When you compliment a random woman who doesn’t know you, no matter how nice you are about it, there’s a good chance she’s going to freak out internally because for all she knows, you could be that latter type. And I get that it’s really unfair that women would just assume that about you. I get that it sucks that sometimes, expressing totally reasonable opinions like “hey you’re hot” will make women terrified of you or furious at you. That’s not fair.
But if you’re going to lay the blame for that somewhere, for fuck’s sake, don’t blame the woman. Blame all the guys who have called her a bitch and a cunt for ignoring their advances. Blame all the guys who may have harassed, abused, or assaulted her in the past. Blame all the people who may never do such a thing themselves, but who were quick to blame her and tell her to just get over it. Blame the fact that if she stops and talks to you and then something bad happens, people will blame her for stopping and talking to you.
|Rape Culture:||If a woman drinks alcohol and gets raped, it's partially her fault. If you don't want to get raped, you shouldn't be drinking.|
|Men at bars:||Can I buy you a drink?|
|Men at bars:||What the fuck, why not? Come on. Come ON, let me buy you some alcohol. God, I was being nice. Why would you turn down my generous offer? I guess chivalry really is dead. What a bitch.|
Whenever I hear someone talking about how it’s wrong to have sex and sexiness in YA novels, what I actually hear is this:
I’m terrified that the first fictional sex a teenage girl encounters might leave her feeling good about herself. I’m terrified that fictional sex might actually make teenage girls think sex can be fun and good, that reading about girls who say no and boys who listen when they say it might give them the confidence to say no, too – or worse still, to realise that boys who don’t listen to ‘no’ aren’t worth it. I’m terrified that YA novels might teach teenage girls the distinction between assault and consensual sex, and give them the courage to speak out about the former while actively seeking the latter. I’m terrified that teenage girls might think seriously about the circumstances under which they might say yes to sex; that they might think about contraception before they need it, and touch themselves in bed at night while fantasising about generous, interesting, beautiful lovers who treat them with consideration and respect. I’m terrified of a generation of teenage girls who aren’t shy or squeamish about asking for cunnilingus when they want it, or about loving more than one person at once, and who don’t feel shame about their arousal. I’m terrified that teenage girls might take control of their sexuality and, in so doing, take that control of them and their bodies away from me.
Both opponents and supporters of the right to selective termination tend to consider people who want to terminate—but choice is equally valuable to women who want to continue their pregnancies. Of the five thousand five hundred children born with Down syndrome in the United States each year, about six hundred and twenty-five are born to women who had a prenatal diagnosis. I have interviewed many such women, and, without exception, they were glad they had been able to think about the pregnancy and make a positive, affirming decision to keep it. Tierney Temple Fairchild, whose fetus had a prenatal Down syndrome diagnosis, wrote, in words I quote in my book, “I had a choice, and I chose life. Does that make me pro-choice or pro-life? Our political parties tell us we can’t have it both ways…. I chose life, but I am thankful I had the choice.”