At odds with the echo chamber
I picked up a copy of Everyday Sexism on a whim at the library, and not because the hashtag overtook my Twitter feed several years back. The title, rendered in rainbow lettering, made the little white hardback stand out from the rest of the books on the Recently Returned shelf. The shelf is immediately across from the conveyor belts of the automated book return; I may have a 1400+ item "to read" list, but it seems the librarians know their target audience.
I didn't pick it up thinking I would read it cover to cover. Between observation, essays abound, and personal experience, I am well-versed on the subject.
The section on girlhood had me thinking, "Thank God I wasn't hot in high school" within the first three pages. Not that I was ugly, either, and not that it matters. I was pretty in a way that drew compliments exclusively from adults, mostly women. Boys my age weren't having it. It killed me – my undesirability, I mean. Boy-crazy since birth, I had the insight to know that the positive male response I sought was not on offer. In retrospect, this was a good thing. Once my body caught up with my brain, I was drawn in plenty of licentious directions. I can only imagine the places my clumsy coquettish behavior could have taken me had I been alluring to the eye.
Throughout the book, reader-submitted tweets and bits of text allow women tell their own stories. They recounted internal and external pressures to be thin, to rein in their responses to the comments (because they aren't compliments) received on their burgeoning physicality. The section on young women caught my eye because their stories were the opposite of mine. I grew up skinny and hated it, as did the schoolmates that showed me the ways in which my body was not my own. I was brought into counselors' offices to discuss eating disorders I didn’t have and reprimanded for swearing at the boys who teased me for being "flat as a pancake.""
I was in middle school when my dad tried to make me feel better by comparing my physique to Kate Moss, prompting me to run from the room in tears. I had a lot of feelings: mortified that my father could see the shape of me, embarrassed that talking about it drove me to cry. Ashamed that I was incapable of feeling something without showing it.
Thinking back on my dad's well-intentioned reassurances only reinforces that men don't get it: it doesn’t matter what women look like, because we're always falling short of an ever-changing ideal. Every woman I know has a list of perceived faults they can rattle off, in the right company. There's always an influencer or other media source proclaiming themselves a feminist while taking the opportunity to produce some sponsored content that isn't meant to make us feel bad - just, you know, gently suggest we could be better.
Case in point: Kim Kardashian is under fire again, this time due to a partnered promotion for appetite suppressant lollipops. Kim K. intrigues me because she manages to be an income-generating powerhouse that "inspires" women to embrace a very particular cultural ideal of beauty as she banks off her own sexuality. It’s like seeing the points Ariel Levy raised in Female Chauvinist Pigs play out in real time. (Warning: telling your friends you're reading this book and agree with some of the points made therein will get you labeled as sex-negative and a bad feminist. Read with caution!)
Though I'm hardly a Tumblr teen, the sections of Everday Sexism covering university and office harassment were too much for me. "Triggered" perfectly encapsulates my response to being submerged in accounts of workplace harassment. As I've touched on in the past, it's easy to be overwhelmed by bad news when you spend any amount of time online.
That's about where I'm at with #MeToo. As women discuss allegations against men that were supposed to be on "our" side, or debate the movement pivoting its message in more ways than one, most of the men I know are having a crisis of their own. Though I know many women aren't interested in conversations with "the cause" of their discomfort, toxic masculinity (and related niche interest groups) hurt everyone, including straight white guys.
Once said men ascertain they are in a safe space—meaning there are no POC or SJW-style feminists within earshot—they have a lot to say about it. I get it: it's hard to be lambasted online when you're not used to broad strokes criticism. It’s even harder when you don't participate in any of the color-coded pill-taking dominating the headlines; nobody wants to be lumped in with bigots.
As the incel movement experiences its moment in the sun, prompting discussion and exposé essays abound, I am reminded of the unveilings of microniche groups past: the bug chasers, juggalos, MRAs, furries, and bronies, to name a few. The response to revealing each group’s existence follows a similar pattern: expose, explore, abhor, ignore. We'll be moving on to critiquing the members of some other as-of-yet-undiscovered subreddit in no time. Forget bat country, this is an alley of outrage.
For all the articles proclaiming internet outrage died in 2015—and there’s a lot of them—anecdotal evidence shows otherwise. Researchers are dying to understand the physical and psychological response to spending lots of time online; their findings are not promising.
But I digress.
Here's the thing I'm not supposed to say: internet misandry is fucking hilarious. It's like watching Michelle Wolf take the piss out of this administration and the journalists covering it at the White House Correspondents' Dinner. Most folks laughed (Trump supporters and certain journos aside) because Michelle punched up instead of down.
To mock the social group with the upper hand—men, but specifically white men—without fear of repercussion is glee-inducing. That doesn’t make it right. It also doesn't make it any less amusing to those who feel oppressed by the assumed majority.
I'm not going to bat for the poor SWM, for the record. I'm attempting to issue the same suggestions women have heard a thousand times over: you are only as victimized by these criticisms as you choose to be. Unfollow, unfriend, or mute those who are on a man-hating tip if it offends you. Block people that are more interested in popping off a viral tweet than engaging in a discussion.
Or, consider not spending so much time on the internet. The real world is still your oyster; give the rest of us a chance to scream with laughter in the internet's echo chamber.
Note: Links to books are Amazon referral URLs. If possible, you should buy books from a local bookseller instead. Connecting you with said book stores is a little murky in this format, so I hope you’ll excuse me for in any way implying you should further line Jeff Bezos’ pockets.