Feminisms

I was writing a blog post in my head. It was called "Things I Would Blog About If I Were That Kind Of Blogger But I'm Not So I Won't."

The first item was "Midlife facial hair. Yuck." Or maybe it would be "Facial hair after 30. Yuck." Or maybe just "Facial hair. Yuck." (Other items under consideration were "The boring stupidity of some very popular bloggers," "Stress and anxiety in realms I do not discuss," and "Annoying people in realms I do not discuss.")

Then I got home and the most recent copy of Bitch had arrived. It's the "Masculinity Issue," and it has an article titled "Growing Pains--Female facial hair gets plucky," which argues, basically, that female facial hair is natural and we are dupes of the misogynist capitalist regime for trying to eliminate it.

Bitch has a way of making me feel like I am a hopelessly bourgeois, middle-American, liberal pseudo-feminist. And all of the Bitch gals are archly hip, Bay Area, more-political-than-I'll-ever-be, cool feminists. And everything I like (Sideways, for instance) is in fact hopelessly problematic and I am a dupe for falling for it. And everything they like is really cool.

I almost didn't resubscribe, but then I did, because I do believe that the world is a better place with Bitch than it would be without Bitch, and subscriptions from people like me help keep it that way.

I'm having trouble making my segue to Andrea Dworkin even though I know my punchline. Or maybe I' m just having trouble with Andrea Dworkin.

Unlike some people, I never had strong feelings about Dworkin. I don't remember becoming a feminist, so she didn't cause my feminist awakening. I was a bit zeitgeisty, though, and she was always a touchpoint for the zeitgeist. Thus in the early 80s I was all about hating porn and men (except that I kind of liked porn and men) and therefore essentially pro-Dworkin. Then came This Bridge Called My Back and Pleasure and Danger, and as the 80s passed into the 90s, and I realized that I could be a race-and-class-conscious, sex-positive, queer-friendly, gender-fucking feminist, I became not so pro-Dworkin. Overall, though, I just never thought about her that much.

Still, there is no doubt that the world was a better place with Andrea Dworkin in it.

Edited to add: This essay from The Guardian is the best tribute I've read--infinitely better than my own lukewarm wishy-washiness, and more astute in linking Dworkin and hair as well.