Just when I thought we’d made it through 2015 without too much interruption from the meninists of the world, I am introduced to someone expecting me to wish him a happy nudes year. It got me thinking about how, despite most of us seeing similar screenshots on Buzzfeed and Tumblr, you never expect the sassy feminist replies to be coming from you. So a rather unplanned addition to the blog this week: The Many Stages of Social Media Misogyny
The preparation: Meninists could appear at any time and, although it feels weird essentially bulling people you’ve never met in order to defend yourself, sometimes you’ve just got to grab yourself a glass of soya milk, readjust your bra straps and woman up. (If that fails to empower you, maybe do some Sudoku puzzles to warm up your brain or something.)
The bit where you check they’re not a troll: This is the part where you manically scroll through their Twitter feed to make sure they’re at least vaguely sane; in this case he’d retweeted some we-would-rather-gauge-our-eyes-out-than-have-Trump-as-President campaign so I thought he was a safe zone, especially because it started with him asking me about feminism. Even if you come to wrong conclusion (which, spoiler alert, you probably will) it always feels better to check.
The bit where it suddenly gets weird:
It always happens really quickly, one minute it’ll be like ‘Oh cool so which part of the Earth do you inhabit’ and the next it’s ‘Okay so do you fancy sending me nudes then’ where is the inbetween phase? Have these people never been introduced to the page in the dictionary that mentions SUBTLE? I’ve never attempted to troll someone online but surely you rather play it cool for a little longer than seven minutes or, if you’re not up to that kind of commitment, go straight to Pornhub. Also no offense to any American readers re the sarcasm comment, I adore you all- except the weird ones, obvs.
When they ask you why you’re so stingy:
and you just can’t help but wonder why. Why are you so stingy Jess? Oh no reason really, just some guy that’s probably old enough to be my Dad and lives so far away I don’t even know how many modes of transport you’d need to get there has asked for naked photos of a girl he’s never met who might not even be a girl or British or even a human. In fact, I could’ve been one of those robots that Ticketmaster warn you about who buy all the Mumford and Sons tickets so they sell out before you even have time to log on. I’m not still bitter.
When they try and send you nudes to get you to send nudes:
but a) you’ve just wedged yourself into skinny jeans and are taking them off for no one and b) I DON’T KNOW YOU. Also c) it’s illegal but that makes me seem less kickass independent woman and more average citizen abiding by the law.
When you use old school British traditions to avoid the situation: Because who doesn’t blady LAVE a car booty!? Or at least, who doesn’t love it before the first ten minutes is up (then it gets really boring, it’s probably raining and you think if you see another second-hand Home Alone VHS you’ll try and run yourself over with the next departing vehicle). More importantly- and Carla will understand me here- why are bums sexy? You sit on them. And everyone has one. They’re hardly gold dust.
When he lures you in with stock photos of decapitated heads: I think this one speaks for itself, although I’ve never been more scared to open a photo in all my life…
When you genuinely don’t like aubergine: Yet once he’d sent this suddenly all the possible replies seemed massively innuendo-y. Do you like aubergine? They’re not my favourites (gross) Only in moussaka (grosser) No, the texture’s weird and slimey (grossest).
When you tell them you’re 12 and they start thinking they’re a paedophile: In hindsight I would’ve kept the game up (sometimes having morals sucks) especially because he didn’t seem to learn his lesson but for me at least it was slightly reassuring that he turned his nose up at a child, there would’ve been nothing worse than me telling him I was 12 (which just to clarify isn’t true) and him continuing the creepiness. P.s. what is ducez? New Farrow and Ball shade or..?
When you are feminist as feck:
And then ruin it all because your fat sausage fingers accidentally click the follow button and he gets mixed messages:
But ultimately, it ends really creepily. But do I care? No. In fact it was a rather liberating experience and proves why we need feminism so badly in the first place.