Age old question, really, this one, and one where “want” and “need” are often made unhelpfully interchangable, just to make it EVEN SIMPLER.
Welcome back to Feminist TwitBomb, Deluxe Edition, in which we take a sexist Twitter hashtag and try and make it slightly less soul-harrowingly bleak by exploring its inherent absurdity, usually with caps lock, bad puns, and the sudden appearance of wildlife. Previously on this channel: how #TipsForLadies was skewered.
PROBLEMATIC, as Tumblr might say.
It’s all fine, though, guys, because TWITTER TO THE RESCUE. Eat your heart out, Sigmund, Xtina and Geoff, for the question will now be answered.
An initial peek at the feed for this trending topic was a little bit unedifying. I’ve anonymised the authors because they’re really only being quoted for background. The fun comes later when you lot get involved.
“Curves and long hair”
Does it matter where the hair is? Can it be in my nostrils?
“Endless closet space”
FOR THE SKULLS OF THE FALLEN.
“a guy who will protect her like she’s his daughter, love her like she’s his wife, and respect her like she’s his mother.”
Apart from the fact that many of us do not fancy these things at all (or men), this is a worryingly ambitious MAIDEN-MOTHER-CRONE SUPERCONFLATION, and I am not paying his therapy bill when shit gets too confusing.
“oven mittens”
… hoo, boy, watch out, sisterhood. This dude’s a serious wordsmith.
“to meet One Direction”
Ah, shit. *throws up hands* Busted.
You get the picture there, anyway: high time, we decided, for a cheering TwitBomb session.
What the hell is this world where neither the pay gap nor Kool and the Gang are given true credence.
Amazingly, all these things can benefit blokes, too.
Now we’re talking, ladies. Now we’re talking.
From a friend on a locked account:
(In a strictly non-imperialist way, mind: no colonial elephant-hunting or dodgy empiring here. The helmet will be ethically sourced in a fetching shade of electric blue fairtrade material and will mainly be worn by the aforementioned wisecracking mandrill. Whom I have named Artemisia.)
I got pretty wrapped up in this whole sweetly awesome world we were creating, actually.
Seriously. I cannot believe LEGO are still spraying all their “girl budget” on pastel shades whilst failing entirely to address the lack of ladypirates in this product’s long and otherwise noble lineage. Yes, I know there was one or two. One or two is NOT ENOUGH.
It just fucks with my chi, that whole business, okay?
OK, I feel better now :).
Stellar advice from one of the brilliant Better Strangers Opera collective there. (The Apocalypse Girls would be proud.)
This next one actually broke into the Top Entries for this hashtag, which I frankly regard as one of my life’s crowning achievements so far. It’s sitting there, nestled loudly between Smug “Oven Mitts” Guy and Creepy Oedipal Posturings. It’s ruining the vibe of patronage-and-patronising quite nicely. Proud moment.
(I feel like a load of Level 50 Gyrados waving DEFEND THE NHS placards would only be a good thing, really.)
A hat trick of pragmatism for us all from our own Markgraf. By the way, this team is never going to conduct a TwitBomb without reference to the noble pheasant at some point. No reason. It’s just better than ovens, chivalry and sleaze. And when these sorts of ridiculous generalisations continue to be hashtagged, surely anything goes.
…you’d be hard pressed to argue with this one, whoever you are.
I’m glad we had this talk, Twitter. Now this pressing question’s been answered, we can all get back to the revolution.
Hoverboards, DEPLOY.
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