I collect them as I would rare books. Often, they are at the usual places, a few offices down the hall at work that you initially avoided because it's too close to the odious corner office partner, at a friend's dinner party that you contemplated skipping because who has the energy anyway, at the alumni event that could have been deathly boring had you not run into that girl from your humanities class.
You have to catch them at the right moments. Not when they are reviewing that 9th Circuit brief and scrutinizing for typos, not when they are caught in the 20 second span of an elevator ride when all they could muster is muzak conversation, not when you see them at the gym trying to squeeze in a 45 minute jog into 30 minutes before running off to catch the bus.
You have to find them at the right moments when the circumstances are just so, when feelings of threat, lethargy, and anxiety are far from the scene, and they can step out as their true selves, safe from the world that places too many demands on their appearances, know how, professionalism, womanhood.
When she steps out from behind the Hillary mask, you find a kindred spirit, a woman who speaks to you, who shares your vulnerability and anxiety as well as the determination to figure it out, who is willing to engage in a dialogue about the way to go about it, what she has tried or has not. And you latch onto this person wherever you find her because you are building a community of women who get it, women who see eye to eye and will help you see this through.