Menace to Society: How to be a “Troia Radicale”

I’ve always said, if you’re too ugly for television, work in radio. If you’re too stupid for radio, get a podcast. Like any mental illness, podcasts can happen to anybody. I wasn’t always stupid… only since I moved to LA. This city will rot your brain with frivolity, superficiality, and social climbing. The first thing anybody asks in LA is, “what do you do?”  I answer, “Pilates!” Aren’t they asking how I stay hot? No, they want to know if I can help them become famous. I can’t, and fame isn’t real anymore. So, I say I’m a writer, and that I have a podcast, called TROIE RADICALI. They ask, “what does Troia mean?” How can you explain the history and subversion of a word during a cigarette break? I inhale, and start at the beginning:

“As a child, I knew that everybody was wrong, and I was right…” I’m an eternal immigrant (Croatia->America->Italy) and my writing has always been translated (like this essay). I know the perils of language. Some words refuse to be translated, so jokes are butchered, poetry is brutalized, literary casualties ensue. What’s the first thing a foreign friend teaches you? Bad words. They’re the hardest to translate. Trust me, I’m trilingual. *Hold for applause* Each language I know is full of unique curses—especially about women. Often, we’re compared to pigs or cows—very intelligent animals. Mostly, we’re insulted for being sexual. When a woman is insulted for having sex, I wonder, who’s insulting her? The same man who had her, or wants to—unintelligent animals… There are no insults about men that specifically regard the fact that they’re men. Even “son of a bitch,” insults a man’s mother.

I didn’t speak Italian when I moved to Milan but I knew the language of love. No need to talk when you’re kissing! I had no problem meeting lots of people, or specifically, boys. Those boys called me “Troia.” I didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded beautiful. It’s a nice word, it rolls off the tongue… Trrrrroya! If you insert the word on Google Translate, it says “slut,” in English. But it means more than that. When I translate it to Czech, it says, “coura,” I don’t know what that means, but it probably isn’t correct either. Essentially, it means a girl behaving badly. Why is that an insult? Why is it so wrong for a woman to be free? Being bad is cooler than being good! And being cool is very important. They say being cool can’t pay your rent, but if you’re cool enough, you don’t have to…  Anyway, I wasn’t ashamed of this insult, I embraced it. And thus began my peddling of Pro-Troia Propaganda. I started writing about my philosophies on Tumblr, then magazines and books, and now a podcast (the dying media world demands adaptability). All my writing has two purposes: 1. cheat death by living on in print and 2. make girls feel proud of their bad behavior.

“Ok, we understand that Troia means bitch, slut, whore, etc. But what about the “Radicale” part? What’s that about?” 

That’s the part where it becomes an ideology, a lifestyle, a political and social movement! Troie Radicali is a podcast I’ve been making since 2020, but it’s become bigger than itself. Girls write Troie Radical graffiti on church walls; they carry TR signs at Women’s Marches and Gay Pride, they even send me pictures of their TR tattoos. I’m the “mamma radicale” of the movement, but I didn’t invent anything. I just gave a name to something that always existed. Before I continue, here’s a poem about Troie Radicali, because I am masochistic and want to challenge whoever is translating this article (probably ChatGPT).

Troie Radicali see in the mirror
life passes through their fingers
like the last cigarette smoked fast
tossed away, empty pack crushed
on the street like a runaway
turning a corner to turn tricks
stray cats begging for treats
Troie love everything you can’t see
follow them down an alley
they’ll lead you to stars
but you’ll only see dark

Troie Radicali know justice is myth
but revenge can be drawn like blood
with fingernails dirty from
climbing out graves
painted new, red and brave
hands ready to salute their fate

The Troie confess nothing
their sins are their prizes
what else can you own in a world not for you?
a comb, lip liner, tattoo

these girls want too much
cocaine after two
and wine before five
sunrise and sunset are the same
if you don’t care, but they do 
life as you know it can end
at a dinner party so 
wear good shoes

heartbreak gasoline for girls
they sleep alone but wake in arms
soft echoes in endless nights
it’s never really worth the fight
suffering is chic but fun is chicer

don’t ask advice from a Troia
she’ll tell you to do what she does
“Be the star of your own film!”
but hers ends in tragedy
and only Troie are ready
when preservation is a waste 
and destruction is the way

Troie Radicali don’t “kill time”
and only time can kill them
they say, today I want power
then walk to the pharmacy,
have a coffee, and smile at a stranger

All Troie are poets but not all poets are Troie. Anyone can be part of our movement. Troie Radicali lurk in city slums, suburban dumps and mountain tops, milking goats between flowers. Troie Radicali are wild, performative, avant-garde. They fear boredom above all. They know you can’t sit around waiting for revolution. That’s pointless as waiting for a man. We do not feel victimized or powerless. We know we can change everything. At least our own realities, with swift gestures and brutal movements. Habit is key. Drink a bottle of whiskey each night and it will change your life. What about the things you do and say every day? If everyone acted out of love, passion, filth and fun, what a world it would be. We can be rebellious and radical daily! You need some examples? 

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You think I’d reveal our secrets? There are none, anyway. The whole point is doing what you want, and that’s different for everyone. Don’t let anyone make rules for you, not even Lady Gaga. Years ago, she swore she’d rather die than let her fans see her wearing flat shoes, only to tour her entire following album in Cowboy Boots… we’re all allowed to change our minds, no matter how ugly the results. Are you still reading? Do you like what I’m saying? I discuss these ideas and more, on my podcast, which you probably can’t listen to, since it's in Italian. Why do I record an Italian-language podcast from Los Angeles? Because a country where the Pope rules needs me more than a country where Elon does (the USA is a lost cause). You can listen to it to learn Italian. Or use it to fall asleep. Troie need sleep! The messages will seep into your subconscious as you stream and dream.

I’m telling you to listen to Troie Radicali as someone who hates podcasts. The average person has endless platforms available to them, which they can use to spread truth, overthrow dictators, change the way we live… but mostly they’re used to promote politicians or brands. Speaking of brands, none advertise on my podcast because it’s seen as too “provocative.” Italian brands are afraid of anybody cursing God, which I do often on my podcast. That’s another hard-to-translate word, “porcodio", or “diocane,” (pig god, or dog god). These curses, “bestemmie,” are considered illegal in Italy. Certain newscasters that let a bestemmia slip on the air never again were seen on TV! I have something to ask: Why is it illegal to insult God (fictional), but not women (real)? Why can’t I insult a religion that insults me? Why can’t I criticize an establishment that actively makes it difficult to live my goddamn life? If you know the answer, email me at teahacic@gmail.com. I can share it in my next episode! So how does that work? What is so special about these episodes? Why do girls crowd me on Milanese streets to say, “you’ve changed the way Italian women speak to each other.” And then vomit on my feet. Troie Radicali like to drink.

I sit on my bed in pajamas, with a beverage at arms-distance. Usually a beer or iced coffee. I plug a fuzzy microphone into my iPhone and press record on my voice notes app. That’s my only equipment, aside a harmonica I stole from someone’s room at the Chateau Marmont, which I play between thoughts and stories. I always start with, “Ciao troie!” and see where it takes me. I read from pages of notes on my laptop, too. Each episode arrives with the new moon, or your period. Between those phases I send myself daily emails with tales to tell, jokes to make, promises to break… a lot of writing is involved but after all it seems spontaneous. Troie make hard work seem effortless! And voilà, together with my audience we fight fear. Fear of freedom, fear of truth, fear of love… not fear of driving, sadly, I haven’t overcome that one yet. “What qualifies you to give girls advice on how to live?” Nothing! That’s why I’m qualified. I haven’t studied feminism, political science, philosophy or psychology but I have lived, bitch. And anecdotal wisdom is the best. Gossip is women’s greatest currency, which is why people shame it. Gossip is the most trusted way to share news and manifestos. Why should we base anything on what some man decided for us, from studying? Studying what? The old Russian philosophers with their gorgeous thick moustaches would be great for a date but they don’t know what it’s like to walk miles in stilettos in December in only a G-string and a wig, to be hit across the face by your date and have to let your stalker take you in the basement of an apartment complex just so he can leave you alone to enjoy powdered soup in bed with reruns of Absolutely Fabulous.

My cigarette break is over. It’s been nice talking to you. Let’s catch up sometime. Until then, you can subscribe to my podcast on Spotify. If you’re too cheap for that, don’t worry, there are 60 free episodes to hook you. No hard feelings if not, you’re already turning the page. Stay true, stay Troia!