I Hate Men

by Pauline Harmange

As a result of the way it’s been misunderstood or misconstrued, there’s a tendency in feminist movements to argue that misandry as a concept doesn’t actually exist. In a way, of course, this is true, because there is no coordinated, structured system for denigrating or coercing men.

If we all became misandrists, what a fabulous hue and cry we could raise. We’d realise (though it might be a bit sad at first) that we don’t actually need men. I believe too we might liberate an unsuspected power: that of being able to soar far above the male gaze and the dictates of men, to discover at last who we really are.

With my yoga mat, my meditation app, my two different kinds of therapy, my books about non-violent communication and my relative ability to control my sometimes overwhelming emotions, I feel like such a cliché.

Misandry and misogyny cannot be compared, quite simply because the former exists only in reaction to the latter.

Fundamentally, any man who believes that the patriarchy is merely the fruit of the feminist imagination rather than a concrete reality is complicit in systemic sexism.

Standards are very low for men, and far too high for women. Let’s reserve ourselves the right to be ugly, badly dressed, vulgar, mean, bad-tempered, untidy, exhausted, selfish, incompetent …

I believe we mustn’t be afraid to rouse and express our misandry. Hating men and all they represent is absolutely our right. It’s also a celebration. Who would have thought there was so much joy in misandry? It’s a state of mind that doesn’t make us bitter or lonely, contrary to what the patriarchy would have us believe. I believe that hating men opens the door to love of women (and of ourselves) in all the forms it might take. And that we need that love – that sisterhood – in order to be truly free.