Please Stop Shouting at Anti-Feminists on the Internet

So first of all, let's cover the basics: claiming to be a feminist will not suddenly force a woman to sever ties with every man she knows, grow armpit hair to her knees and disconnect the oven. It will not force her to work full time, or hire a nanny, or stop making sandwiches. It will not stop her from wearing make-up, or doing the dishes, or wanting to have children. Basically what I'm saying is there no reason to see the word 'feminist' and react like this:

Or this:

Or this:

Because calling yourself a feminist just means that you believe women should have the CHOICE to do any of those things. Really, that's all.

But I hate the effect the word 'feminism' has on people. Whether it's an eye-roll, a gentle recoil, pointed posturing or a loud, twattish guffaw, it's almost never what I think it should be: a slightly baffled expression, possibly coupled with a shrug. When somebody brings up feminism, I wish everybody would just go, 'Yes, and what of it?'

But I think people react that way because those who don't want to call themselves feminists fall into two categories:
1. 'Pathetic, prehistoric, rage-fuelled assclowns' who seriously believe men to be superior to women. I don't think they're worth addressing (or existing).
2. People who want women to have all the rights and choices men have, but who don't want to call themselves feminists because they don't understand how harmless the word in itself is, and/or because they have at some point had some bozo on the internet call them an embarrassment to women everywhere because they changed their surname when they got married. Or something.

And here (finally...) is my point: please stop yelling at each other on the internet.

You know who you are. You people who tell women off for having boyfriends, or enjoying cooking, or wanting children, all in the name of FEMINISM. And I'm asking you: please, please stop it. When has anybody ever changed your mind by shouting at, insulting or patronising you?

Fair enough the Category 1 people probably need some pretty bloody firm words, but the majority of people, in my experience, who shy away from describing themselves as a 'feminist' are just confused. They don't understand that it's not supposed to be an angry word because maybe at some point, some blogger with FEMINIST tattooed on their forehead called them a 'bit of a prat', or a 'bellend', or a 'daft arse' (presumably because they said that feminism isn't really something they think about, and they like cooking).

So please don't shout at these people who don't understand. Try explaining to them simply and gently that feminism and equality are the SAME THING. Seriously, that is it.

Hopefully, if we all get on board with this, whenever a female celebrity is inevitably asked whether or not they are a feminist (because, you know, there's no way people who interview celebrities ever ask redundant questions to try and shoehorn out a controversial answer), and basically says 'no', we all react a bit differently. Instead of writing patronising and offensive open letters to call attention to your own blog, or launching some sort of internet lynch mob, we can all just give them a gentle shake of the head, point them in the direction of the various excellent people who espouse feminism with politeness and style, and help them Get It. That's all it is. They just don't Get It yet.

Eventually, one day, I'm really hoping that every time some provocative tit of an interviewer asks a celebrity 'Are you a feminist?', said celebrity will pull this face:

(Hopefully with this haircut, too.)

After all, people don't go around asking 'Are you a racist?' at random, because there is only one acceptable answer. And there is only one answer to 'are you a feminist?'

But we're not going to convince anybody of that by yelling at them.

Gushy Harry Potter Post

Warning: expect mush and attempted profoundness.

For no real reason, I've spent a lot of time over the past couple of days watching various JK Rowling interviews / documentaries. I've got no idea what triggered it, but last night I watched A Conversation with Daniel Radcliffe and JK Rowling (filmed shortly before the release of the final Harry Potter film), and today I watched JK Rowling: A Year in the Life (filmed over the course of the year leading up to the publication of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows). I've had tears in my eyes on about eight different occasions, and was a watery, gibbering mess by the end of the latter.

I can't explain, even to myself, why my reaction was so overly emotional. Harry Potter is hardly my little secret; it's become a cliche to say that Harry Potter got you into reading (which it didn't, for me), to say it inspired you to write (which it partially did), to say it defined your childhood (which it certainly had a hand in). And it bothers me that I feel the need to justify my personal relationship with Harry Potter because it means so much to so many people. I don't really believe that there are degrees of loving something - it's not something you can measure.

I read Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone when I was six or seven, I think, and the final Harry Potter film was released two weeks after my eighteenth birthday - so the world of Hogwarts was my imaginary playground throughout my childhood. Sure, I may have shared that world with God only knows how many other kids, but one of my favourite things about reading is that it's a solo activity. For however long or short a time, it is just you, and the characters, and an adventure; and bloody hell, what an adventure.

There are so many things I could talk about, in relation to JK Rowling's books, but it was actually hearing Rowling talk about them that I think has got me feeling so nostalgic. Being so young when I was first introduced to Harry Potter, JK Rowling was a name to me a long time before she was a person, and when I first became aware of the person I wasn't sure what to think. For someone with an imagination so clearly extraordinary, JK Rowling seemed kind of...boring. And I think it's only in the past 48 hours that I've really understood how wrong that kind of judgement was.

It's a pretty astonishing realisation, when it hits you that the phenomenon (and I don't think that word is ever more appropriately used than when in relation to Potter) that is Harry Potter stemmed from the mind of one woman, and all the personal experiences, memories and tragedies that went towards forming that woman. Hearing her talk out loud about these characters, created by her but adopted by SO many others, and the directions she almost took their stories (there's a bit where she admitted to nearly killing off Ron - this blog post would not be waxing quite so lyrical if she'd followed that through) made me realise how much the work of one person's creativity can affect others. I have absolutely no doubt that there are people in the world whose lives were saved by Harry Potter, that there are people who found hope, happiness, friendship, escape, confidence, strength, imagination and who knows what else in those 17 zillion pages.

But for me, Harry Potter is a part of the foundation on which I built my aspirations, and I think I sometimes forget that. It felt nice to be reminded.