Men can be liked for being bad, but can women? Should we even aspire to the same: to be liked? After all, likeability, in whatever form it takes is still, surely, a trap. Maybe, in fact, the ultimate act of the unlikeable woman is to be recognized and seen, shown to be alive—as in the pages of this book—but to say, after careful consideration, fuck it and fuck you. To stay true to her name, to remain proudly unlikeable. Maybe that’s what freedom really feels like. For them, for me and for you.
