As part of my selected readings for my Gender and Women’s Studies independent study course, I chose five intriguing chapters from Roxane Gay’s Bad Feminist. Over the weekend, I ended up nearly reading the book in its entirety because, frankly, it’s my life. While we don’t share all of the same identities, Gay’s personal accounts and critical commentary are so real it hurts. I’ve pulled out four major points here from Gay’s book with which I identify and in which sections she wrote the words I’ve struggled for so long to find:
- It’s Us v. Them.
In Bad Feminist, Gay frequently addresses issues of solidarity among women, within and outside of unifying identities. Identifying as feminist in America today might as well require you to brand the title on your arm to show your undying commitment to “the cause”. The reality, which Gay most poignantly notes, is that feminism is plural, and that everyone’s vision of equality doesn’t look the same. Moreover, we’re equally human with diverse experiences which makes me a “bad” feminist for falling prey to the overabundance of marginalizing media, music, jokes, policies, and beyond. I struggle with Gay’s instructions on befriending other women, and also with the application of her commentary on making friends, particularly within media and the blogging community. The reality? I’m not here to make friends – I’m here to vent, to complain, to grieve, to share joy, and – most of all – pay my bills. Does that make me a bad feminist? Well, no, but establishing connections and even friendships in online communities will not only potentially benefit me in the future, it might better disperse a more uniform understanding of feminism and solidarity, particularly on a digital platform. So, who wants to be my friend? Now accepting applications.
- What representation is enough?
I’ve spent a lot of class time and a lot of words in essays commenting on the responsibility of the media to provide balanced representation and accounts of women’s’ lives. What I’ve frequently failed to consider is my positionality as a writer, and my assumed responsibility of making the personal political to tell my story, and to be a voice for others. It’s easy to critique media for its shortcomings and the ways in which it has likely failed women (usually all too easy), but Gay’s application of reflexivity and ability to write in such a frank and just manner suggests to me that I’ve A) been working way too hard to find fault with sources that have made efforts towards inclusivity and B) it’s really challenging to be honest with yourself about your experience with a topic, and to likewise acknowledge your own shortcomings in analysis and gaps of knowledge. Our media – television, music, and even blogging – is still perpetually underselling and failing many identities. Does it make me a bad feminist to not tackle some of the tougher issues even though I don’t believe I have the authority to comment on certain topics? I’m not even sure this is a question that could be answered during my lifetime considering we’ve spent much of history arguing about who can tell whose stories.
- My home on the internet is unsafe.
I’m one of those people Gay might feel sorry for for believing in the notion of safety. I don’t know if it’s because I watch neatly packaged episodes of Criminal Minds and Law and Order: SVU every day after work, or if it’s because my generation has an invincibility complex, but I might be a bad feminist for still believing in the good of people. The internet, above all, is one of the least safe spaces I inhibit because not only is the presence of violent imagery abundant, words often scar more than the potential physical threats of men I’m taught to fear as I walk to my car at dusk after work. I want my website to be a space where individuals can be included, represented, and feel safe to comment openly about what I’ve said or their own personal experiences. I, unfortunately, am perpetually reprimanded for how much personal information I divulge on the internet and on my blog in fear that my digital world will bleed into reality, and I will fall victim of a violent crime. And honestly, it could happen. I know as well as you that there are real threats to safety for the sharing of my beliefs and my identities, and there are real concerns for other women across the nation (and world!) to do the same. How, then, could I believe in anything other than false anonymity and this illusion of safety? I would never be comfortable or confident if I didn’t.
- Finger on the trigger.
Gay’s critical commentary on the relevance (or not) of trigger warnings throughout popular media is pivotal. Never before reading Bad Feminist did I consider the potential of trigger warnings to discourage victims from dealing with their tragic past experiences. I’ve always seen trigger warnings as means for providing a choice to viewers or readers whenever I share content on social media platforms or write on my blog. Thinking of it as kind of a common courtesy, trigger warnings were, in my past use, meant to highlight particularly graphic or tough-to-consume content – but always with respect to rape and sexual assault. Not once when noting a trigger warning have I ever considered the other kinds of sexualized, gendered, or otherwise identity-based violence or marginalization that could have impacted someone. This thought process, of course, devalues trigger warnings entirely as then they are necessary for everything that is created or distributed on media platforms to avoid offending or rehashing painful memories for any potential consumer. I want to believe in the good trigger warnings do for letting individuals decide on their own to consume content before being bombarded with a demon they are not yet ready to confront, but Gay’s critique has me wondering if I am doing a disservice to victims…
All in all, Bad Feminist is a very real, upfront commentary on all things pop culture and on the lived experiences of women in the here and now. I highly recommend the read.
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Blogger Feature: Harmony Hobbs
A Louisiana blogger at Modern Mommy Madness, Harmony Hobbs is unabashedly unafraid to be herself, speak her mind, and openly comment on the real perils of motherhood. I had the privilege of meeting Harmony in early summer 2015, and her southern charm is just as sincere as the posts she shares on marriage, motherhood, alcohol, and beyond. I believe Harmony is a sister in the bad feminist struggle for her blatant honesty, and ability to throw political correctness out the window to communicate her point of view most appropriately. Cheers to you, Harmony!
Photo by DR Productions.
