments, I do have a gestational diabetes diagnosis. I’m not pretending I don’t. I’m checking my blood sugar, following instructions, and taking it seriously. But my fasting numbers have consistently been around 92–95, and somehow every conversation still circles back to protein, protein, protein and cutting carbs even more.

At a certain point it starts to feel like protein has become the answer to every question in medicine.

Stubbed your toe? Protein.

Tired? Protein.

Pregnant? More protein.

Gestational diabetes? Even more protein.

Meanwhile, I’m over here just trying to survive another chicken breast while my daughter rejects every other meat known to mankind.

For whatever reason, this baby absolutely hates most meat. Beef? No. Pork? Absolutely not. Turkey? Don’t even think about it. The only meat she consistently tolerates is chicken, and after months of chicken, I am beyond tired of chicken.

What I don’t understand is why eggs never seem to count in these conversations. Eggs have protein. Greek yogurt has protein. Cottage cheese has protein. Beans have protein. Peanut butter has protein. There are plenty of ways to get protein that don’t involve forcing myself to eat another sad piece of chicken that makes me want to cry.

And while we’re on the subject, I’m getting a little tired of keto being brought up as the answer to gestational diabetes.

Everything I’ve read about gestational diabetes management focuses on balance. Pairing carbs with protein. Watching portions. Eating consistently throughout the day. Learning which foods spike your blood sugar and which ones don’t. The goal seems to be managing blood sugar, not pretending carbohydrates don’t exist.

Maybe there are situations where keto makes sense for some people. I’m not a doctor and I’m certainly not trying to give medical advice. I’m just saying that as a pregnant woman trying to feed herself and grow a baby, hearing “eat more protein” over and over again gets exhausting.

Especially when my numbers have been good.

Especially when my iron levels have improved.

Especially when I am already trying.

I know my doctors want what’s best for me and my daughter. I genuinely believe that. But sometimes I wish there was a little more room for nuance and a little less assumption that every nutritional problem can be solved by eating more protein.

Some days I just want to eat my eggs, have a piece of toast, take my prenatal vitamin, and grow my baby without feeling like I’m failing a nutrition exam.

Is that really too much to ask?

This weekend Hector and I went to see Disclosure Day, and I walked out with the same feeling I have after a lot of alien movies:

“Okay, aliens are real. Now what?”

Before the internet comes for me, let me say this: I actually enjoyed the movie. It was entertaining. The acting was good. The pacing kept me interested. There was enough mystery to keep me guessing, and somehow they managed to cram what felt like three separate movies into a story that takes place over roughly two days.

For those who haven’t seen it, spoilers ahead.

The world in Disclosure Day is already falling apart. Humanity is standing on the edge of World War III. Governments are hiding secrets. A mysterious government agency is desperately trying to stop a leak that could change everything. Our main characters are a man on the run with classified information and a woman with a supernatural ability to connect people through their thoughts, memories, and grief.

It’s a lot.

But my biggest issue wasn’t with the story itself.

It’s that I don’t think I’m the target audience for alien movies anymore.

As much as I enjoy science fiction and fantasy, I don’t actually believe in aliens. Maybe that’s my religious upbringing. Maybe it’s because both of my parents are giant sci-fi nerds and I’ve had aliens, spaceships, and conspiracy theories shoved down my throat since I was a kid. Whatever the reason, Hector has pointed out multiple times that I am completely unfazed by alien movies.

He’s right.

The big reveal in these stories is always, “What if humanity discovered aliens were real?”

And every single time my response is:

“Okay.”

Not because I think it would be boring, but because I don’t think the consequences would be what movies think they would be.

In Disclosure Day, the existence of aliens is treated as a civilization-altering revelation. A character brings up the morality of sharing this information as if knowing this society as a whole begins unraveling. That people will panic. We already see the government scramble. But every character acts like nothing will ever be the same again.

But would it?

One of the major revelations is that the American government has supposedly covered up evidence for decades.

And my immediate thought was:

Why would I only blame America?

If aliens have been visiting Earth for seventy years, you’re telling me they only landed in the United States?

Absolutely not.

If anything, I’d come away distrusting every government on the planet equally.

The movie seems to imply that alien disclosure would instantly unite humanity. Hector actually agrees with that idea. His argument is that proof of intelligent life beyond Earth would make our wars seem pointless.

I get the logic.

I just don’t buy it.

Human beings have never needed a good reason to fight each other.

We fight over land, religion, resources, politics, history, borders, money, pride, and sometimes things that happened centuries ago.

I don’t see humanity collectively holding hands because aliens exist.

I see humanity arguing about what to do next.

And that leads me to my biggest question:

Why are the aliens coming back?

Seriously.

If humans have spent decades capturing, experimenting on, torturing, and hiding evidence of alien contact, why would any advanced civilization voluntarily return?

Why isn’t Earth listed somewhere in the galaxy as:

“Do not visit. Extremely hostile locals.”

The second the movie suggested the aliens wanted direct contact, my brain immediately jumped to the old TV series V.

If you’ve never seen it, the aliens show up claiming friendship and peaceful intentions.

Spoiler alert: they absolutely want something.

Resources. Labor. Access.

The whole thing turns into a giant metaphor for colonialism and exploitation.

That’s where my mind goes.

Not peace.

Not enlightenment.

Suspicion.

Because if an advanced civilization capable of interstellar travel suddenly takes an interest in Earth, I assume they want something.

And if they want something, that’s probably bad news for us.

The movie wants us to believe that disclosure changes everything.

I think it creates entirely new problems.

Do we allow alien contact?

Do we attempt diplomacy?

Do we militarize?

Do we create a global government response?

Do nations cooperate or compete?

Do we invest heavily in space exploration?

And if we do, where does that money come from?

Because that’s where my brain always ends up.

We currently have millions of people struggling to afford food, housing, healthcare, and education.

Yet every alien movie eventually arrives at the conclusion that humanity should throw enormous resources toward space programs and interstellar projects.

Maybe that’s necessary.

Maybe it’s not.

But I can’t help looking around at Earth and thinking we haven’t exactly finished dealing with our current problems.

So no, I don’t think discovering aliens would bring world peace.

I think it would bring more chaos to a world that already feels stretched to its limits.

Which is funny, because despite all of these complaints, I still liked Disclosure Day.

I just spent the entire drive home arguing with it.

And maybe that’s the point.

The movie entertained me.

The conversation afterward frustrated me.

But at least it gave me something to think about.

Even if my final conclusion remains:

“Okay, aliens are real. Now what?”