If Meghan, the lucky girl who rode off with handsome Prince Harry, says that she’d prefer to earn her own money and live her own life, thank you very much, how can any of us find solace in the promise romance makes us?
The problem is not mental illness. The problem is not violent video games. The problem is a social pathology of aggrieved entitlement and misogyny mixed with white supremacy, aided and abetted by 8Chan and Fox News and Donald Trump and corrupted lawmakers.
The deep existential dread I feel this time of year might be well-reasoned. Maybe the world really is going to hell in a hand-basket. Or maybe it’s wedding season.
It’s hard to have sex when your future is far from secure. Just ask the young people who aren’t having it.
I felt a heart-warming spark of hope as I stamped my frozen feet this January in New York City, awaiting my beloved Ocasio Cortez at the 2019 Women’s March. Maybe we have finally wiped the fairy dust out of our eyes. Maybe we have started building a future that is not about our own individual love stories, but our love for humanity and our love for the Earth.
In the wake of the #MeToo movement—not to mention 50 years of feminist theory, legal intervention and activism—we have finally named the rapist, the workplace harasser, the serial jerk who ignores consent. And that leaves us with a few questions which we can never fully answer.
The last time I felt hope was on a hot summer day in Provincetown.
The global rise of highly masculinist and misogynist—not to mention homophobic, white supremacist and just plain scary—regimes has granted gender studies a lot of attention. And boy, oh boy, do all the misogynists have their knickers in a twist.