I used to pride myself on being a feminist because I understood the term as having more to do with my choices than a well-crafted paradigm of victimization. Yet today’s feminist movement seems to pride itself on emasculating men, guilt-shaming society, and bullying those who won’t march around Washington with genitalia on their heads. They’re the ones claiming society reduces women to her tits and ass, while showing up to protests topless and knitting pussy hats.
But what unhinges me more than a bunch of vaginas swarming our country’s capital is feminists’ advocacy for a form of equality that disempowers others rather than uplifts their supporters. We’ve all seen it. On Father’s Day, feminists became so unnerved by not being the center of attention that they took to Twitter reminding followers that the American family can function quite well without men, that men better work their butts off, and that the holiday may in fact only reinforce patriarchy. Feminist activist Sarah Maple has been peddling a similar agenda for years. Her photograph, Signs, features three women holding signs that read “I wish I had a penis because then I’d f*ck you and steal you job.” And that’s the problem…today’s feminists don’t want equality. They want to elevate their perceived status in society not by making the choices necessary to improving their lives, but by disempowering and crippling others. They want to act like playground bullies, while protecting themselves with politically correct terms like feminism, women equality, and human rights advocacy.
Yet the most spineless approach for achieving equality is through belittling and dehumanizing others. It’s the main reason why I severed myself from the feminist movement years ago. I also divorced this politically correct and Hollywood endorsed fiasco because I believe in my power as a woman. I recognized my ability not to victimize or objectify myself, while bullying others into fueling some perverse sense of self-esteem. I understood the importance of clutching onto personal responsibility, rather than passing the buck onto the male gaze, gender constructs, or the horrific subliminal messages associated with Barbies, doll houses, or anything else unhinging feminists.
I didn’t grow up believing in myself because thousands of women were stomping around Washington with vaginas on their heads or because Beyonce and Miley Cryus evolved into social justice referees who graciously outlined how I ought to think. I grew up tenaciously pursuing my dreams because I recognized that I live in a country rewarding hard work, integrity and perseverance. I think it’s high time for feminists to do the same. Perhaps we will all benefit when feminists stop protesting Father’s Day, knitting pussy hats and emasculating men and start growing a pair.