Tag Archives: sexism

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The President’s Club, MeToo and a difficult conversation

Two things I believe to be true in the wake of the #MeToo movement. Firstly, that many men have been put in positions of power over women, which they have abused to varying degrees. Secondly, that this is at least partly a result of the way our society teaches men to behave. The former statement is accusatory: there are men who have done bad things. The second is explanatory: here is a reason why they do those things. The former sounds like a blanket condemnation, while the latter feels uncomfortably like an excuse. But if I believe both these things to be true, how do I go about having a conversation with men I love about sexual violence and consent?

This post will naturally discuss consent, sexual assault and other similar things. I’ve tried to avoid going into gruesome detail and simply linked out to full accounts/reporting where possible. 

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Ironic sexism? Hahaha you’re killing me

Why do women wear make-up and perfume? Because they’re ugly and they smell. Hahaha hahaha. Hahahahaha oh God hahahaha my sides. Best joke ever. Wait – why aren’t you laughing? That one’s a classic! I thought it would have you rolling in the aisles! Today we’re going to talk about ironic sexism and comedy. Strap the fuck in.

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Sexual harassment: There’s one way this conversation ends

The last few weeks have been a barrage of news about sexual assault and harassment. Guys in powerful positions in a number of industries are getting called out for doing things that are wholly inappropriate, to people they hold power over. Is anybody else completely exhausted? I know I am. Not exhausted by the call-outs, but exhausted by the response.

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When men are sexist, sometimes I play along…

When men are sexist, the least I can do is tell them not to be. I should say ‘nope’ or ‘fuck off’ or ‘are you shitting me?’ – sexist men deserve challenging responses. The last thing they deserve is for me to play along. Smile and nod and say ‘haha yes’, before sidling away and then kicking myself later. That’s the last thing they deserve, but it’s sometimes what I do.

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Sexy shorts are the summer gift that keeps on giving

“SHORTS,” my brain screams, irritatingly. “LOOK. MEN WEARING SEXY SHORTS.” Try as I might to shut it up, it refuses to be silenced on the most important issue of the day. “LOOK,” it insists, even as I try to distract myself by remembering my times tables, “THERE ARE SEXY LEGS ALL OVER THE PLACE. SHORTS. LOOK AT THE SEXY SHORTS.” So I comply. I drink it in. And I melt with lust.

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