Men With Stereotypical Notions of What A Feminist Should Look Like.

As the “feminist” “movement” increasingly becomes the sort of fad that prompts Urban Outfitters to sell t-shirts with the three syllable word on it, “men’s” commonly held notions about what one should look like (chiefly a short-coiffed, homely, ill-dressed, long armpit-haired being) ought to evolve quickly if they don’t want to further incriminate themselves to the world about just what narrow-minded pieces of shit they are.

This false perception “men” have of only “ugly” women being capable of rage and contempt for the centuries-long acceptance of female oppression probably wasn’t helped by our Lord and Savior, Valerie Solanas. Then again, most “straight” “men” have nary a clue who that is unless they happened to catch a certain episode of American Horror Story: Cult. What’s more, when the type of dickless “men” I’m referring to think “ugly,” it is in the manner that has so often prompted the Hollywood trope of a woman getting a makeover by the simple removal of her glasses and the addition of a form-fitting dress to her wardrobe.

And yet, it’s actually easier for “men” to position a feminist to themselves in this manner–the manner that assumes she wouldn’t be a feminist if she was pretty enough to finagle herself a “man.” Comforts them in the belief that it’s merely a “trend” that will pass more attractive women by after enough time has lapsed and some more liberal celebrity takes the presidential office.

John Michael McDonagh’s 2016 film, War on Everyone, oft memed, rarely watched, paints this issue most succinctly when Alexander Skarsgård in the role of Terry Monroe daftly asks, “Can you be a feminist and still wear hot pants?” The guilelessness of this question gives a genuine insight into how most “men” think, persisting in truly believing that to be hideous is to be a feminist–in their minds, still a synonym for harpy. That is, if such an age-old insult is even in their Newspeak vernacular. So to break down the answer to that query very simply: you can be a feminist and wear whatever the fuck you want. Even the polar opposite wardrobe piece, a burka–which packs even more power because it hides the only thing “men” care about in a woman: her body.


Men Whose Actions Prompt You to Turn Into Valerie Solanas.

For the most part, people like to vilify Valerie Solanas for shooting Andy Warhol and nearly cutting the iconic artist’s life short. They write her off as a “dyke,” a “feminist,” a “crazy bitch.” But does anyone ever bother to think about all the actions of certain “men” that led her to that breaking point in 1968? That point where she was like, “Yeah, I need to buy a fucking gun and shoot this fey motherfucker–the representation of everything that’s ruined me.”

The prized manifesto

The prized manifesto

After Warhol agreed to produce her play, Up Your Ass, and then didn’t, Solanas was naturally a bit hurt, as most people with functioning emotions would be when a promise is made and then not kept. Then, spurred on by the paranoid schizophrenia that most “men” have an innate talent for inflicting upon every woman they fuck over, she began to think that he was stealing her work–not just Up Your Ass, but also the crowning achievement in her oeuvre, S.C.U.M. Manifesto (S.C.U.M. being an acronym for Society for Cutting Up Men). When Maurice Girodias, the owner of Olympia Press, offered to publish the manifesto, she interpreted the deal to mean that he would thereby have complete control over the rights to the work–which really isn’t that far-fetched of a postulation. She became convinced that Girodias and Warhol were in league together. Armed with a chip on her shoulder and a desire to shoot up every “man” who disappointed her and threatened her artistic license, Solanas stormed the Factory and took aim at Warhol, Mario Amaya (an art critic/museum director) and Fred Hughes (Warhol’s manager). Those shots were all she needed for the sweet release of getting a “man” to wake the fuck up about how much he pissed her off.