Hey men! Have you suddenly discovered a good friend, someone you might even love, has said something awful about women? As a beneficiary of the problem, and despite your innate cowardice, are you obligated to challenge your friend’s attitude (hint: yes)?
More importantly, are you also an inarticulate idiot? If so, wonderful! Come with me as we argue that women are indeed people while navigating the terrifying world that is friendship. And all in the internet-approved format of a chose-your-own-adventure! Continue reading
The thirty of us were sitting in a private dining room at Friday’s Riverside, emptying flutes of Moet et Chandon and licking our plates clean of medium-rare Wagyu steak jus. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors led out to a tiled balcony and mini-bar that overlooked the Brisbane river. It was an early afternoon at the end of semester, a very large tab was poised ready to open at 5:00pm, and we had reached the awards part of the party.
Earlier in the week, Mia Freedman published an opinion piece on her website, Mamamia, outlining why she plans on telling her daughter that binge drinking means dramatically increasing her risk of being sexually assaulted. The thing is, Freedman says, is that she can’t understand why mean old militant feminists want to convince everyone that this innocent attempt to protect her daughter is “victim-blaming”. Why do those filthy feminists gotta get up in a steam about everything?! whines Freedman, the self-proclaimed feminist, wringing her hands online. Continue reading
I was sixteen years old. I cried. Not with pain, not with pleasure – certainly not with desire. I cried with the sheer relief at having sloughed off the weight of my clunky, ungainly virginity, which I had carried with me everywhere I went. I was free to turn away from the boy in whose bed I had divested myself of something I no longer had any use for.
It was gone.
Dear Temporary I.T. Guy,
We could have been friends. We could have been buddies. When you came to my work to help Original I.T. Guy (presumably with I.T. stuff) I thought to myself, “This guy seems fun. We should hang out.“
I’m cool, Temporary I.T. guy! I’m fun! I like things! I am already friends with Original I.T. Guy; we send each other funny photos of dogs and computer fails. We laugh together about our colleagues who don’t know things about computers. I know things about computers, I promise. Not enough to have an I.T degree, but at least enough to be friends with Original I.T Guy. Enough to be friends with you.
I’ve always loved sluts.
I’m not sure if this is nature or nurture, as I was raised with a plethora of female role models whose ‘empowerment’ was predominantly derived from their sexuality. Being born in the early 90s, I experienced the world post-sexual revolution, mid third-wave feminism, all in full-colour through a somewhat grainy television screen.
So recently, sitting in the backseat of a black metal-blasting Ford of an old friend of my guy-friend, the muscle-shirted, profanity-laden driver was musing on the mysteries of love and courtship and the irreconcilable nature of the modern wacky free-thinking woman (AKA he was bitching about chicks okay) when he declared that he much preferred women who didn’t wear makeup over those who did. To wit: ‘I don’t understand why they wear that shit on their face anyway.’ (This $36 lipstick made by MAC — a top-name brand so renowned that it was referenced in TLC’s ‘Unpretty’ — is not shit, you dick.)
Brought to you by Elke Stekhoven and Hayley Stockall.