Batshit Crazy Feminists

Stamping out the toxic masculinity from your teenage boy before it’s too late.

HuffPost Personal recently posted an opinion piece titled “I Took My 15-Year-Old Son To See ‘Barbie’ Because I’m Worried He Could Become Ken,” which at first I understandably took to be satire. But no, progressivism is often simply a parody of itself, and that is the case with this HuffPost piece. Beyond its unintentional entertainment value, however, it’s a revealing look into the mindset of feminists who wrestle with the misfortune of having borne one or more male children instead of daughters with whom they can bond over their shared oppression under the boot heel of – ugh – men.

The charges of oppression that privileged white feminists once leveled indiscriminately at men ended up being turned back on them by women of color.

The setting: Town Hall in New York City on the evening of April 30, 1971. The event: a debate about “Women’s Liberation,” occasioned by Norman Mailer’s new book, The Prisoner of Sex, and featuring Mailer himself as moderator. His gruff, snarky opening remarks are followed by four talks in widely differing styles: an earnest, deadly dry presentation of the feminist ideology of the day by Jacqueline Ceballos, a commissarlike representative of the National Organization for Women; a barbed, witty attack on Mailer, the nuclear family, and much else (not to mention praise for Mao Zedong’s “analysis of society”) by the glamorous Australian author Germaine Greer, who’s riding high with her bestselling The Female Eunuch, and whose irreverence and unabashed sexiness set her apart from other superstars of Women’s Lib, a movement already notorious for its humorlessness; a sober, dispassionate analysis of ’70s feminism by New York intellectual doyenne Diana Trilling, a voice for reason and pre-New Left liberalism; and Village Voice scribe Jill Johnston.

Warren Farrell, the co-author of “The Boy Crisis,” recently wrote an op-ed criticizing the 57th Super Bowl. Or, as he called it, the “Supersexist Bowl.” The event, which was watched by 113 million Americans, was littered with a number of sexist ads, according to Farrell. To be more specific, it was littered with anti-male ads. One of the advertisements, for “Friday Night SmackDown,” saw a woman approach a man from behind and assault him with a wooden chair.

A man being beaten to a pulp by a woman is hilarious, right?

Sometimes a single incident efficiently summarizes a larger trend. So it is with New York University’s selection of its new president, Linda Mills, a licensed clinical social worker and an NYU social work professor. She researches trauma and bias, as well as race and gender in the legal academy. She is a documentary filmmaker and teaches advocacy filmmaking. She serves as an NYU vice chancellor and as a senior vice provost for Global Programs and University Life. In all these roles, Mills is the very embodiment of the contemporary academy. The most significant part of her identity, however, and the one that ties the rest of her curriculum vitae together, is that she is female, and thus overdetermined as NYU’s next president.

Why so many younger feminists have fallen for the delusions of gender ideology.

As the gender-identity wars reached fever-pitch, Rosie Duffield, Labour MP for Canterbury, accused her party of having ‘a woman problem’. Ever since Duffield first tentatively raised her head above the parapet to suggest that the common noun for ‘individuals with a cervix’ is, in fact, ‘women’, she has been subjected to outright hostility and ostracism. The lack of support for her from the parliamentary Labour Party is deafening. For Labour, the question of ‘what is a woman?’ is ‘always a sensitive issue’. According to Keir Starmer, the statement that only women have a cervix is ‘something that shouldn’t be said’.

An army of privileged unhappy neurotic women – with an endless amount of spare time – try to bring meaning to their boring lives.

Ever since the Women’s March imploded under leadership controversies, angry woke white women have been waiting for their marching orders. An army of privileged unhappy neurotic women with an endless amount of spare time and a desire to give meaning to their boring lives has once again been organized and unleashed on the public.

In 2021, a string of horrific murders sparked a moral panic about men.

The feminism of fear was everywhere this year.

Just as women should have been making the most of post-lockdown freedoms, we were plunged into a panic over our safety. Politicians, campaigners and commentators ruthlessly stoked and exploited women’s concerns.

Today’s feminists, when dating, are coldly mercenary

During a recent trip to the US, I had lunch with a young man from New York, who told me glumly that many of his peers had spent the summer swanning around Europe while he stayed put in America. They were all flaunting it on Instagram, of course, but none as aggressively as a clutch of young women in their early 20s, who had spent time in the most expensive spots: the Amalfi Coast, Porto Cervo, Capri. I peered at his phone and saw images of the girls draped over each other in terrace restaurants, on the prows of boats, laid along tree branches in thong bikinis, glowing with the gold-dust of fine living.