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This Week, in Decisions I May Have Cause To Regret:

After receiving many an e-mail and comment on the subject (and: thanks, e-mailers!) the Dworkin Thread of Doom has now been re-opened. I will be moderating comments so that it can stay productive, as it was for the majority of its run last week. Ad hominem/ad feminam/your-sexing-is-invalid/I’m-bored-let’s-have-a-yelling-party-on-the-Internet arguments will be deleted, regardless of whether or not I agree with them, as usual. Everything else is fair game.

Play fair, folks! Don’t make me use Disapproving Joan Graphics on you!

EXAMPLE:

Joan has some thoughts about your stance on BDSM.

Adventures In Advertising Presents: Fear of a Red Planet

Oh, advertising firms. How much do you just not like women? Hold up! Don’t answer: I know this. The answer is, “a lot! Advertising firms dislike women, a lot.” They dislike them so much, in fact, that they have inspired this spec script for my new hit TV drama, Mad Men: The Next Generation:

Jean-Luc Picadvertising: Hey – you know who everybody doesn’t like? Women!
Pete Campbell’s Grandson, Dave: Ha! Yeah! I don’t like women myself!
Jean-Luc Picadvertising: Well, think about it: maybe we can get people to buy this product of ours by establishing that it hates women! Just like they do!
Geordi LaFadvertising: Bad news, you guys. This product is supposed to be purchased primarily, if not exclusively, by women.
Pete Campbell’s Grandson, Dave: Ha ha, women. They suck so much!
Jean-Luc Picadvertising: They totally do! High fives all around! By the way, where is Don Draper’s grandson, Steve?
Geordi LaFadvertising: We don’t know.
Pete Campbell’s Grandson, Dave: He is very mysterious.

Okay. Maybe it needs some work. Regardless, I am confident that its dialogue is 100% factually accurate! I base this completely reasonable conclusion on (a) the magically-manly-making Ketel One ads, (b) those disastrous Bacardi ads (hey, lady-customers! Aren’t girls who don’t look like models hideous and therefore worthless? Um, we assume everyone who buys our product is a professional model, right?) and (c) the most baffling advertising campaign ever conceived by man, zack16.com, sent in by reader Kelly D. (Hi, Kelly! I believe this is what the kids call a “shout-out!”)

Zack, you see, is a sixteen-year-old boy. A sixteen-year-old boy, with a blog! UNTIL…

So something weird happened to me last night and I’m just trying to deal. Went to the bathroom this morning to find that I suddenly possessed the aiming ability of a defective garden sprinkler. Soon thereafter I discovered that a super important body part of mine had gone missing.

Ruh-roh! I wonder what this “super important” body part could be? And why it has anything to do with his “aiming ability” in the pisser? UNLESS… oh, no! Penis emergency! Zack’s penis is missing! Best file an Amber Alert for that business, Zack! But wait: if Zack doesn’t have a penis any more, does that mean he has no genitalia whatsoever? Is he smooth like a Ken doll down there? I mean, that’s certainly what I imagine, when I think of the absence of a penis…

Still in possession of girl parts “down under.”

Oh, OK. He has a vagina. Because, for the record, “vagina” = “absence of a penis.” Not “totally different body part that is in no way definable merely in relation to penises.” For the female, you see, is a defective male, and the mother is castrated and blah blibbity blah blippity bloop bleep millenia of male denigration of/theorizing about the existence of ladybusiness. Zack is a Freudian young motherfucker, if you ask me.

Now, considering that actual vaginoplasties are both expensive and difficult to obtain, I’m pretty sure that a few trans ladies wouldn’t mind receiving Zack’s magic vagina. It’s also nice that he gets to use the bathroom of his choice, without having to read or deal with some “feminist” (not enough quotation marks in the world, people) shit fit about it (including the obligatory, probably-not-meant-to-be-hilarious moment wherein the “”””feminist”””” refers to some woman’s penis like it is the shark from Jaws: “The dick is still there in many cases, waiting, just waiting for a reason to penetrate something or somebody.” Dunnnh-DUH. Dunnnh-DUH. Dunnh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh-TAKIN’ A PEEEEEEEEEE.) Actually, this whole campaign is fucking weird in that it kind of doesn’t acknowledge the existence of trans people in any way whatsoever – like, there are actually lots of trans men with vaginas out there, but Zack is just like, “what an unprecedented thing this is!” And by “fucking weird,” of course, I mean “totally predictable.”

But anyway. Zack is not a trans person. Zack is a cisgender dude with a magic vagina. A vagina with mysterious powers! For example: the vagina makes Zack bake things. Ha ha, because you can’t prepare food if you have a penis! The vagina also makes Zack enjoy terrible costume dramas: “on the Estrogen Channel” – ha ha, estrogen, because that is what ladies have, in their vaginas – “I got caught up in this English costume drama about a fancy young woman from the British upper class who falls in love with a simple bricklayer.” But you won’t believe what else the vagina makes Zack do. It is awful. It is terrible. It is:

Was getting dressed this morning and my pants wouldn’t fit right. It’s like a gained a bunch of weight… Watching a cooking show this morning, I cried a little when the chef cracked the eggs.

Oh NO! Zack! You have no idea what is coming next, do you, buddy? Why, it’s only the most horrible fearful thing in the world:

But now that I’ve got my period, I’m faced with perhaps my biggest challenge yet: the hideous, pristine all-white tuxedo that Chelsea picked out for me to wear to prom. I just hope the rose on my lapel is the only red we see that evening.

AAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE! NO! NOT THAT! ANYTHING BUT THAT!

I am referring, actually, to the white tuxedo here. Apparently the vagina didn’t take care of that whole “fashion sense” thing like it’s supposed to. Zack’s vagina and Chelsea’s vagina were asleep at the wheel when it came to that particular decision.

Oh, but also: Zack gets his period. For, as I promised you, this is THE MOST BAFFLING AD CAMPAIGN EVER CONCEIVED BY MAN. It is an ad campaign FOR TAMPONS. Tampax-brand tampons, to be precise! Because, apparently, Tampax is the tampon so awesome that even dudes will use it. Not like all those inferior lady-tampons out there. Because, you know, coming up with a viral ad campaign for tampons starring a girl dealing with her vagina is just weak. Also: best to reel out the stereotypes about basically everyone with vaginas, in your vagina-product ad campaign! Because, you know, self-loathing sells.

But, whatever. Zack gets his period. Zack, like everyone in this entire society, hates and fears the period. I’m not interested in rescuing Zack’s self-esteem right now. No: I’m interested in his sex life! With Chelsea!

Took Chelsea Carr to prom last weekend. She looked great. Too bad I’m completely unequipped to be her boyfriend.

Um, Zack? I’m pretty sure that people with vaginas – boys and girls – date and have sex with women all the damn time. YOU’VE LOST THE LESBIAN AND TRANS MAN TAMPON VOTE, Zack. Best use all those sensitive vagina-feelings you have now to make amends.

UPDATE: BONUS EDUCATIONAL FILM

Would you like to see Zack’s transformational, baking, nice-making, lady-genitalia loathing journey? ON FILM? Sure you would.

Oh, and also: there is a part where he shows his little sister his “secret.”

YEAH.

AAAAIIIIIIIIIEEEEEE.

AND NOW, A GUEST POST: Second Chances… To Reinforce Some Really Obnoxious Stereotypes, That Is!

NOTE: I, Sady, have been begging C.L. Minou – who runs the excellent, must-add-to-RSS-feed blog The Second Awakening – to write a guest post for Tiger Beatdown since approximately forever. Today is the day my dreams – and yours, reader – come true!

Trans people can get pretty jaded about our representation in the media–whether it’s Transgeneration (excellent!), Sex Change Hospital (um…) or Transamerica (the pain, make it stop) , after a while you notice the invariable repitition of certain themes, especially in that most infamous of genres, the transgender documentary. (In fact, there are even drinking games where you can find out how many shots you’re supposed to down if somebody says “a woman trapped in a man’s body” or tries on bras on camera.)

Recently the New York Times put a short documentary on their website as part of a new feature called Second Chances–and you guessed it, the first film is about a transsexual named Terry Cummings. It’s actually a touching little piece that is very sweet and definitely well-intentioned. But it struck me immediately how even something well-intentioned could manage to pack inside of it so many typical trans-doco-cliches.

And then I realized, that not only are those cliches subtly disparaging to trans people, they’re also (no!) not-so-subtly misogynist–allow me to demonstrate:

:30 We kick things off with that most venerable of tropes, the trans woman putting on makeup; I think there must be some FCC requirement for it or something. Such scenes are annoying not just because they are repetitive, but because they make the woman’s identity seem artificial, cosmetic, just a deceptive coating around the real person.

Not much different, of course, from the standard lady-hating vibe about how women need to wear makeup, since their attractiveness to men is held up as their most important single characteristic; but trans women especially are held in a double-bind–either wear makeup to look more feminine and be accused of only being interested in the trappings of womanhood, or don’t wear makeup and either be told you “look like a guy” or worse, mystify people as to why you’d want to be a woman, since you don’t want to look like one.

1:20-1:47 A quick sequence of scenes of Terry on the phone, talking about clothes, cuddling a cat, and telling someone on the phone “Welcome to a woman’s world.”

The clothes conversation feeds into one of the more damning things thrown at trans women–that we’re just in it for the outfits–as if people decide to upend their whole life, spend most of their life’s savings, and in general make things a whole lot more difficult for them just so they could wear a skirt. And again, it’s a double-bind: don’t express interest in clothes, and people wonder why you want to transition; but do worry about what you wear (something that happens especially often to trans people just starting to present as their desired gender) and you’re hit with charges of superficiality.

Nevertheless it sure sends out messages about being a woman, like women talk about clothes, or cuddle animals, unlike men who don’t have time for appearances or nurturing.

Maybe it’s because I take things too seriously, but the way the “welcome to a woman’s world” scene unfolds bothers me. I mean, it seems divorced of context–was she saying it in a rueful or sarcastic way, as I often have? (I usually refer to the paperwork I had to fill out to start hormones: “I signed the release.”) As a way to sympathize with another woman? Both of those seem more likely; but the way it’s shot seems to show her issuing the statement authoritatively, which opens up all kinds of nasty questions about the assumption of privilege that frequently (and especially) dog trans women.

It’s not really what she said; given how little control a film subject has over the final result, I hold Terry absolutely blameless here. But the way it’s presented seems to send out subtle messages, none of them particularly good, about being a trans person.

1:50 Shopping (drink!). If it’s not makeup, it’s got to be shopping. Once again, trans women are only in it for the clothes, the superficial trappings of femininity. And shoes! (Why did it have to be shoes?)

I suppose I should be happy that trans women get damned with these accusations; after all, it makes us just like the rest of women, who are told (and believed) to be obsessed with appearances and fashion–though trans women get the added burden of generally being shown as not only obsessed with these things, but not being very good at them. (Fortunately not an issue in Terry’s case, but I sometimes think that the makers of these documentaries purposely seek out women who struggle with their female presentations, to reinforce precisely this point.)

We also see Terry’s daughter, who seems like a very nice person, talking about her struggles with what to call her. This isn’t a laughing matter; it’s very tough for family members to deal with. But in the hit and run way it’s dealt with in this documentary, it only continues to reinforce the idea that Terry is really still her male parent. Biology is still destiny.

2:25 Terry at her basement workbench. “This was what my life was like…” she says–that is, interested in traditionally male hobbies.

Which manages to be both misogynist and transphobic: that is, she couldn’t be interested in them now, because she’s a woman, and ladies don’t do woodwork or other manly stuff! And also it’s a subtle reminder of where she’s come from, a continued destabilization and devaluation of her as a woman.

Let me state once again that this isn’t a criticism of Terry: people’s interests do change often during transtion (I started blogging, for example, and mostly stopped knitting.) It’s not Terry’s life I’m criticizing, it’s how her life is being forced into the Standard Transsexual Narrative template, in a way that (surprise!) is subtly transphobic and misogynistic, despite it’s good intentions.

2:40 The goddamn photograph of Terry before she transitioned. (Drink triple-shots: it’s in black and white, and from her wedding.) I for one am heartily sick of being shown pictures of trans people pre-transition. Or publishing their former names. Or making a big effing deal about being trans, period. Because there’s really no way of doing it that doesn’t leave people feeling that the old name and gender are the real gender. And that just reinforces all the old ideas about gender essentialisms, the very thing feminists have struggled against since…oh, since the Agricultural Revolution.

And speaking of gender essentialism, we come to…

3:00–4:25 The surgery. I mean, The Surgery. I mean, The Surgery. It wouldn’t, couldn’t, be a trans documentary without the surgery. And certainly the largest single portion of the film has to be about the surgery. I think that’s actually a law. Of nature.

Shocking but true: the surgery isn’t always central to a trans person’s life. For one thing, the surgery for trans men is expensive, difficult, and frequently less than satisfactory, so beyond a masectomy many of them never have any genital surgery. Secondly, there is a whole segment of trans women who never have GRS (genital/gender reassignment/reconstructive surgery; the phrasing depends on who you ask), and are perfectly happy and living perfectly ordinary women’s lives.

And finally, for a lot of people, GRS isn’t that big a deal. Major surgery, yes, but not something that will magically change everything in your life.

That isn’t to demean trans women for whom GRS is a big deal–just to point out that for most trans women, it’s less about making them into something than it is relieving them of their dysphoria.

And in any case, whether you are trans or a feminist (or maybe even both!), you simply can’t accept that you equal your genitals. That biology is destiny. If anything, trans narratives should destroy that idea, rather than being used to reinforce it.

Now, the best part of all this? All the stuff that was left out and only visible on the comments page. Like, did you know that Terry is a lawyer? That might have been interesting to find out. Or that she considers the surgery to be a “rite of passage,” but “it would not change her life.” That might have been a sort of fresh direction for a film like this to take.

But should we be surprised, that a woman, of any history, has her work erased? That a woman’s feelings of her own life are forced into a culturally-determined narrative? That a woman’s appearance is stereotyped, or her body pathologized?

That the best thing you can say about most trans documentaries is that they treat their subjects like women, that is, misogynistically?

And in the end, if trans women get singled out for expressing their gender, it’s still with the same refrains of oppression as other women.

SEXIST BEATDOWN: Muffin-Bluffing Is A Feminist Issue Edition

Ah, music. It makes the people! Come together! Music: [it] mix[es] the bourgeois! And the rebel! It also, recently, led to this really neat article about “post-post-feminism,” which seems to mean the same thing as “post-feminism,” which seems also (so Steve Haruch notes!) to mean the same thing as “pre-feminism,” which means, basically “a-feminism.” It has not much to do with feminism at all, actually; I don’t know why that word keeps coming up.

Except that the kids today – especially the girl kids – are all a’sexin’! And a-singin’ about the sexin’! Lady Gaga wishes to poke her face, yet bluffs with her muffin; Katy Perry wishes to kiss girls, and like it, on the condition that her boyfriend don’t mind it; The Veronicas wish to be sexy twins who basically kiss EVERYBODY, boys and girls included; and, at this point, “postpostfeminism” is just something that happens after some annoying girl drinks too many Cosmos. But with a super catchy beat!

So, what does it all meaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnn? Read on, my friends, as Amanda Hess of The Sexist and I discuss!

MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT: Lady Gaga: postfeminist, postpostfeminist, postpostpostnotdressinglikeasexyMartianinvader, sings the sensitive face-poking hits of our time.

SADY: lady! are you ready to have a discussion about postpostpostpostpostfeminism?

AMANDA: hi! Sorry! first of all, since you seem to have been doing a bit of “research” into modes of feminism lately can you tell me what post-feminism is? and what post-post-feminism might be?

SADY: post-feminism is the one where progress has been accomplished so we can all be SEXY again and also camille paglia can blame us for our date rapes! post-post-feminism is… um… feminism again? or the one where we have to fight each other in Thunderdome. no wait, that’s post-APOCALYPTIC-post-feminism. no, wait, that’s my blog comment section.

AMANDA: ba dump ching!

SADY: TIP YOUR WAITRESSES. i do know you can find the postpostpostpostwhatever in the popular music the kids listen to today, though! such as the katy perrys, and the lady gagas!

AMANDA: first of all, let me just say to pop music, that i am a huge, huge fan

SADY: haha, i had to have someone sing me the veronicas song so i knew what it was about. according to this person it goes “take me on the floor, blah blah blah sexy twins.” i feel no need to look up the lyrics! i’m confident this research is correct!

AMANDA: i will listen to nearly any pop music song, whether feminist, pre-feminist, post-feminist, post-post-feminist, told-from-the-perspective-of-the-unborn-fetus etc. so that sexy twin song, i may be adding it to my ipod!

SADY: yeah, why not?

AMANDA: however, i think it would be Educational if we discussed some modern pop singers (love ’em) and where their songs fall on the feminist —> told-from-the-perspective-of-the-unborn-fetus spectrum

SADY: yeah, i kind of think that what they’re talking about is the whole overt sexuality thing in these ladies’ music. which is NEW! and UNPRECEDENTED! what with the poking of ‘er face and whatnot! and the kissing of girls, and the taking on the floor.

AMANDA: let’s start with that kissing of girls thing. i personally wouldn’t take such an issue with that song if the rest of katy perry’s album didn’t blatantly ridicule gay people.

SADY: I JUST LISTENED TO THE VERONICAS SONG. the bridge is “i want to kiss a girl, i want to kiss a girl, i want to kiss a boy.” maybe THIS is postpostfeminism? yeah, not just gay people but women which is bizarre: “you are so gay, you are like a woman, you terrible gay-woman-man.” like, this grossness wherein gay or a lady is the worst thing to be…

AMANDA: the veronicas song sounds like some sort of bizarre undead compromise between you and andrea dworkin. oh, THIS song? i just listened to it for the first time. shit, i actually don’t like this pop song, it sucks.

SADY: yep. this is our peace treaty. andrea dworkin’s thing, sexually, was (i am learning) more complex than i maybe can understand, at the moment. i’m pretty sure she would have some harsh words for the whole sexy-twins, kissing-girls-for-your-boyfriend, bluffing-with-one’s-muffin thing. her whole problem was that she thought we were bluffing with our muffins too much! NO MORE MUFFIN BLUFFING, is what she’d say.

AMANDA: i’m okay with never hearing another word about muffin bluffing.

SADY: MUFFIN BLUFFING IS THE PATRIARCHY’S SUPPORT SYSTEM. this is some weird performance of sexuality that seems so specifically catered to be precisely in line with current expectations of what dudes find sexy.

AMANDA: are there any current pop songs that qualify as post-post feminist, which i now understand (?) is feminism again after taking a little break from feminism?

SADY: haha, i like “if i were a boy,” by beyonce, maybe a little more than i should. there are certain moments where i can convince myself that it MEANS SOMETHING.

AMANDA: i, too, have spent many moons attempting to squeeze that song into my worldview

SADY: if beyonce were a boy, she’d roll out of bed and put on whatever she wanted and drink some beer. if this first verse is any indication, i myself may be a boy, or beyonce. but also, if beyonce were a boy, she’d be cheating on YOU! and you COULDN’T STOP HER!

AMANDA: do you have a cop outfit?

SADY: mmmmmm… sadly, no. this may be the only difference between beyonce and myself. barring, of course, the fact that i did not appear in “obsessed.”

AMANDA: i really like this song, and (i’ve convinced myself) that it’s an honest critique of the double standards in sexual relationships between men and women … for those of us who can’t just throw all that shit out of the window and have sex with other women. but it’s also kind of like, you don’t have to be a boy, you’re BEYONCE, you can do whatever the fuck you want!

SADY: right? beyonce could basically buy a small country at this point. yet, in her song with jay-z, she points out that she can ‘still play her part and let [jay-z] take the lead role.” i’m beginning to think her commitment to just doing all that dude stuff (namely, being kind of a dick) is not that profound.

AMANDA: yes HOWEVER—and this is a good point for those post-feminist to listen to—beyonce actually looks super hot acting like a fucking dick. and then looks less compelling when she goes back into the girl role at the (spoiler alert) surprise twist at the end

SADY: OH NO! SPOILER! At the end of “Thriller,” Michael Jackson’s EYES ARE THOSE OF A MONSTER, AMANDA. HOW WILL YOU HANDLE THIS SPOILER I SPOILED FOR YOU?
anyway. i’m beginning to think that postpostfeminism, what with the girls singing about how they’ve kissed girls, and also boys, and have done things with their muffins that maybe we would be uncomfortable hearing about, is not actually “post” anything. haven’t people been singing about screwing (boys and girls) for A LONG TIME?

AMANDA: yes. i think that’s what ALL pop music is about, right?

SADY: right? yet, when we hear songs about sex, we think they’re kind of naughty, until someone sings an EVEN NAUGHTIER song about sex, and that’s all these kids are doing: semi-raising, or trying to raise, the bar for naughtiness. with, GASP, girl makeouts! basically, i think that sooner or later “i want to pee on you” will be an actual single.

AMANDA: of course, until pop music enters its post-naughty phase. sponsored by kelly clarkson.

SADY: “if i were a boy, we’d be engaging in non-demeaning and mutually respectful activities, such as going to a church group, and holding hands. ” “woooo, girl, i want to play zelda and not make out or consider sexual activities at all with youuuu.”

AMANDA: You know, somebody kind of made this point in the Bitch comment section, and I think it’s pretty apt: as far as POP music is concerned, maybe it’s enough for us to have expectations that it not be misogynistic. and that other forms of music that are not played on the radio will tackle the more explicitly radical subjects. that being said, i would really love to write for Britney Spears.

SADY: haha. i’m seriously trying to think of a mainstream pop hit that handled anything vaguely feminist in its subject matter. the best i can come up with is “human nature,” by madonna. and that’s a tenuous pick. i would love for you to write for britney spears, too! actually!

AMANDA: i understand that she often takes up best-friends-for-a-few-hours fairly often. i think i could be a good influence on her.

SADY: i think my work with the postpostfeminist stars of stage and screen would be brutal, ugly, and short

AMANDA: i thought the misogyny consulting thing would really work out for you

SADY: i think my hit katy perry song, “i kissed the person that it was most pleasing for me to kiss at the time without thinking about or trying to present my sexuality as a performance for the benefit of the male gaze” would not, probably, sell like hotcakes. the b-side, “i like tacos,” might be a little more well-received. who doesn’t like tacos?! why is our pop landscape so post-tacos?

AMANDA: eww, post-taco

SADY: hahahahaha. ok. it’s NOT AN ELOQUENT TERM for my movement. rest assured, you’ll soon be hearing the sound of post-taco across the nation.

AMANDA: hahah

Calling The Ketel WHACK, or: The Worst Title Of Any Post Ever (It Is About Vodka)

You know, my fellow lady-people, it has been a bit stressful around the old Tiger Beatdown lately. The post window: it glowers at me. It is like, WHO WILL YOU PISS OFF NEXT, LADY???? And I am like, “well, no-one, unless they learn about my vicious dog-on-baby-fighting ring.” Oh, no! Wait! I meant, “my extensive collection of pornography!” Oh, CRAP! What I meant was, “my extensive collection of videotapes featuring dogs fighting babies!”

Ugh. Anyway, have you seen these Ketel One ads? They’re pretty annoying!

Ha ha, yes. A TIME WHEN MEN WERE MEN. And not ladies! When they did not drink their vodka out of “delicately painted [like a lady would paint them] pink [like a lady would enjoy] * perfume [like a lady would wear] bottles.” Ha ha, yes, the epidemic of vodka served in “painted perfume bottles” is quite disastrous for femininity. And drinking! The atomizer: it doesn’t dispense much booze per squirt!

Here is also a fun thing to notice: the THERE WAS A TIME thing. Remember when men were men? Real live masculine manly men of manhood and manliness? Boy, doesn’t it suck that men aren’t men any more, and they have to be less manly and manful in their day-to-day interactions? It’s almost as if many men fetishize a foregone time when male privilege was entirely unhampered and ran rampant (LIKE GODZILLA) through the streets and no-one ever questioned it and the performance of traditional highly privileged masculinity was never challenged! I wonder what could have brought this glorious time to an end?


Oh, shit, yeah. Right. Anyway, this beautiful time of untrammeled, pre-feminist, pre-ladyfied manhood existed once. And it can exist AGAIN! If – and only if – you purchase and consume Ketel One vodka! Which is a colorless and mostly tasteless liquid that can be mixed with any drink, up to and including the uber-ladyfying Cosmo. Or APPLE MARTINI.

Ha ha, yeah, it’s really silly to think that a drink can be gendered, right? Or that it can gender you. In fact, I’m going to drink some Ketel One vodka right now, just to prove you a point: that it does not in fact affect my gender presentation whatsoever. Here I am, prior to drinking Ketel One:


Hmmm… vodka-y, drunk-inducing, no feelings of altered gender. Let’s take an “after” pic:


OH HOLY CRAP. How did this even happen?!? I take it back, you guys: Ketel One is definitely the manliest vodka that ever manned a man up to manliness. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to book a ticket to Hawai’i.

* UPDATE: The ad totally doesn’t actually say “pink,” by the way! I’ve re-watched it several times to verify this. The thing is, I’ve seen it many a time, and I always, always, always hear the word “pink” in there. There’s a weird pause between “painted [like a lady]” and “perfume [which is a lady thing].” So I just HEARD THE WORD AND/OR COLOR “PINK” USED AS A NEGATIVE in that space. This ad is so manly it can actually project sexist concepts right into your brain! Beware!

And Now: Tiger Beatdown Musical Hour!

You guys, have you heard this song?

I think I’ve posted this song before.

My point is, I think we all need to hear this song.

METAPOST: Oh, CRAP!

I just deleted a bunch of really nice comments! If your comment just doesn’t show up: I accidentally deleted it! I am sorry! I love you! Snobographer, Fllewellyn, the person who compared me to T-Rex from Dinosaur Comics (AT LAST MY LIFE’S GOAL HAS BEEN ACCOMPLISHED), a whole bunch of people who had really smart stuff to say about what was going down with Shakesville: I’m super sorry. I did not mean to SILENCE YOU.

This has been another installment of: Things You Would Not Care About Unless You Were Directly Involved. Thank you!

Dear Andrea Dworkin,

It’s me, Sady. Yes! That’s right! ME! One of the many women who has no doubt caused you to wish that you could rise, as a vengeful spirit, to haunt and torment your critics!

Well, good news for you, Andrea: that is kind of exactly what happened to me this past weekend, when I tried to start a “conversation” (ha ha, yeah, um) about my feelings of alienation from radical feminism as such and also from the rhetorical and activist tactics of many radical feminists. With some radical feminists! Who – in a surprise twist that I could never possibly have predicted – kind of took exception to what I said! As they say, “you’re nobody until you’ve engaged in some kind of drawn-out fight about schisms within the feminist movement dating back at least to the early ’80s and which continue to be incredibly painful and divisive.” Oh, no, wait: what they say is, “don’t do that shit, ever.

Alas! I did it anyway! It was terrible! And here, in the aftermath, what I realize is this: I really, REALLY need to answer all of these e-mails. Oh, but wait! What I also realize is this: I’ve been taking it up with the wrong people. I should have been taking it up with you.

This is hard to do, because people have been so shitty to you! (Also: YOU’RE DEAD? Yes, I know, but this is a rhetorical conceit: roll with it.) I’m not just talking about the anti-feminists and misogynists who slam you and paint you as Big Bad Feminazi #1; I’m not just talking about the many folks who abused you in various ways; I’m talking about us, self-described feminists, writers, folks who should know better. Like, when a woman publishes an account of being raped while drugged, and that account is hazy, messy, confused and seems to betray an extremely unhealthy mental state on the part of the writer (like, say, the account of a woman who’d been recently raped might), is it ever even remotely okay to be like, “well, perhaps she is just making it up for political or career reasons? Or BROUGHT IT UPON HERSELF, due to being such a bitch all the time?” I would argue that it is not! Yet that’s what we did to you, when you published that article in the New Statesman.

Anyway, Andrea: I am not one of those people. That whole spectacle made me sick. I can even tell you that you were the very first feminist whose work I ever read! It blew me away, and made me the tireless yammerer-on about gender and sex that I am today. I can respect much of what you were about: analyzing literary and pop-culture narratives from a feminist perspective, examining how sex (or, rather, heterosexual sex, in your work) is warped by misogyny and a culture of male domination, and refusing to back down from the fact that the rape and abuse of women, by men, happens, and happens often, and says something about the status of women in society, and needs to stop. All of that stuff matters to me. But, I have to tell you: you are just about the worst role model for a young feminist that I can imagine.

Let’s talk about that! Let’s, specifically, talk about sex! Or, in your preferred parlance, “fucking!” (Andrea, one of the many reasons I sneakily love you sometimes is that you dropped more f-bombs per page than any other Serious Theorist I know.) The “all heterosexual sex is rape” thing is a myth; you never said that. What you did seem to be arguing, and what many of your followers and colleagues have seemed to argue, is that in patriarchy, women are defined as existing for the use of men in sex, and that no woman can really, freely choose to have sex with a man, due to the number of societal pressures and power structures that make “having sex with men” the default and the other options untenable, stigmatized, and dangerous. The problem is that, as a young feminist, the “all sex is rape” thing and the other, less t-shirt-worthy theory seemed to be recommending the very same course of action, which was: don’t have sex with dudes.

That’s not going to work for me, Andrea! I have some vague idea as to how you worked it out in your own life: I know you identified as a lesbian, and your life partner was a man who identified as gay, and then later it came out that you were actually married to him, but your official position was that in your own life you did not have “intercourse.” I don’t hold it against any woman if she decides never to have sex again. That’s not my business. What I know is that I can’t be willfully celibate, and that I consider reclaiming and enjoying my sexuality both a vital way to heal from my rape (wherein my sexuality was used to degrade and subjugate me) and from the Madonna/whore split that keeps women from being whole people. I also know that I enjoy having sex with men, and that therefore what I need to work out is a way to do that while resisting old gender roles and subjugation to a male partner. You didn’t help me there, Andrea. You never gave me a way to resist. You told me all the bad stuff that might happen to me, but not how to create anything good.

Then, there was the whole porn thing. Yep: porn is pretty sexist, all right. At least, most of the mainstream heterosexual porn that I’ve seen is sexist. I, like you, oppose that sexism, as well as human trafficking and the abuse, rape, and coercion of women who perform in porn. But, curious fact: did you know that most films and narratives produced within a sexist society are sexist? And have an adverse affect on society by normalizing sexism, just like porn does? Also, that abuse, rape, and coercion of women happen even outside of the context of porn? Actually, I’m almost 100% certain that you do know about that last thing!

Yet, with you, it was nothing but porn, porn, porn, all the damn time. You were like Captain Ahab of the USS Jesus Christ, I Guess Captain Ahab Really Hates Porn. Porn caused violence, porn caused rape, seeing porn in and of itself was a form of abuse (like, if you were “forced” to see it by walking into a bodega where it was on sale or something) and you went after it with these laws that (a) gave governments increased power to persecute and marginalize the queer community, because obviously they were affected first and disproportionately by any obscenity laws or laws policing sexual expression, and (b) gave women the right to sue for damages “caused by porn,” thus making it seem as if porn itself had abused or assaulted them, instead of working to place the blame – and increased, more severe convictions – on their actual rapists. You took the blame off abusers, and put the blame on porn. And aided in the institutional oppression of queer folks in the process. Um, whoops?

Oh, and also? In your speeches about porn, such as “Pornography: The New Terrorism” (Jesus CHRIST) you described images from BDSM pornography as if they were representative of all pornography, when you had reason to know (because people were yelling at you about it) that this was not what all pornography was like, and was also a specific fetish which needed to be understood within its own context. Which was intellectually dishonest, and gave people a really easy way to discredit your arguments. Whoops, again!

Oh, and THEN, also! The BDSM folks got mad at you about it, and the ladies who were already kind of frustrated by the “don’t fuck dudes” stuff got mad at you about it, and feminism basically CAUGHT FIRE AND EXPLODED and you did NO work to understand what those people were saying, and in fact attacked some of them really, really harshly! WHOOPS!

Oh, and also? Remember all those women of color and working-class women who protested both sides, and were like, “making porn the central issue of the feminist movement takes emphasis away from the very real issues that affect our lives?” Ha ha, yeah, they had a solid point there! On my own behalf, if not yours, I would like to say: whoops.

But seriously, Andrea: let’s talk about sex, some more. Let’s talk, specifically, about how you minimized and glossed over women’s sexual agency and pleasure, and gave fuel to cultural conservatives by developing a rhetoric wherein women were giant babies who couldn’t make their own sexual choices and were, in fact, threatened by sex itself: an image of women as passive, helpless victims terrorized by men’s bestial desires that dates right on back to the Cult of True Womanhood, and gave preachers and right-wing pundits the opportunity to paint basically any sexual expression, regardless of content or intent, as “demeaning to women.” Even if women were actively and enthusiastically taking part in the “demeaning.” You painted us all as victims, focused almost solely on the most extreme forms of misogynist abuse (which, as basically anyone who knows me is aware, I abhor), used extreme, hyperbolic rhetoric irresponsibly, and didn’t really address more subtle forms of sexism in society or – as previously referenced – give us workable, practical ways to resist. Don’t believe me? Check this business out:

Bill Clinton’s fixation on oral sex — non-reciprocal oral sex — consistently puts women in states of submission to him. It’s the most fetishistic, heartless, cold sexual exchange that one could imagine.

Um, really? A blow job? The MOST HEARTLESS COLD FETISHISTIC AWFUL TERRIBLE NO-GOOD VERY BAD ACT YOU CAN IMAGINE? Seriously, lady: I can imagine worse. And I probably haven’t seen as much porn as you have.

Of course, this is the essay that leads up to “I think Hillary should shoot Bill and then President Gore should pardon her,” so this is an odd line with which to take offense. For the record, I do think Clinton was, pretty much, a misogynist! Yet it’s precisely this construction that makes me so mad sometimes: refusing to acknowledge that maybe, sometimes, you give a dude head because you like him, or because you like doing that, and instead portraying a consensual BJ as an act of unspeakable violation.

And, of course, in that very essay, you get around to calling Hillary “pathetic” and not a real feminist any more because she hasn’t denounced or left her husband, AS IF THAT WERE ANY OF YOUR BUSINESS, and as if that didn’t give more fuel to the by-then-already-popular pastime of openly misogynist or concern-trollish Hillary-bashing. Andrea Dworkin: I THINK YOU ARE KIND OF A CONCERN TROLL, is what I think. In your version of feminism, what concerns us is passing judgment on the choices of other women, while we assume that we know what is going through their heads at all times, which is, of course, “I am oh so very victimized by men” or “oh, how I love to assist men in victimizing women.”

And it’s that, really, that led me away from radical feminism, and specifically away from your work. It’s the lavish, intricately detailed, lovingly rendered descriptions of hate-sex, rape, and bodily harm to women. It’s the endless parade of martyrs in your work. It’s the “Andrea Dworkin suffers for your sins” shit you pulled so often. It’s saying stuff like, “I’m a radical feminist, not the fun kind.” (Ha ha, yeah, fun sucks! Joy couldn’t possibly be a way to resist patriarchal oppression!) It’s naming books stuff like Woman Hating and Heartbreak and Our Blood, the fetishization of suffering as feminist purity, and the refusal to really address the fact that sexism can be subtle, subliminal, non-violent, and just as if not more damaging and difficult to analyze and resist due to that fact. Here is another quote of yours I came across:

He is the conjurer who takes the smoking ash of real death and turns it into stories, poems, pictures, which celebrate degradation as life’s central truth. He is the illusionist who paints mutilated bodies in chains on the interior canvas of the imagination so that, asleep or awake, we can only hallucinate indignity and outrage. He is the manipulator of psychological reality.”

The thing is, Andrea, you were talking about The Oppressor. I read this, and the only person I think of is Y-O-U. Asleep or awake, we can only hallucinate indignity and outrage, if we buy into your theory of gender relations. We accept, if we accept your work, degradation as life’s central truth.

*** IMPORTANT UPDATE RE: COMMENTS ***
Oh! My goodness! It appears that this – in what is a completely surprising occurence with no precedent in either the history of feminism or in my own personal life – has become a heated conversation! To the extent that I’ve made it so, I take responsibility for that. Here are a few statements in regard to this that I’d like folks to hear, up front, before entering the war zone:

1. Everyone who reads this blog is entitled to call me out for statements or theoretical points that are based on privilege. Everyone who reads this blog is entitled to disagree with me. I take critiques of my privilege or theory seriously. I am furthermore aware that this is a contentious and painful debate, and that there are probably several areas in the post that deserve serious critique. I would appreciate it, and do appreciate those who have written careful critiques thus far.

2. For reasons of accountability and objectivity, I am not editing the post itself (except to add this) and publishing every comment in this thread except for random threatening Internet-stalker stuff, and doing my best to respond to them. [EDIT: Ha ha, not any more! Because the thread got too long to keep up with and respond to, and also literally almost as soon as this note went up folks started doing more and more of the following:]

3. Insofar as possible, please refrain from the following: slut-shaming (and this can take the form of framing “sex with men” as a choice that necessarily precludes “ending violence against women”), name-calling, condescending to or passing judgment on the personal choices of other women, and revoking other women’s Feminist Membership Cards or claiming access to the One True Feminism. This, in case you are curious, can take the form – and often does! – of acting as if a fellow feminist’s agreement, disagreement, or decision to criticize or support of the theory of one Andrea Dworkin invalidates both her commitment to the movement and everything else she has ever done. [EDIT: Jesus.]

4. Thanks for engaging.

SEXIST BEATDOWN: She’s Every Woman, It’s All In Her (And Definitely Not You) Edition

Friends, today is the day I have spent talking. Talking, about how to personify feminism in one’s personal life! Can you do it? Can you do it PERFECTLY? I cannot!

Well, here is a relief for me: Angelina Jolie has been scientifically discovered to embody literally every facet of feminism, PERFECTLY, within herself. This was discovered by Naomi Wolf! An author I like quite a lot! Naomi Wolf: I like you. And I like Angelina Jolie even more, now that she has taken this burden off my shoulders.

Behold, as Amanda “Not the Face of Feminism” Hess of The Sexist and I “Even More Definitely Not the Face of Feminism” of Tiger Beatdown discuss!


ILLUSTRATION: FEMINISM!!!

SADY: so, yes: angelina jolie represents us all! or, the best in all of us! she is the eternal spirit of woman! or something.

AMANDA: she also represents how sexy feminism can be. the worst thing about this whole thing is how it seems to be pretty much accidental how angie rose to become this Idea of Woman: you, too, can be the ideal woman: effortlessly!

SADY: yet, i mean: somehow, in spite of the article’s many points about how angelina exemplifies the ideal woman (did you know that even STRAIGHT women, if pressed, would sleep with her? this is in no way a generic “well, i guess people like her” answer) i doubt everyone idealizes her in the way the article suggests. SHE WON A SURVEY. people were like, “who’s a celebrity you like THE MOST,” and the answer was “angelina.” she really only occupies this exalted place within this specific essay.

AMANDA: i know. the stars of sexiness and Brad Pitt and bisexual fantasies and feminism aligned at this particular moment. (because they had to, for this essay). and so, anything Angelina does is empowering. i don’t particularly see what’s feminist or anti-feminist about, say, sleeping with a man who is married. but maybe if we squint …

SADY: right. or blood necklaces, or kissing your brother. feminism: now with more billy bob thornton action! is not a headline i expect to see on the cover of ms. any time soon. well, not unless i write that essay. and then cut and paste that headline on to the cover of ms. in a delusional frenzy.

AMANDA: hahaha

SADY: but, really: the article just seems to be stretching. look, she’s sexy! and, a mom! and, she has a cute boyfriend! like, how is this not true of so many other celebrity women?

AMANDA: i do think that crowning anyone as the archetype of “bringing together almost every aspect of female empowerment and liberation” is necessarily dumb.

SADY: right? like, the article actually says at some point, “she is like princess diana, but better than princess diana, because she is not dead, which really put a damper on our desire to identify with princess diana.” PARAPHRASING.

AMANDA: personally, i like the idea that somewhere deep down, Mother Teresa was personally dismayed that people could see her as good, but not sexy. “why am i so GOOD?” “i will never be desired!”

SADY: “ARRRRRRRRGH, boys don’t like me. maybe if i didn’t spend all this time with lepers!”

AMANDA: it’s also telling that the story is a write-around, as all stories about celebrities are, because we really have no fucking idea what her life is actually like or whether we would really want it. or want to sleep with it. whatever it is that we want from her life.

SADY: right? and i am sure that, in some places, her life is pretty mundane. the whole glamour and myth-making process of celebrity is one thing, but: you know, she’s just a lady. i have it on good authority that angelina jolie both eats food for nutritional reasons and excretes waste products known as “poop!” i heard that angelina jolie frequently douses herself with water and soap for that special “clean” feeling!

AMANDA: finally, a woman who poops that women want to be like! we’ve been waiting for this

SADY: yet, despite our common habits of pooping and showering (i hear she also “sleeps” to refresh herself!) i really doubt that many of us will EVER have lives that resemble hers. like. if you have to win an oscar and sleep with brad pitt and adopt and/or birth all the underprivileged children in the world to bring together all facets of women’s liberation, i really should just give up now.

AMANDA: yeah, and i think by the end we get to this crazy perversion of her original point. which is that, you know, women should be able to have sex lives AND be respected, and other such double-standard-breakers. but angie just keeps piling on the ANDs to the point of absurdity. like, now we should be able to have sex lives AND be respected AND be amateur pilots before, we were just slutty pilots.

SADY: AND star in sky captain and the world of tomorrow! don’t forget! in the world of tomorrow, everyone will respect you for your slutty piloting skills! it’s kind of nuts. i, at this point, have been devoted to The Feminism for so long, and i continually think about (a) whether my life is feminist enough or (b) whether my life is STEREOTYPICALLY feminist. like, ideally i should be gorgeous and universally loved but especially be loved by boys but also resist each and every form of oppression that i encounter in my day-to-day life, SUCCESSFULLY.

AMANDA: see, but angelina can effortlessly be feminist AND not too feminist, all at the same time, without being forced to choose between feminism and not-too-feminism
5:15 PM those lips, etc. i dont’ know. i want to read profiles like this about EVERY celebrity

SADY: because (SPOILER) angelina, as she exists in this essay, is your imaginary friend. she is made up. i like the part where we go into Imaginary Angelina’s brain and learn what she is thinking: “She insists on claiming every role on an operatic scale, making the symbolism as transgressive as possible — and saying, implicitly, “See? It can be done.””
whereas maybe she was just thinking, “WOO, what a cute baby, i’m gonna adopt it. also, get another tattoo. unicorns are the best.” my Imaginary Angelina/Perfect Woman Archetype thinks a lot about unicorns. it’s weird.

AMANDA: whatever, our Perfect Women can DO that now. finally.

SADY: exactly. but, you know. if another woman were as popular as angelina jolie – and maybe another woman will be, soon – we’d be writing the same essay about her, i think. like, in five years it might be lady gaga and we’d be writing about how real female self-determination means you can dress like natalie portman in the Star Wars movies, but if that character really liked to get naked. the Perfect Woman thing is so arbitrary and weird that you could basically write your own essay about “[x] is the perfect woman” and get the same results.

AMANDA: i like this new outlet for feminist writers though. get hired by mainstream publication. argue why arbitrary [whatever] is feminist. i could get used to that

SADY: oh, that sounds perfect to me. who wants to hire me to write about the feminism of various artisanal bourbons? “this bourbon, which i drank A LOT OF, filled me with the feelings of liberation and pukiness that are essential to feminism.” “this is a bourbon that can do it all.” “and so can YOU, female reader.”

AMANDA: You let me know when the Tiger Beatdown Feminist Bourbon Tour starts and I’ll be the first in line.

ADVICE! For Deleted Commenters! AGAIN!

Friends, I received a comment today! A comment that was six hundred and fifty-one words long! Now, normally I would just be like, “whoops, looks like someone doesn’t know how ‘blogs’ work.” (Did you know, Commenter, that there are whole websites that you can create specifically for the purpose of posting your various thoughts on things?) However, this commenter is important enough that I feel compelled to help him and/or her out, by dedicating an entire blog post to his or her important – nay, revolutionary! – ideas. This commenter, you see, is a dedicated feminist, devoted to destroying the single largest obstacle to women’s equality that currently exists.

The single largest obstacle to women’s equality that currently exists is Tiger Beatdown.

To be more specific, it is Tiger Beatdown’s review of “The 40-Year-Old Virgin.” I know, right? That was not even the meanest review in the series! “Superbad” was the meanest; then, on the “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” thing I basically just lost my mind and was like, FUCK YOU COLLEGE BOYFRIEND AND/OR JASON SEGEL I AM CONVINCED THAT YOU ARE PRETTY MUCH THE SAME GUY ALSO YOUR MOVIE BLOWS. Nevertheless, “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” is the one I destroyed feminism and/or women with!

Now: before I present this comment, I must regretfully tell you that the staunch feminist ally who wrote it is Anonymous. Yes, an Anonymous Commenter, or “AC” for short. So, let’s just fix “AC” in your mind, so that you have a clear mental image of this person. “AC.” “AC.” “AC.” AC:


Got that picture firmly in mind? Good. Let’s read on!

Good to see that you’ve dispelled the offensive, unfounded stereotype that feminists lack a sense of humor. What incisive commentary!

Why, thank you! I have dispelled that stereotype, haven’t I? And all by myself, too. Heyyyyy, wait a minute…

I thought 40 Y/O Virgin was a fairly standard comedy that derived its humor from hyperbolizing the way men think and talk about sex. I thought the ultimate “lesson” of the movie, if it had one, was that mutual respect is the foundation of a sexually-fulfilling relationship. Little did I realize that the film was, to misquote Bunuel, “a passionate call to rape and abuse.” I mean, we’ve all seen the troubling statistics on the sharp rise in home invasion sexual assualts that took place in the aftermath of this film, but I never understood why until now. The pieces finally fit! Praise the Lord and pass the labrys!

You guys, I think this person might be making fun of me! It is hard to tell, because it is so subtle! Is there any way you can spend over 500 words on making your point clearer, Anonymous Commenter?

I was also really excited by the novel presentation of this piece. Rather than succumbing to the use of transparent, unfunny sarcasm and half-baked reactionary ideas [which perpetuate the unfortunate idea that women generally are passive aggressive and that feminists in particular are pseudo-intellectual idiots], you offered an unbiased commentary without any indicia of a censorship agenda.

Yeah, AC’s definitely making fun of me. How could AC have missed my clear censorship agenda? Has AC forgotten that I personally burned all copies of “The 40-Year-Old Virgin,” and made laughing at Steve Carell punishable by death in my recently-created totalitarian regime? Well, thank God AC would never stoop so low as to use “transparent, unfunny” sarcasm to make a point! That is for passive-aggressive idiots! And TERRORISTS.

[Blah blah blah] syncophantic commentators [blah blah blah] right-wing religious types, or gun nuts, or racists, or fanatical adherents to any “ism” of any other strip, feminists [blah blah blah]. If we watch things like this despicable, hateful film to make an independent judgment, there’ll be anarchy in the streets [blah].

Whew. Thank God I didn’t watch this film to make an independent judgment or anything. Who knows what damage I may have caused! For example, I might have single-handedly destroyed feminism!

[Blah blah blibbity blabbity bloop bleep blorp]... know what? Upon further consideration, I’m afraid that you and your readers are fucking stupid enough to take the foregoing seriously, so I’ll just make it plain: you are an idiot, and an asshole to boot.

WHAT? Oh no! You fooled me before! With the sarcasm!

It’s self-described “feminists” like you that make the rest of us look stupid and crazy. You are the Hulga/Joy Hopewell of feminism: a smug, self-involved, miserable bitch with no practical knowledge of how the world works.

Yes, but such a fine short story could be made of my life, don’t you think? Also, a PJ Harvey song, which I quite enjoy! Is This Desire is sort of an overlooked album, for me. I rarely listen to it, but when I do, I always…

… oh, OK. AC has now dropped both a Flannery O’Connor reference and a Bunuel reference into his or her anonymous “you’re a bitch and I hate you” Internet comment. This signifies, for the record, that AC wants to be taken seriously, on an intellectual level; also, that he or she has literally no sense of irony or absurdity whatsoever. So, I will now engage with his or her argument, seriously and with full intellectual pomposity. Although, for the record? You didn’t need to try this hard, buddy. The “lol you r dumb” commenters are typically just as convincing, and much more concise.

Do you really think that the quasi-academic deconstruction of a harmless comedy is going to change anything? Do you think being hypersensitive and whiny and humorless is going to make the rest of the world take real feminist issues more seriously?

Ummmmm… yes! Wait…. no! Wait…. it’s a pointless rhetorical question based on misreading and stereotyping my argument, as well as pulling every cliched anti-feminist silencing trope you can find out of your butt, and is so broad as to be entirely unconvincing because it relates to the actual words I have written only vaguely and seems primarily to be fueled by some feelings of animosity toward me personally or toward feminists and/or women in general!

Of course not!

DAMN IT!

Simpering about how some movie hurt your feelings because you didn’t like it just feeds all those stereotypes about women [emotional, irrational] and feminism [unnecessary, irrelevant to real issues, a forum to bitch rather than take action] that real feminists have been fighting against for decades. As you were amusing yourself by dropping f-bombs and making bold pronouncements about your mature sexuality

Ha ha, “fuck.” Ha ha ha. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Hahahahahaha.

women were earning less at work, being abused, being denied medical care, and being treated like second class citizens all around the world: Hundreds and thousands and millions of them.

No. REALLY? Wait. Nooooooo. I had no idea this was going on! Why didn’t I write about it? WHY?

Is some man in an office somewhere reading this more likely to ignore a female subordinate’s feminist argument in favor of more job responsibility if he thinks feminists are hysterical crybabies? You’re damn right he is.

Okay. Here, we come (finally) to the main point of the argument: Tiger Beatdown, meaning me, is the sole representative of feminism in the world, and as such, responsible for determining the goals and priorities of the movement. Sorry, other feminists! You didn’t make the cut! It’s all about me now, and I say feminism is about buying me a pony!

As the sole representative of feminism (other than AC, who of course is completely devoted to the movement and knows exactly how it should go; this is demonstrated by AC’s commitment to calling other feminists hysterical humorless crybaby bitches on the Internet) I am responsible for convincing everyone in the world to adhere to my and/or AC’s feminist principles. Every blog post I write must encapsulate everything that feminism is about; I may never be allowed to write something silly or pop-culture focused, as an unidentified and extremely gullible businessman (OK, Emily Gould: YOU WERE RIGHT ABOUT BOB, I am sorry) could choose any one of my blog posts to form his ideas about the female gender. It is my responsibility to incarnate all womanly virtue, and to behave in a manner that ensures I will never be stereotyped – since, as we all know, when a member of an oppressed group is stereotyped, he or she is in complete control of this, and in fact makes it happen, and the stereotyping party is a blank slate with no pre-determined agendas (or, “prejudices”) – and, should I ever falter in this mission, women will magically become oppressed through my actions.

There are no other feminists. There is no such thing as pre-existing prejudice or privilege. People are incapable of surveying the huge and diverse feminist movement and determining that there are differences of opinion within it, and that debate is encouraged, and that they cannot and should not form their ideas about feminism from my work alone. My job is to behave properly at all times, or I and all other women will be subject to oppression, which is our fault for not being good girls and laughing at boys’ jokes.

Nope, I can’t see anything sexist about this argument whatsoever. Let’s tune in to AC’s concluding words:

Grow up, get out of your ivory tower, get off your ass, and fucking do something!

Yes. DO SOMETHING! Do something important! Like, LEAVING ANONYMOUS MEAN COMMENTS ON BLOG POSTS! That will save the world!