As feminists, we constantly have to wrestle with our motivations for being part of a movement that works towards securing equality for all, and how that reflects on ourselves. To wit, as many a man has asked me in the past: are we feminists because we’re ugly, or are we ugly because we’re feminists?
It’s a real head scratcher. Because while it seems that I might be invested in equality because it sort of feels like the right way for humanity to exist and I weirdly care about the liberation of oppressed groups, I have to acknowledge the possibility that my rampant misandry stems from the fact that no man wants to place his penis within a 10 kilometre radius of me.
Now, we all know that the most important thing a woman can do is find a man to love her. Without a boo to call her own, a woman just drifts around directionless, her woman brain having rendered her biologically useless at reading the maps needed to navigate the world. So finding one validates her existence and gives her meaning in her life. If all goes according to plan, it might also get her a ring on her finger and then even a baby! This will automatically elevate her from apprentice human to fully fledged member of society (albeit with a role that’s different to men but still equal except financially, socially and legislatively).
So how do we ugly, hairy, hissing feminists go from being cave dwelling separatist rejects to being shopfront material? Well, not without difficulty. But if we just put as much effort into it as we do collecting the skeins of men’s scrotums to sew handbags for our hit squads, we might get there.
The world can be a dangerous place for women, but probably the biggest threat we face is the amount of hair we have on our bodies. Now, some women enjoy the feel of a smooth vagine, and that’s absolutely fine. Viva la difference! But let’s not kid ourselves that it isn’t a painful, expensive and time consuming enterprise. One on which perhaps the fate of the whole world rests. It requires diligence to maintain control over the furious muffs growing in our downstairs. Left to their own devices, they run the risk of rising up against us, joining forces with other muffs in a giant, matted mess that will eventually engulf the world and suffocate every living creature that dwells therein. Millenia from now, when an intergalactic species stumbles across the planet, all they’ll find is a moist furball gargling its way around the sun, drenched in humidity and smelling vaguely of patchouli. And so we must wax and shave and preen for the good of humanity, and also because we know men don’t like that shit when it ain’t clean you know?
Be careful though. If your extreme disinterest in basement grooming means you attack it with the regularity of a sloth entering a marathon, you might find yourself being overly aggressive one day and trimming too closely to the skin leaving your mons an itchy, inflamed, post nuclear mess that requires the regular application of Bepanthen and sees you standing in front of your bathroom mirror yelling WHY? WHY? WHY? at yourself while furiously scratching your nethers with a hairbrush.
Not that this happened to me.
Everyone knows that men are intimidated by smart, self assured women. Like, literally everyone knows that. So don’t be so smart and self-assured! It’s much more important to listen when men are speaking, and subtly encourage them. Laugh at their jokes, even when they’re designed to mock your entire gender because they are probably just trying to become better at comedy whilst also secretly assessing you to see how laidback you are and willing to have a laugh at your own expense. Guys love laidback girls, especially when they are also naturally beautiful without a lot of makeup and also have really healthy appetites but are able to remain naturally thin because they take care of themselves.
Don’t laugh at them though, because men hate being laughed at. It’s like, literally one of the worst, most meanest, awfullest things you can possibly do to them. Why are you laughing at them? STOP LAUGHING AT THEM. It’s not fair that you make them feel bad just for being themselves! Why you gotta be such a ball breaker? This is why men are rapidly emerging as the 21st century’s most displaced group of oppressed citizens.
Image credit: Sinfest
Feminists, spinsters, cat ladies - we gotta stop being so sensitive. Men hate it when women are overly sensitive. And that means getting over this feminism malarkey. The women’s liberation movement is done, done, Romeo DUNN. As we are constantly reminded by eminent scholars and intellectuals, it has both succeeded in achieving all of its goals and utterly failed - a curious duality, to be sure, but then feminism is an essentially confusing thing for many people to grasp.
Anyway, the point is that feminism is over. Women are equal now, which is why we still experience significantly high levels of abuse and exploitation, ritual silencing and symbolic annihilation in culture, and the benefits of financial inequality. Men don’t want to hear about our problems all the time, mainly because it reminds them of the first two things on this list - that we’re probably covered in a coarse layer of misandric hair and that we don’t know how to laugh at how disgusting we are. Not a happy recipe for erections, or an invitation to have them pet us.
And there it is. Just some ways we can make the long, arduous trek from hideous she-beasts to docile, equal ladies. As hair scientists Pantene like to remind us, it won’t happen overnight - but with the right investment, tools and initial outlay of expense, it will happen.