Feminism

Yeah, I know, it's in the description of the blog. But both in spite of that and because of that, I think I need to talk about exactly what that means for me.

I've been reading a great anti MRA/making fun of misogyny blog recently (here, if you're curious), and while there's some analysis in there, it's also a lot of direct quotes from MRA blogs and comments. Which have gotten me thinking about what, exactly, I mean by using the word "feminism" in the title of the blog, and why I care so much about it.


First, a small confession. Maybe two small confessions.

First small confession the first: I wasn't raised, nor educated, with any kind of feminism. Generally, sure; my mom is a pseudo-hippie psychologist who moved to San Francisco in 1969, so I was raised in a very progressive household, and one that was (most of time) woman-positive, or at least, not woman-negative. But there weren't any kind of formal feminist tenants in my upbringing. What ever "formalist feminist tenants" means.

I also didn't study feminism in school. To be perfectly honest, I don't know the difference between first, second, and third wave, and couldn't really name you names of any famous feminist writers. I could google them right now, and save myself from writing that, but I don't really want to. Which is not to say that I don't think these things are interesting and important - I want to know them, and they've been on my to-do list for a while,* but I don't think they're inherently necessary to having a modern feminist perspective. Or rather, I think I've formulated a lot my own opinions about feminism that are pretty solid, based not only experiences, but on reading of others' blogs, on reddit, etc (yes, I know it's the internet. But the internet, while both a serious source of crap, can also be a serious source of excellent discourse, if you know where to dig).

I have no doubt that reading and learning would deepen these opinions, probably challenge some of them, and give a great contextual history for them. I just don't think that not knowing them automatically precludes me from having a valid opinion. Not that I have to justify that here. It's my own damn blog.

* I imagine a post-it list stuck to the fridge with the following items: "buy milk; send rent check; call mom; become a legitimate feminist."

First small confession the second: I used to really not be a feminist. Or rather, I used to have a different and fairly fucked up practical implementation of my own feminism. Cliff Pervocracy sums it up fairly well in The Geek Social Fallacies of Sex, #3, but put simply, I used to think that being a feminist meant being above misogyny. That by ignoring what was going on, and being okay with what was going on, I was undermining anti-feminists. I was a hipster-feminist; I was post-misogyny.

And that might have worked, except that the world isn't post-misogyny, and... well, I live in the world.


So, those are my confessions. On to what, exactly, I mean by feminism, and how this post could have possibly been inspired by MRAs.

I used to read MRA/PUA stuff directly, but I got to a critical mass to a point where, even though I knew every counter-argument and how ridiculous these people were, it didn't matter. So I started reading anti-misogyny blogs instead, which give a counter-point balance; I get to read original MRA/PUA/generally douche-bag posts, but in the context of people who actually think what I think. Like feminist dramamine, these internet places have been keeping me healthy-feeling enough to read a good quantity of misogynistic stuff. And patterns have popped up, me staring over the railing of my Feminista Cruise Liner ™, watching the chauvinist waters lap below.

Every reaction, every "rational argument," every "logical" response that I've read comes from a personal, emotional place. It seems that, at the root of all the logic spouted about feminists, against feminists, indeed, most of the motivation for arguing these things in the first place, there is a deep offense. These people feel that feminism is attacking them, that feminism is, in itself, an attack. Which is both wrong, and also indicative of how little they understand about actual feminism.†

†I am not talking about Radfemhub, or other blogs like it. Those are... not feminism. And that's as much anti-definition as my brain can handle right now: NOT Radfemhub. I'm not even going to link there; google it if you're curious.

I think I used to react the same way, although because I my old version of feminist expressionº, it was oriented the opposite way. Because I thought feminism was an attack against men, I felt the need to both apologize, dismiss, and move past it; I wasn't, as Pervocracy says, "one of those girls."

º I keep using that word, or series of words, but what I really mean to say is "internalized misogyny." Because that is, indeed, what I believe it was. It's just sort of hard to write down sometimes.

I'm not a girl. I'm twenty four. I've supported myself for the last six years. I think I'm fairly definitely a woman.

And in those years, I've come to understand something that's at the root of feminism, more than I ever did before. I've come so far, it's actually really shocking to think back. If you asked me four years ago, hell, two years ago, if I would get to this place, I would have dismissed you with a laugh and pat on the head. I understood (or so I thought back then) what these angry, nit-picking women were all about, and I didn't want to be a part of it. And now look at me. All angry and picking nits and everything.

Anyway. To the root of feminism:

Feminism isn't anti-men; it isn't anti-anyone. Feminism is the acknowledgement that, for the last forever, women have been treated and viewed as less-than, and it has yielded deeply ingrained cultural structures are still very much deeply ingrained today. Are women always still treated as less than? Maybe not. Does that make us post-misogyny? Absolutely not. The structures are still there, sometimes overt, sometimes not; if anything, the subtly of modern misogyny can be frighteningly affective (as is evidenced by, if nothing else, my formal non-angry faced self).

That definition, feminism ≠ anti-anybody, by definition doesn't attack anyone. Not men, not women, not genderbent folk or non-kinky folk or kinky folk or poly folk or monogamous folk or asexual folk or the god damned Dalai Lama. It's just an acknowledgement of things that exist, and the belief that these things should change.


The problem is that, along with the big spooky wooky cultural structures, there are people who a) don't think these structures exist, and/or b) overtly believe that women actually are less-than. These people end up in the MRA/PUA/misogynist category and, as a result, take feminism personally. They feminism as an attack against men, and their responses become deeply emotional, angry, petulant.∞ Which would be completely understandable if that's what was happening. I know this, because at times, my responses are emotional and angry (although I hope not petulant, if only for their logic and cited sources); I know this because what these people feel they are experiencing, I am actually experiencing. Attacks, violence, discrimination: these things all exist, and they happen in misogyny.

∞ A brief digression on the word petulant. The one time I was ever asked to stay after class in college, my professor asked me to "control my petulance." We'd some fairly heated debate that day, and I may or may not have been a little out of line. But it was my first encounter with the word "petulance," (yeah, I know; the vocabulary's gotten better), and I looked at him quizzically, holding in my head an image of myself, poised at the top of a desert mountain unleashing swarms of locusts. "Control my pestilence?" I ask. "No no," he said, "you petulance. It means... anger."


Which it doesn't, but it was a funny moment. I also wonder, had I been male, if that interaction would have gone the same way.

So, for me, writing about feminism means that I write about how these little bits of the last 2,000 years are still present in the everyday. It's writing about how most of the men I know, and am friends with, will acknowledge their privilege, and most of the time (in the very act of doing that) are feminists. It's writing about not about how women are oppressed, or "poor, poor women," but rather, about what we're actually battling against.

It's not men. It's patriarchy. It's the patriarchal structure of this culture that has existed for so long, that I want so desperately to be able to dismiss. It would be easier, in many ways, if I could just declare myself post-misogyny and call it day. But the world doesn't allow that.

So I'll keep writing, if only in an attempt to define, learn, and explore what exactly I think feminism is (and yes, I plan on reading a lot of books about this. It's at the top of the to-do list now).

We'll be landing shortly; please return your seat backs and tray tables to their full upright and feminista position. This has been The Good Girl trying to point out the actual (as opposed to perceived) identity of The Big Bad Boss at the end of the Final Feminism Challenge. It's a helluva monster, slippy slidey, like dry ice fog at a middle school dance party. It's invisible if you don't look down, but walking through it, you can make little, momentary holes through which to clearly see the floor beneath your feet. It creates a creepy ambiance for the entire event, puts bad taste in your mouth, and at the end of the night, leaves everything sticky and impossible to clean.

Thank you for flying with us.