My misogyny

So it occurs to me that it is important to outline this, that we might spare ourselves further confusion, misunderstanding, bruised feelings, and so on. I am in some sense a misogynist. I am a misogynist in the feminist sense. I hate girly-girls, and my undue and disproportionate association with this type in my early years has, I think, led me toward misogynistic tendencies that are indeed ill-founded and undeserved, or perhaps merely misunderstood.

I hate girly-girls, with their hair and their clothes and their shoes and their purses and their accessories, this cosmetic materialism and an inner-life turned outward, externalized and quantified to the point of market value, or what passes for it, the nonsense of designer handbags and knock-offs, the guy-like competitive strutting, the helpless and dependent foot-bound woman, the Elvira of Scarface. Insincerity is unacceptable. I can't be bothered with others' opinions of me. I don't care about how I look, beyond basic fabulousness and maybe some apricot scrub.

Which is not to say all women are this way. Miss Fegs is a woman. In that she doesn't buy into that soft bullshit. Which isn't to say that she's not a great nurturing mom--she is--the point is she's not a girly girl, and that's what is bred, and marketed, and trumpeted, and what the hetero-ideal is, which is probably why I'm such a bugger--I just couldn't stand to be reduced to dependence on such an already conquered ideal as the hair-flipping blonde-type.

I know plenty of strong women--these are the ones who are my friends, it is almost a tacit precondition: Jen, Bessie, Anna, Lucy, Miss Fegs, some of the girls in my ed class, and the list goes on. So it's not women I hate, it's the weakening, sickening qualities our patriarchal, capitalistic, predatory civilization builds into them that I hate.

Sigh... this was much more coherent on my first go,w hich was before my whiskey-and-cigarette last night... now it's jointed