Bad Feminist

by Roxane Gay

We have all manner of music glorifying the degradation of women, and damnit, that music is catchy so I often find myself singing along as my very being is diminished.

I openly embrace the label of bad feminist. I do so because I am flawed and human. I am not terribly well versed in feminist history. I am not as well read in key feminist texts as I would like to be. I have certain . . . interests and personality traits and opinions that may not fall in line with mainstream feminism, but I am still a feminist. I cannot tell you how freeing it has been to accept this about myself.

“If people do not believe that mathematics is simple, it is only because they do not realize how complicated life is.”

“There’s no difference between forcing women to wear hijab and forcing them to not wear. The ultimate decision must be that of the individual.” Western opinions on the hijab or burkas are rather irrelevant. We don’t get to decide for Muslim women what does or does not oppress them, no matter how highly we think of ourselves.

Realism is relative. My fantasy life often feels quite real.

It is a call to address “dick culture,” which Prickett refers to as “the inordinate pride men feel in owning and wielding their dicks.”

Human endurance fascinates me, probably too much because more often than not, I think of life in terms of enduring instead of living.

“Only in America can a dead black boy go on trial for his own murder.”