Some Misandry
Trigger Warning: Extremely Brief Mention of ED
This past week, I have officially maxed myself out on tolerance of men. Why is it that most of the men I know treat me like I’m nothing more than porn-novelty red hair and large breasts? It’s all they can see. Nevermind that I’m a vegan, a feminist, that I’m clumsy, I still play Pokemon, that I’ve been known to eat frosting straight out of the jar, that I speak three languages… there are so many minute and big things that make me who I am. But men don’t see and aren’t interested in any of those things.
The supreme irony is that, as a result of years of an eating disorder, I’m only able to tolerate my physical appearance on most days. When you don’t like the way you look, and you’re constantly told it’s your best quality… well, how do YOU think that feels?
When people tell me that feminism is ridiculous and that we’re all equal in this day and age… it’s either because they’re the men who are knowingly or unknowingly reducing women to sex objects, or they’re women who have tragically normalized their own experiences of objectification.
I don’t even know which is worse.