Some would call me a bad feminist. I listen to The Weeknd almost religiously. I prefer male partners who display at least some semblance of chivalry. I still consistently fake orgasms. I watch porn that depicts women being degraded and humiliated. I occasionally entertain the desire to leave all semblance of a career, marry a rich divorcée, and raise his bratty kids. I wear makeup every day. I still don’t know exactly how I feel about legalization of prostitution. If these things make me a bad feminist, then I certainly am one.
I try very hard to stay informed and incensed. I stick my middle finger up at catcallers. I believe fully in the existence of misogyny and will point it out when I see it (but only when it is safe to do so). I care deeply about the intersectional oppressions that occur in tandem with patriarchy and I do not believe in a hierarchy of oppressions.
Roxane Gay’s talk reminded me that I am flawed – we all are. No one can be the “perfect” feminist. No matter how deeply I care about the depiction of women in the media, I may still pay to see a movie that – yet again – revolves around a “complicated male protagonist”, while his “one-dimensional female love interest” sits on the sidelines and shows up for the slow, sexy moments. And that’s okay! All I can do is my best, and for now, today, this is my best. I am boldly claiming my feminism, and “I would rather be a bad feminist than no feminist at all”.
