Insubordination. Seduction and Disappointment. Emotional Manipulation. Patrilineal Dishonor. Disrespect. Unpermitted Birth. All of these are crimes against The Fathers, signs of the non-compliance of women. Sentence: Bitch Planet. Championed by critics as feminist exploitation, the comic series Bitch Planet—an explicit narrative satire of and imagistic homage to women in prison (WIP) films—follows the trials of women outcast to an outer-world prison planet for offenses committed against the Fathers, an all encompassing and severely retributive governing system. Many WIP films have long been subject to recuperative deep readings working to justify the films’ pleasures through claims of subversion. With panels labeled “The Obligatory Shower Scene” where women plot revolution while the guards are distracted by their own lasciviousness, to back pages that intermingle real-life domestic violence statics with advertisements for products like lessons in “Gynotism” (hypnotize your romantic rival into feminism and win the man!), the pleasure and power in Bitch Planet lies in the obvious, rather than hidden, transformation of the position of women in WIP films. Penny Role embodies this metamorphosis. Sentenced for wanton obesity (a charge leveled not because she is fat, but because she does not care that she is fat), capillary disfigurement (her partially shaved head violates aesthetic standards), and multiple counts of assault, Penny’s defiant corporeality directly threatens the Father’s vehement patriarchy. Attempting to uncover assumed bodily insecurities in an effort to subdue her, the Fathers extract a visible image of Penny’s psychological sense of her "perfect self." What they see is Penny exactly how she is: violently unapologetic and fanatically confident. Penny’s—and by extension the text’s—subconscious and conscious self are one. Given Bitch Planet’s explicit, unrepentant, and holistic feminist identity, does the term exploitation add value to the text? Outside of signaling stylistic inspiration, the tag—despite the “feminist” qualifier—defines the text through the thematic tradition it explicitly works to corrupt. Does the label then undercut the comic's transformative power? If the Fathers carry the historical baggage of the often-restrictive paradigm of exploitation of the 1960s and 1970s—promoting normative gender constructions, demanding patriarchal compliance, and grasping tight to male power over female bodies—Penny is the intensely empowered feminist that transformative frameworks like Bitch Planet encourage and celebrate. When the label of exploitation is applied, however, does its referential meaning and nostalgia overwhelm the text's own radicality? Present-time visual constructions of exploitation benefit from feminism, but does the reverse hold? Can feminism benefit from exploitation?