The Olympic Winter Games in Milan began late last week on Feb. 6, 2026, with the U.S. roster—made up of 115 women and 117 men—nearly reaching gender parity.
Here are some of the athletes contributing to that history to watch in the days to come.
LGBTQIA+ stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer/questioning, intersex, asexual/agender and the myriad of other sexual and gender identities. Ms. readers can find stories in this archive of people that claim those identities and face struggles because of discrimination and stigma—from topics like trans healthcare, to Pride parades, to (under)representation in media.
Prolific lesbian feminist filmmaker Barbara Hammer’s refusal to be written out of history paid off, and Barbara Forever is full of evidence of the impact Hammer, both herself and her work, made on those around her. Beyond just telling the story of the life of a trailblazing lesbian filmmaker, the documentary is an intimate portrait of a fascinating and indomitable woman who treated life as the ultimate adventure.
Barbara Forever received Sundance’s Jonathan Oppenheim Editing Award for U.S. Documentary (the film’s editor is Matt Hixon), with its whirling, dynamic and comprehensive array of film and archival footage from an artist who voraciously documented her own life and the lives of others.
(This is one in a series of film reviews from the 2026 Sundance Film Festival, focused on films by women, trans or nonbinary directors that tell compelling stories about the lives of women and girls.)
Thirteen minutes is how long it lasted, and global superstar Bad Bunny—full name Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio—more than delivered. Set against pulsating Afro-Latin rhythms and brimming with the energetic dancing bodies of Black, Brown and other multicolored peoples, the 2026 Super Bowl halftime show transformed this historic moment of the first all-Spanish musical spectacle into a cultural reset. Now counted among the most watched halftime performances—with close to 130 million views—the Super Bowl was rightfully renamed the “Benito Bowl.”
Bad Bunny’s performance came just one week after he made history as the first artist recording exclusively in Spanish to win the Grammy’s top honor for Album of the Year. It arrived, too, amid escalating violence tied to ICE enforcement and the policing and deportation of Brown and Black communities. At a moment when the U.S. president is railing against diversity, equity and inclusion—and circulating virulently racist content targeting his predecessor and the nation’s first Black president and first lady during Black History Month—the cultural resonance of this halftime show feels all the more potent.
Bad Bunny’s dynamic performance is an affirmation of the same communities currently terrorized by state-sanctioned violence. At rallies and marches, people play Bad Bunny. In moments of grief and passion, people play Bad Bunny. His refusal to be silenced, to be forgotten, is an inspiration of hope and resilience for social movements. His music is music of the revolution, which was spectacularly televised in the middle of a widely watched football game.
The U.S. ranks as the 19th most dangerous country for women, 11th in maternal mortality, 30th in closing the gender pay gap, 75th in women’s political representation, and painfully lacks paid family leave and equal access to health care. But Ms. has always understood: Feminist movements around the world hold answers to some of the U.S.’s most intractable problems. Ms. Global is taking note of feminists worldwide.
This week: stories from Iran, Gaza, the International Olympic Committee, and more.
Even when it’s created at great personal risk, nothing can negate the power of art. So, too, the importance of friendship, which impacts our choices, shapes our ideas about the past, present and future, and changes lives.
These are central themes of The Friend’s House Is Here, a U.S.-Iranian co-production that won the U.S. Dramatic Special Jury Award for Ensemble Cast at Sundance this year. In their presentation of the award, the jury praised the film’s ensemble cast “for delivering performances that each of us could find ourselves in, revealing a story that is frighteningly universal. The ensemble injects the world with gravity, love, and humor, and shows us the way community and connection are often our key to survival.”
In a case of life imitating art, the film circulates through its own act of defiance: It had to be smuggled out of Tehran for it to be shown at Sundance.
(This is one in a series of film reviews from the 2026 Sundance Film Festival, focused on films by women, trans or nonbinary directors that tell compelling stories about the lives of women and girls.)
When I was younger, I remembered the kitchen turning into a collective of family midwives. Without understanding, they boisterously discussed the “change of life,” “personal summers” and somebody being “carefree, hot in the pants.” They waved their hands in praise, testifying, “Tell it!” “Who you tellin’!” “Just you wait!”
Their language seemed mysterious to me since I was less than six months into menarche. The only reason I was allowed in that sacred space was because I started my period. I was seen and not heard. But I was an audience in this menopause reverie.
Midwives, for centuries, chose who they passed on the secrets of the womb. These secrets included how to support those beyond their childbearing years and whose bleeding cycle unexpectedly came to an end. My family’s knowledge was passed down during the communing of the midwives and womb bearers.
Midwifery is individualized care. It’s my #1 favorite aspect of the profession. Midwifery includes the menopausal experience. In my one-hour appointments, each person is able to talk freely. I listen, gather precious information, hear their concerns, hopes and expectations, so that I can offer care that’s specifically designed for their journey. To improve their reproductive and menopausal health, we discuss their experience and the differences between perimenopause, menopause and post menopause stages. I want them to feel affirmed and know where they are on their journey. Fourteen years later, and over 50 perimenopausal, menopausal and post-menopause clients later, the individualized care model remains.
(This essay is part of the latest Women & Democracy installment, published in the middle of Black History Month, in partnership with Black Girls’ Guide to Surviving Menopause. Menopause is not only a physical transition—it is also cultural, social and political. Recognizing its full scope is essential to advancing true health and civic equity.)
What would it mean to treat menopause not as a private medical event, but as a collective, political and even spiritual transition—one that spans far more bodies and experiences than mainstream narratives allow?
In this wide-ranging conversation, writers and cultural workers Syd Yang and Austen Smith reflect on their own experiences of perimenopause and menopause—experiences shaped by queerness, trans identity, spirituality and community—as well as the broader systems that render many menopausal people invisible.
A Black feminist menopause convening in Durham reimagines “place” as something created by bodies and community—mapping care, memory and power across physical, digital and spiritual terrains often erased from mainstream menopause discourse.
(This essay is part of the latest Women & Democracy installment, published in the middle of Black History Month, in partnership with Black Girls’ Guide to Surviving Menopause. Menopause is not only a physical transition—it is also cultural, social and political. Recognizing its full scope is essential to advancing true health and civic equity.)
In each of our communities, every day seems to announce itself. Whistles and shouts for our neighbors punctuate each hour, as blades of helicopters and flight drills slice through the air into the night. Increased military and federal government presence is visible, splitting images between the corners of our everyday lives and active battlefields.
We write from two different places, often discussing them separately. We do, however, live as part of the same story.
From Minnesota to Puerto Rico, our struggles are one and the same. So is our strength. We are still here—not because the system is working, but because we work for each other. Maybe this is finally how we usher in a new world order.
(This essay is part of a collection presented by Ms. and the Groundswell Fund highlighting the work of Groundswell partners advancing inclusive democracy.)
Each month, Ms. provides readers with a list of new books being published by writers from historically excluded groups.
There are hundreds of books being released every month, and it is challenging to narrow down the titles to a manageable list of 20-ish. I pride myself on finding the hidden gems—the ones you may not hear about otherwise. That means that I sometimes forgo some of the most buzzy books for ones that haven’t gotten as much publicity, even though they deserve it.
So all that said, here is February’s list of 28 books. It was one of those months where it was tough to decide—enjoy the extra titles!