All this ‘Feminist’ Bulls***


I’m a feminist.

Weren’t expecting that when you read the title of this post, were you?

Yup, I’m a feminist. I’m a black, passionate, overweight young woman with nappy hair and a propensity for headwraps and African fabric.

I also love makeup, heels, romcoms, and a man who will take care of me (yes, those are my words).

War of the opposites, you might think? NO!

I don’t know how many times this needs to be said. I guess as long as there are clueless people out there, this will be a pet peeve of mine.

Feminism is not about men. It’s not about man-hating, man-bashing, man-annihilating, or any other anti-men propaganda.

Feminism is about choices and opportunities.

It’s about the choice to wear trousers or a skirt, about the choice to have children or not, about the choice to get married at 25 or 45. It’s about the opportunity to go to school, the opportunity to study industrial weldering, the opportunity to be a professional footballer, the opportunity to be CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

Dear men, I don’t want to be you. I know that you have it difficult in your own way. All I want to do is to be me, a me free from societal obligations, expectations and limitations – a me free to dream dreams unhampered by gender inequality – the best me I can be.

Is that seriously too much to ask?

I don’t want to be passed over for a promotion at work, because my boss is afraid next year when he needs me I’ll go on maternity leave. I don’t want to not be invited to the management office party, because the top brass need to bring their girlfriends/need to go to the strip club/don’t like fraternising with women. I don’t want to be afraid to build a house, as that will scare eligible young bachelors away/attract the gigolos/make a man feel like I don’t need him. I don’t want to have to worry about a 9-5 work day and then dinner for  a man who got off work at 3pm and has been since parked on the couch, scratching his b**** and waiting for me to come and cook.

I want to be respected for my intelligence, my hard work, my determination, my success. I want to be appreciated for the line of my neck and the curve of my hips, as well as for my passion and compassion. I want a man to choose to hold my door and chair, while accepting that I could do those things if I wanted. I

I am a feminist, but I am also a woman. Both do not have to be mutually exclusive.



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