Technically, I am a feminist. This is an admission I make reluctantly, because the meaning of the word “feminist” has been grossly distorted, perhaps irreversibly.
The original meaning is just “someone who believes in equality between men and women.” It’s basic. It’s sound. Even those of TradeMe message board-level intellect can understand it. But the modern, self-described feminist is generally a humourless, misandric, petty, bitter bitch. She has seized upon “feminist” ideology both to validate absolutely any resentment she bears towards humanity as a whole, and because she is incapable of independently working out a perception of the world that is not informed by mindless zealotry. She is best described as a “Feminazi,” yet still identifies as “feminist,” in a move reminiscent of the Nazi Party’s usage of the benign-sounding title “National Socialist Party” to legitimise the militant fascism lurking within. Most tellingly, she would write off everything I just said as lies I had been fed my entire life by the patriarchy, probably complete with a detailed etymology of the word “bitch.”
If the Feminazis were content to hang out solely within the confines of the Gender Studies dept, braying buzzwords like “approach,” “normative,” and “subtle objectification” at one another while idly braiding their pubic hair, I wouldn’t give them a second thought. Unfortunately, the mainstream media are both well aware of the warlike nature of the Feminazis and keen for page views, and so they insist on publishing their absolutist drivel, confident in the knowledge that thousands of Feminazis worldwide will not only comment on the article but also link it to the rest of their Feminazi friends with too much time on their hands. It’s reached the point where I can no longer breathlessly check the Guardian’s “Life and Style” section for a delicious new Yotam Ottolenghi recipe (um, after reading the entire “World” section, obv) without having my eyeballs raped by articles with titles like “Feminists can be sexy and funny – but it’s anger that changes the world.” Well, actually, no. General anger with no clear agenda does absolutely nothing except continue to trash the reputation of feminism to the rest of the world, i.e. those of us who like to imbibe a little perspective in the mornings along with our long blacks. Emotions are not evidence.
[I’m sorry for using the word “raped” in that previous paragraph, by the way. It was so inappropriately flippant. As someone who has actually been raped, I totally understand the offence that must have caused to all the Feminazis who have never come close to being raped but who hunt down and flay alive anyone who dares to utter the sacred four-letter word in a context that does not align precisely with their personal views on the definition, prevalence, and appropriate punitive measures of the act.]
The sad result is that feminazism and feminism have become so conflated in the minds of the Volk that a complete exposé of the Feminazi is necessary. Therefore, Critic presents to you the first step in defeating the Feminazis, and reclaiming feminism for the somewhat sensible masses: sequencing the Feminazi genome. This is a project so terrifying that it has defeated Hawking, Higgs, and the entire staff of CERN, mainly because it comprises the suicidal-thought-inducing prospect of reading through the Dunedin Feminist Collective Facebook page and Jezebel comments at length. So Critic’s brave reporter went where no sensible woman has gone before, and sacrificed herself to the altar of illogical arguments, misused buzzwords, and privileged white-girl pique. I am your Watson and my vagina is your Crick. Take my hand as we examine the answers together. Hold on tight – this is going to be a scary, scary ride.
CHROMOSOME 1: JEZEBEL
Jezebel, aka the Feminazi bible, is an online magazine owned by Gawker, which describes itself as “Celebrity, Sex, Fashion for Women – Without Airbrushing.” This is the most blatant case of false advertising since the Law Faculty took out an ad in Critic describing LAWS101 as a “general interest paper” that is “useful for every student.” Jezebel engages in just as much airbrushing as Vogue or Harper’s, it just uses an ideological airbrush instead of the Photoshop kind.This roiling, seething sea of third-wave feminist rage is built on a simple stylistic formula. Let’s take a sample passage from Feminazi-in-Chief Lindy West’s approximately five millionth article about the fact that she is both fat and a woman, wittily and provocatively titled “Hello, Fellow Gym-Goers, Look at My Fat Butt”:
“...See? ‘Kay. So, for yeeeeeears, before I shacked up with an artist and signed a really expensive (but totally worth it) lease, I used to go to the gym every day. I worked out with a personal trainer. I went to classes. I showered in public. And it was really, really fucking difficult – but not for the reasons you might think.
The more I exercised, the more I loved it. I felt strong and lean, I had tons of energy, I slept like a brick. But my body didn’t look much different. You’d still see me on the street and read “fat person.” And as a fat person, going to the gym is doubly challenging. There’s the basic challenge we all face – of getting the fuck out of bed, finding a clean sports bra, physically moving your body toward a place where a man will yell at you until you do enough lunges (IT DEFIES ALL EVOLUTIONARY LOGIC) – but for fat people, there’s an even more intimidating challenge on top of that.
It’s entering a building where you know that every person inside is working toward the singular goal of not becoming you.”
As a normal person, you probably read that and found it neither illuminating nor funny. However, in the unique gap in the space-time continuum that is occupied by Jez, in which normal rules of logic and humour no longer apply, that passage was a paragon of savage wit. After an exhaustive (and exhausting) trawl through the archives, Critic can confirm that for something to be considered funny/incisive by the readers of Jezebel, the following elements must be present:
- An overly-familiar, patronising tone
- Excessive use of italics and all caps
- Multiple exclamation marks where a single one would suffice – or even, god forbid, a simple full stop
- A title which is apparently rendered humourous by the fact that each word is capitalised, despite the fact that said title is in no way inherently funny
- Regular attempts at melodramatic, feigned poignancy via unnecessary line breaks
- Constant usage of the word “fucking,” to reinforce the fact that the author is RISING UP AGAINST THE PATRIARCHY (see, all caps!!! And just then, three exclamation marks instead of one!!! Totes hilar!!!)
- An overwhelming sense of general rage.
You may think that these sound like the stylistic quirks of an earnest 15-year-old who is attempting to infuse her essay on why the tuck shop should put steak and cheese pies back on the menu with an illogical sense of grandiosity. You would be completely right.
CHROMOSOME 2: BUZZWORDS
The Feminazi approach to debate reminds me of the legal approach to disclosure of documents. Law firms are renowned for hiding the relevant evidence in a huge pile of miscellaneous documents, and hoping it gets missed by the poorly-paid summer clerk who has been assigned to sort through the affidavits. Similarly, in Feminazi Jezmany, the state-sanctioned approach to winning arguments is unleashing a torrent of random buzzwords in the general direction of their foe, in the hope that their quarry will end up so adrift in a sea of nominalisations that they’ll get confused and forfeit the point to the Feminazis by default.If you’re fresh out of ideas for drinking games, try reading through the Jez comments and taking a shot each time you encounter a word ending in -ation. Classics include “stigmatisation,” “rationalisation,” “patronisation,” “propagation,” “interpretation,” and “sexualisation.” Still, rest assured that almost no innocent verb out there has gone unmolested in the Feminazis’ ruthless pursuit of meaningless discursive victory. Reading any given comment is a one-way ticket to, uh, hospitalisation. Only those with a death wish would play this game while reading the entire comments section on a post. Though the sweet embrace of the crypt would no doubt come as a blessed respite from the agony of acute buzzwordisation.
CHROMOSOME 3: COLLECTIVES
Via the wonderful medium for catty judgment of others that is Facebook, I have recently familiarised myself with a gorgeous but incredibly dim girl who is going out with a guy I sort of know. The girl has a food blog. It reads like it was written by caged gibbons given daily exercise in a room that was empty save for a MacBook Pro. Charmingly yet depressingly, the girl has titled her blog “The Kitchen Collective,” presumably in the hope that throwing that “Collective” in there will legitimise herattempts at normal human functionality in the adult world.
One can only assume that a similar thought process led to the creation of the “Dunedin Feminist Collective” and “Wellington Young Feminists Collective.” Like Pretty-but-Dumb’s food blog, these organisations serve absolutely no useful function other than providing a convenient sunshade between swirling self-aggrandisement and the harsh light of reality. The Dunedin Collective’s Facebook page is a blissful oasis where Feminazi vitriol can flourish undisturbed by the dark predatory forces of Reason and A Sense of Humour. The comments read as if they were composed by howler monkeys scrupulously trained to sling buzzwords at one another in addition to shit, with the occasional use of totes quirky slang like “dudettes” in a weak attempt to remember what it feels like to have a sense of humour (the sound of a Feminazi laughing is eerily similar to the sound of one hand clapping). Just as the noble howler monkey enjoys picking fleas out of its friends’ pelts, members of the Dunedin Collective take great pleasure in homing in on particular “-ation” words in their fellow Feminazis’ contributions, using each buzzword as a convenient springboard for a fresh wave of 200-word comments saying precisely nothing. Critic speculates that the Collective could engage in a passionate 300-comment Facebook-based discourse on the finer points of the lima bean harvest if the vaguely ovarian nature of the beans’ appearance was pointed out to one of their members.
CHROMOSOME 4: INDEPENDENT THOUGHT
Do you ever feel like you’re not sure if you ACTUALLY want to do something, or if it’s just society making you think you want to? It’s a difficult – some might say impossible – question to answer, but look at that! – the Feminazis have answered it. In Feminazi Jezmany, if your desire falls within the provisions of Feminazi law, it is 100% legit/empowering. However, if what you want to do or believe does not align precisely with Feminazi ideology, it is indisputably a product of your lifelong absorption of patriarchal bullshit. You are the Patriarchy’s mouthpiece. Your decisions are not your own. You are bad and you should feel bad. Notably, the very fact that I am writing this article will inevitably be attributed to patriarchal indoctrination.THE MISSING CHROMOSOME: BASIC COMMON SENSE
The final Feminazi chromosome is defined by its absence. It is, of course, Common Sense, also known as Perspective.CONCLUSION
The extensive browsing of online Feminazi rhetoric required by this article made me apoplectic with rage. For those few days, it was as if Lindy West’s dyspeptic spleen had been transplanted into my abdomen. Despite my crippling buzzwordisation I selflessly continued my research, determined to expose the rank ideological necrosis that lies at the heart of Feminazism. Ironically, the research that was necessary to bring down the Feminazis ended up thrusting me unwillingly into their emotional space of unrelenting indignation.Being that angry all the time wasn’t pleasant. The last time I can remember feeling so overwhelmed by pure visceral rage was when I spent two hours on the phone with a Vodafone Customer Services Representative, who informed me that my Naked Broadband package was on “indefinite hold” until “the service ticket was completed,” and when I asked if she could try to speed up the process coolly replied that her “hands were tied.” And it is not a good thing if your religion/ideology/life’s work is based on an emotional reaction as facile as that which follows a lengthy argument with Tuanikore from the Vodafone Fixed Line and Broadband Hotline. You can’t mix the personal with the political to the extent the Feminazis do and expect people to take your movement seriously. Feminazis, just stop it. We have your DNA. The game is up. You have two options: calm the fuck down and get a little perspective, or acknowledge that you’re as self-defeating to the cause of feminism as invading Russia in the winter.
