Everyday Feminism: A Rant

triple irony points. not, i do not know where you can get one; yes, I made it.

More sexytime stories soon to come. But for now, a tirade. Really and truly. Consider yourself primed.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm going through a second adolescence. It's not the butterfly stomach about my man or the weird unpredictable body - although these things are also hilariously reminiscent of my more heavily poxed days. Nope, it's that sometimes, these days, I find myself embarrassed, and it's a flavor of embarrassed I haven't felt since those greasy days of yore.

It's the shame that comes with enthusiastic, almost zealous conviction. It's the moment of realizing exactly how loud I've been yelling, and for exactly how long, and that maybe it's a little louder and little bit longer that is deemed entirely appropriate for that particular situation. The level of passion reminds me of the way I used to feel about my future, about my parents, about my school and what I was learning and what I was planning on doing with my life. There's a desperation in this kind of security, a zealous knowledge that yes, this is really is so important, can't you see? It's a grasping, a pushing to the edges of what is acceptable emotional fervor behind a concept. But it's okay. I was a teenager. It was understandable that I would hate (instead of dislike) things, that I would cry (instead of be a little upset). That I would yell. A lot.

(I would also sing and dance and generally, bodily, try to get the volume of feeling out through me anyway I could).

And I've noticed, in the last year or so, that I'm doing many of these things again. And, like when I was a teenager, I'm getting embarrassed about them again. Although more so now, because I'm a damned adult, so these "outbursts" are... less acceptable than they were. By some arbitrary terms of some arbitrary set of societal niceties that tell us what is and isn't appropriate. Grrrrrr.

Feminism. Passionate feminism, gender awareness. Violent conversational smashing-of-patriarchy. These are the things that boil my blood. And these are the things that, in moments of rage or passion or exasperation or, yes, righteous indignation, I get embarrassed about. I wonder if I'm seeing it everywhere. I wonder if I'm reading into things. I wonder if I'm giving people too hard a time, I wonder if I'm not enjoying my life as much because I can't un-see the misogyny, the entrenched stereotypes, the language.*

(*for more on this, read: How to Like Problematic Things. Warning: it doesn't have magical answers to solve your problems. I know, I hoped it would too. But nonetheless, it's well written and informative).

Mostly, though, I wonder, even if all these things are true, if I would just shut up about it, then everything would be better. People tag me when they take pictures of feminist buttons on bags. A friend of a friend asked, at a party, if he could play me a song he'd written and if I could tell him whether or not it was sexist (the strangeness of this question is... another story). I come to be known, due to my own loudness, as the feminist. And this embarrasses me.

Here are maybe some reasons wherefore the shame:

- I wonder if people think it's stupid.

- I wonder if my friends are quietly disagreeing with what I have to say, but not wanting to make a stink about it.

- I wonder if it's just... well, if it's annoying. If I have become annoying.

- I wonder if I'm that feminist, a social justice friend, who my "regular" (whatever that means) friends just tolerate.

- I wonder if my adamancy for this idea isn't allowing room for other people, or I wonder if they're all just sick of hearing about it, and fed up with my zero tolerance policy for shittyness.

Wait. Hold on. Pause.

This is all bullshit.

You know who else was annoying and adamant? You know who else everybody pointed to, scoffed, rolled their eyes, and said "would you just shut up already?" The fucking suffragettes. Simone de Beauvoir. bell hooks. Margaret Atwood. The abolitionists, and the LGBT rights movement, and the fucking civil rights marchers, motherfucker.

Every fucking progressive revolutionary ever.

So, yeah, maybe I'm obnoxious. Maybe I'm annoying, or maybe you're sick of stopping conversations or derailing arguments into the sticky, mired swamp of gender relationships and power dynamics in this world. But guess what? I believe in this. I believe that it matters what we say and how we say it; I believe that tiny social interaction can actually change the way we think about gender and power in our daily lives. And those beliefs aren't going anywhere. If you want to be my friend, or my acquaintance, or play me a song, that's the me you're going to get.

Because I don't want to be "that social justice friend." I want everybody to be that social justice friend. There was a time when being comfortable with women's rights, gay rights, race relations: you name it - there was a time when this made you a crazy progressive free-thinking hippie liberal. And now look around you. Have any friends who aren't?

So to all that doubt I've got, and all that teenage embarrassment, I say: fuck off. Good for you, you feminist, for finding something you're so passionate about, it reminds you of a time when your body was coursing with hormones and you had the whole world at your feet. Leave that other shit behind.

There was a great analyses, post-Louis CK/Tosh debacle, about why it is that feminists and comedians are "natural enemies." Amongst other reasons (found in this article, which is... mostly good), there's a history of "smile and shut the fuck up." There's a history of "take the joke that's super misogynist and shitty, and laugh at it." It was one of the first sticking points, way back in the first wave. No, I won't smile. No, I won't keep  my mouth shut. It isn't just that feminists are loud and won't let it go; it's that being loud, and not letting go, are sybmolic acts. They are linked to the history of being a woman in this country, in this world, in your family, with your friends. It is not just that I believe in this, and I want to tell you. It's that the action of telling you is actively supporting my beliefs. It's that I want to show you.

I'll show you my revolution, baby, if you show me yours?

So, on the heels of MLK day and the 40th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, I say: fuck no, I'm not shutting up. Take it or leave it. And if you leave it, better remember: it's probably gonna knock down your door someday, whether I'm the one doing the knocking or not.

Punchy, over and out.