Using the standard specious logic, dodgy stats, and sleaze-laden self-deprecating humour common to feminism’s publicity drives, Caitlin Moran recently took to the men’s magazine Esquire to school men about the wonders of feminism. I held my nose and went through the article with an anti-feminist fine tooth comb to expose the female supremacy nonsense and abject misandry coursing through her words, underlying her entire moranifesto. You’re …welcome (?)
Hey, I’m not going to womansplain feminism to the readers of Esquire! That’s not happening on my watch! You’re sophisticated, 21st century men with a copy of the El Bulli cookbook, a timeless pair of investment brogues and a couple of Joni Mitchell albums — for when you want to sit in your leather armchair, and have a little, noble, necessary man-cry.
Caitlin, you’re not funny and what the hell are you talking about? I don’t understand you, Caitlin. It all sounds clever in an annoying asshole kind of way but what exactly is happening in the first paragraph?
You don’t need me lecturing you — because you’re not hanging out the back of a bus shouting “CLUNGE!” at a bunch of terrified 15-year-old girls. You’ve got sisters, mothers, lovers — female friends and colleagues — and you’ve never once gone up to any of them shouting, “Blimey! You don’t get many of those to the pahnd!” while honking on their breasts, in the manner of Sid James.
So you would lecture a man who does such things? You really think they’d listen to your shit? No Caitlin, no one here is living out your dream of terrifying 15-year-old girls. As much as you may wish it wasn’t the case, men who aren’t feminists do not honk on women’s breasts spouting cockney stereotypes. They happen to be switched on people who couldn’t care less about what you think of them
You’re down with the sisterhood. You’ve got eyes. You know what’s going on out there. You’ve noted that while society’s happy for a famous man to age, and become distinguished, and generally wander around looking like a fucking wizard, the women generally still seem to be 20 years younger, and standing there on the cover of magazines, all like, “Oh! My clothes… they fell off!” EVEN IF IT’S DAME JUDI DENCH.
What’s your problem with women of any age choosing to take their clothes off on the cover of magazines? Did you just shame Dame Judi Dench? You’re free to get naked if you want Caitlin, although, for the love of all things good, please don’t.
You know the pay disparity; still 20 per cent less for women in this country, and not a single prosecution, even though it’s literally illegal. You know babies come out of vaginas and it fucking stings, and that the vaginas are having a hard time anyway, what with all the waxing they get. (That’s £20 a pop, my friend. Every single month. Just to feel normal. It’s basically VAT on your minge. Imagine if you had to get your bum-hole stripped every 30 days — lest the mean girls at school corner you on the bus home and go, “I’ve heard you’re like Catweazle down there. Someone who fingered you said it was like diddling a Gonk. Ugh.”)
My time is too valuable to explain the pay gap myth once again so you owe me, Caitlin! The pay gap is a reflection of women’s career choices. You’re right, it is illegal to pay anyone less for the same work based on their gender, but you’re wrong. There has been a prosecution. Twenty-three male workers at a university in Wales who were paid less than their female counterparts won around £500,000 in compensation after suing for sex discrimination. As for the rest of that paragraph – what is it with feminists and vaginas? They’re obsessed! It’s creepy.
You’ve seen Amy Schumer’s brilliant, edgy sketches on contraception and rape, and laughed along with them. You’ve called Donald Trump “a twat” for his sexist comments about a female news anchor being on her period. You’ve watched the whole Caitlyn Jenner trans thing unfold and gone, “You know what — this all seems fair enough. I am down with the trans thing.”
Not like the entire TERF community within your feminist cult.
So, no. I’m not going to womansplain feminism to you. It’s the 21st century and you are, most assuredly, not a dick. You like women being equal to men — which is all that feminism means. Not all the penises being burned in a Penis Bonfire. Just women being equal to men. You are like my friend John, when he talks about dating alpha-women: “Feel intimidated by them? Christ, no. Dating and marrying powerful women is like big game hunting. I fuck tigers and panthers. Not… chihuahuas.”
Oh! Is that all feminism is?? Women being equal to men?? In that case, I AM a feminist! Thank you, Caitlin. All this time I’ve been calling myself a staunch antifeminist, associating with all kinds of unsavoury creatures like MGTOWS, MRAs and honeybadgers when I’ve been a feminist the whole time! Thank you so much for showing me the light Caitlin. I am a feminist! …Oh, except that there’s no patriarchy, male privilege, pay gap, or rape culture… Am I still a feminist?? Hello? Hellloooo??
No. You get feminism. You don’t need Tits McGee here to take you through it one more time. So, what I am going to do, instead, is tell you 12 things about women that women are usually too embarrassed to tell you themselves. Because I am a chronic over-sharer, and incapable of keeping secrets. I’m like that other Deep Throat. The chatty Watergate one. That’s the Deep Throat I am.
Oh, knock yourself out Tits McGee.
- No mumbling
Like you, we feel a bit embarrassed about saying the word “feminism”. It’s the same as when you say the word “environment”. They both have that slight implication of, “I’m now going to launch into a speech that’s basically about what a great person I am”. Unfortunately, in both cases, the entire future of the world does rest on people being able to say those words properly, and not mumbling “femernism”, or “envibeoment”. You just have to shut yourself in a cupboard and say them over and over again — “FEMINISM! ENVIRONMENT! FEMINISM! ENVIRONMENT!” — until they feel as normal as saying “pina colada”, or “Michael Fassbender”. Which are both, when you think about it, much odder-sounding.
Nope. Not a creepy cult on a recruitment drive or anything. It’s interesting how feminism always has to lump itself next to other relatively more credible social movements. This is a more sophisticated version of the more common: ‘women and people of colour’ trope. There’s an environment worth worrying about and apart from the hateful, ideological, black lives matter crybully bullshit, racism in America is still a thing. But there’s no need for feminism in the west. I can see through your sleaze Caitlin Moran you hack.
- ‘The Man’
So, when women talk about “The Man”, we’re not talking about you. You’re just a man. You’re not The Man. Similarly, when we talk about the patriarchy, that’s not you, either. You’re not the patriarchy. You’re just… Patrick. When we’re doing those “MEN!” chats, we’re just identifying the general locus of the problem, ie, most of the power and influence being held by a small amount of men. Because remember that patriarchy’s bumming you as hard as it’s bumming us. We’re bulimic, objectified and under-promoted. You, meanwhile, are unable to talk about your feelings lest you get punched in the nuts by “a lad” telling you not to be “a bender”. You are unlikely to get custody of your kids, and are three times more likely to commit suicide. Feminism’s about sorting all this stuff out. Because it’s about equality. Not burning the penises. I can’t emphasise enough how much it’s not about burning penises. No burnt penises here.
There’s no patriarchy you moron. If there was men wouldn’t get longer sentences for the same crime, dominate the most dangerous jobs, kill themselves more, lose custody of their kids more, and die sooner. Unless it was an awful patriarchy (which it possibly is, being dominated by male feminist white knight gimps). But there is a NoW, a White House council on women and girls, a Fawcett society, and countless organisations catering to women. Most of these organisations take steps to tether meaningful efforts in favour of men. So tell me again how your cult is trying to sort all this stuff out? And ‘burnt penises’? Seriously? This is what happens when a feminist tries to be funny. Burnt penises. Fucking idiot.
We’re still pretty traumatised about our periods, even though we’re now 40. Being a woman doesn’t make “being a woman” any easier. All that womb-shit is nuts. It’s like having an exploding, insane blood-bag of pain up in your business end — nothing really prepares you for when it all kicks off. One day, you’re just a kid on your bike. The next, you’re suddenly having to wedge a tiny Barbie mattress in your knickers, crying while you watch Bergerac, and eating Nurofen Plus like they’re Tic Tacs. Men, imagine if, some time around your 12th birthday, some manner of viscous liquid — let’s say gravy — suddenly appeared in your pants, in the middle of a maths lesson. And then it turned up every month for the next 30 years. You’d be all like “NO!” and “WTF?!?!” and “SRSLY??? THIS????” That’s what we’re like, too. We’re not wise, or in touch with nature, or down with it. We’re just people with a whole load more laundry issues than you. Have you ever tried to scrub blood out of a Premier Inn sheet at 6am, using just travel shampoo and your toothbrush? It’s one of the defining aspects of being a woman.
Thank you for that, Caitlin. You have periods. Noted. You know, I think all sanitary pad and tampon adverts are sexist for using that blue liquid instead of blood. They should use real blood! Actual blood. Preferably dripping from a vagina and with uterine chunks in it. And all men should have their eyelids held open with toothpicks and made to watch said adverts. And if they don’t like it, they’re a misogynist.
Likewise, imagine accidentally getting pregnant at 16, then having to run past a barrage of anti-abortion protestors outside your local clinic, all holding up pictures of dead foetuses. We’re not dealing with this in a special, noble lady-way. We’re like, “THIS IS ALREADY A REALLY, REALLY SHIT DAY. I PRESUME YOUR CONCERN FOR THE WELFARE OF CHILDREN EXTENDS INTO A LIFE SPENT VOLUNTEERING IN CARE HOMES, FOSTERING AND DONATING YOUR WAGES TO THE NSPCC — AND DOESN’T SOLELY REST ON HARASSING AND ABUSING TEARFUL, POSSIBLY RAPED WOMEN WHO ARE TRYING TO GET A SAFE, LEGAL MEDICAL PROCEDURE SO THEY DON’T FUCK UP THE REST OF THEIR LIVES.”
A contentious issue. I’m with Bill Clinton on this one. ‘Abortion should be free and legal, but rare.’
Here’s another thing we’re too embarrassed to say: we’d love it if a big bunch of pro-choice men turned up at these clinics, and helped escort the scared women in. That would be some top bro solidarity.
Feminists always love a male slave for protection. We’re all potential rapists and general boob-honking, underage girl-harassing shitlords, unless you need us for protection, of course. FACKOFF.
In the last year or so, we saw this study, from America, and it broke our hearts a bit, because it explains so much: in a mixed-gender group, when women talk 25 per cent of the time or less, it’s seen as being “equally balanced”. And if women talk 25–50 per cent of the time, they’re seen as “dominating the conversation”. And we remembered all the times on social media, or in conversations, an angry man has said, “Women are WINNING now. Women are EVERYWHERE. It is MEN who are being silenced”, and it all made sense.
No citation; but assuming this is true, instead of balancing the lopsided conversation, you’ve now used this finding to silence any man who may have something important to say… and you’ve done this after telling men how they’re unable to share their feelings in your point #2. How can anyone, even a male feminist, think for one second that this entire thesis is coming from a place of compassion for men? You’re a disingenuous fraud and you’re…awful, Caitlin. Awful.
We’re scared. We don’t want to mention it, because it’s kind of a bummer, chat-wise, and we’d really like to talk about stuff that makes us happy, like look at our daughters — and we can’t help but think, “Which one of us? And when?” We walk down the street at night with our keys clutched between our fingers, as a weapon. We move in packs — because it’s safer. We talk to each other for hours on the phone — to share knowledge. But we don’t want to go on about it to you, because that would be morbid. We just feel anxious. We’re scared. Given the figures, we can’t sometimes help but feel we’re just… waiting for the bad thing to come. Because that would be a realistic thing to think, and we like to be prepared. Awfully, horribly, fearfully prepared.
There’s something putrid about catering to people’s fear to galvanize their compliance. Instead of empowering girls to be strong, you want them to be scared so they join your cult. Grim.
We’re tired. So, so tired. From the moment we grew our tits, we’ve been cat-called in the street; commented on by relatives (“Ooooh, she’s big-boned”; “Well, you’ll be a heart-breaker”) as if we weren’t standing there in front of them, hearing all this. We’ve seen our biggest female role-models and icons shamed in the press, over and over: computers hacked and nude pictures released; sex-tapes released. So we know even success, and money, will not protect us from the humiliation of simply being a woman. We know we must have our babies when we’re young — the eggs are running out! — but we must also work for less money, as discussed above. So that makes us tired. This is why, maybe, women can become suddenly furious — why online discussions about feminism suddenly ignite into rage. Tired, scared people are apt to lash out. Anger is just fear, brought to the boil.
Some more fear, infantile complaining, and a general woe-is-me, wrapped up with the mythical gender pay gap once more. You repeat a lie often enough, it becomes feminism. Online discussions on feminism descend into rage because people are also tired of the utter nonsense and lies exuding from you and your ilk. So you’re angry and scared; who exactly are you afraid of Caitlin, just the few men holding all the power as in your point #2? Or men in general?
We masturbate as much as you do. One of the few times I have been personally offended was when Martin Amis commented on a column I wrote about female masturbation. “Christ,” Amis said, “that’s sort of lad’s mag talk — sort of more male than male.” Obviously, I am noble enough to recognise that Amis is from an older generation — one whose women, by and large, did not feel comfortable discussing their sexuality in any great detail. But it does seem amazing that a clever, well-travelled man, whose job it is to examine the human condition, and who had a pretty steamy relationship with Germaine Greer at one point, has never realised that women can be just as driven by their desire as men.
I’m gonna be honest with you — for the first five years of my adult life, most of my decisions were made by the contents of my pants. My vagina was — by way of Audrey II in Little Shop Of Horrors — constantly shouting “Feed me!”, and breaking into musical numbers when I was trying to listen to my brain instead. If I had not discovered masturbation, I would have spent the majority of my time sitting on shed roofs, like a cat on heat, yowling at the moon. If a young woman isn’t to go mad, then masturbation is a needful hobby, as vital as going on long country walks, to get a bit of air in your lungs, and pursuing the revolution. And what a hobby it is! It doesn’t cost anything, it doesn’t make you fat, you can knock it off in five minutes flat if you think about Han Solo, or some monkeys “doing it” on an Attenborough documentary, and it means you can face the world with a kind of stoned, post-coital cheerfulness that would otherwise require Valium, or constant spa-breaks. There’s a reason why God designed our bodies so that, when we lie down in bed, our hands naturally come to rest on our genitals. It’s the Lord’s way of saying, “Go on, have a fiddle. Find out how you work. And then, when you go out into the world, you won’t be waiting for some bloke to come along and have sex on you. You’ll be in the sex, too. It’ll be like this… joint endeavour? A thing you can do together? That was kind of how I planned it all along, TBH. So, my Eleventh Commandment is ‘Thou Shalt Buff Your Fnuh.’ That’s official. Signed, God.”
It’s clear you love to masturbate Caitlin. That’s all this article is. One long wank.
You know when we stand in front of a full wardrobe and say, “I don’t have anything to wear!”? Obviously we have things to wear. You can see all the shit from where you are standing, fully dressed, ready to leave the house. What we mean is, “I don’t have anything to wear for who I need to be today.” What women wear is incredibly important and not just because we live in a society with a $1.5 trillion fashion-industry, and spend most of our spare time looking at cut-price Marc Jacobs handbags on theoutnet.com. As we are the half of the world that still doesn’t get to say as much as men (see stats earlier), how we look works by way of our opening paragraph in any social setting. Think of all the different kinds of looks women can have, depending on their clothes, hair and make-up: “Slutty”. “Ball-busting”. “Mumsy”. “Manic Pixie Dream Girl”. “Gym-bunny”. “Mutton”. “Nerdy”. “Unfuckable”. Now think of all the ways men can dress. It’s basically “some trousers”. Ninety per cent of what men wear is “some trousers”. You’re just getting up in the morning, putting on your trousers and getting on with stuff. And we fret about all this — appearance, clothes — because it matters. If we’re still getting talked-over at meetings, is it because we’re not dressing powerfully enough? If we’re getting sexually harassed, is it because we’re wearing the wrong skirt? In 2008, a rape case was overturned because the judge decided the alleged victim must have consented to sex, because her jeans were “too tight” for the accused to remove on his own. This is what we’re thinking about, when we stand in front of the wardrobe. Will this outfit define the rest of today? Will it, if I am very unlucky, affect my life? Is this going to be the subject of a court-case? Could I run for my life in these shoes? Do I have anything for who I need to be today?
Yes, the overlord class usually wear impractical clothes. Dress however the hell you want Caitlin. Most people don’t care. The world doesn’t revolve around you and everyone gets judged on their attire and appearance. And your connection to the dodgy stats you shat out earlier is head-spinningly stupid. You feel no one is listening to you, so you wear flamboyant clothes? What the hell are you talking about? Then you throw in a rape anecdote for good measure; like a standard hate-filled feminist douche.
- Male feminists
We’re embarrassed when other women say, “Men can’t be feminists!” We don’t want to get into an argument, but we just can’t see the logic in it. Feminism can only work if men are feminists, too — because the only indice by which feminism will succeed is based on how many people believe in it, support it, and want it to happen. By definition, it has to be a populist movement. There’s no point in only 27 per cent of people believing in equality because the maths, very obviously, show that you won’t be equal if 73 per cent of people think you’re not. You can’t go and… hide the feminism in a special secret place, and only let certain people have access to it. Besides, as discussed above, men need feminism almost as badly as women do. So, lady-balls to “men can’t be feminists”. We disbelieve that. In our vaginas.
And again with the vaginas. Predictably pathetic.
Well everyone believes in equality Caitlin. You’re just throwing a tantrum because 80-90% of people refuse to call themselves feminists. More and more people walk away from the word over time, meaning that feminism is an abject failure at the societal level hence your increasingly desperate attempts at recruitment. At the political level, on the other hand, you and your friends in high places are a formidable Goliath. The onus is now on modern day blasphemers to expose the stench emanating from feminism.
Our ultimate aim, when it comes to men, is to find an amusing mate we can have sex with, then sit on the sofa with, watching re-runs of Seinfeld and eating a baked potato. Discount all that Christian Grey/abs of steel/”bad boy” shit. Our priorities are: 1) Kindness; 2) Jokes; 3) High tolerance of carbs.
I’ve got two words for you Caitlin: 1) MG 2) TOW
It actually was us that threw those horrible old trainers of yours away. That story about how a time-portal opened up, and they were stolen away by your own teenaged self? That was a lie.
I’m going to go get very drunk now.
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