My Feminism Isn’t an Invitation to Debate Your Sexist Views
Your Opinion Isn’t Always Welcome
You know how it goes. I’m enjoying a night out with friends, and a few people I don’t know that much. I’m sipping fine wine, having a good time and suddenly, some unknown Douche makes a crappy joke that’s slightly sexist. My face goes into an “I’m not laughing” smile cause after all it’s really too shitty to even start justifying the sexism. And then someone tells him not to bother, and to be careful with me cause I'm… A FEMINIST.
From that point on Douche is super curious. I mean he hasn’t been able to study such a weird creature in a while and his interest is peaked. What could possibly be in the head of a feminist?
“What does feminism actually mean?” he asks — nicely — because he’s heard the definition a thousand times but he can’t believe it’s that simple.
It has to be about burning bras, breaking balls and growing your body hair until you can braid it. OK, I’m exaggerating slightly. But somehow, they’re not satisfied with feminism being about equality. And so the “Well, I’m all for equality, but (…)” pivotal moment inevitably comes up.
