There used to be a very singular reason for me to be a feminist. It was quite simple. First, I was in a relationship with a girl who fought for women’s rights. Whatever her faults were, she definitely had that going for her. There was a time where I didn’t see where she was coming from, at all. She showed me rape-statistics and I replied with the now-tired “not all men, and definitely not me” response. I still shake my head thinking of my arrogance and privilege of those days; though, to be fair, I’m still as privileged - just more aware.

And then time passed and I did my own research. Luck would have it that I would be surrounded by strong women - two mothers and a plethora of incredible female friends - who spoke out for women, and against stereotypes that harmed everyone. And I looked up those statistics again, and this time, I feel to this day, my response was the right one. It was overzealous and overly dramatic angry fist-shaking at the world, but I wasn’t complacent, I wasn’t going to sit by idly.

Of course, nothing is clear cut and I was forced to ask myself questions on why I fought for women and not, say, people of colour, who are as much if not more oppressed and, though I’m still not clear on this issue, came to the conclusion that, just because you can’t fight for everyone doesn’t mean you shouldn’t fight for someone. To me, it was always about finding fault and trying to fix it in some small way.

Similarly, I took up fighting for “the planet” in some small ways (as if the planet needs fighting for. I fought for the survival of the species - the planet will do just fine when we’re gone), and I looked up other social-justice causes to stand behind. And it took a lot of that, a lot of loud arguing with intelligent people to refine my views and, after years, finally turn my gaze inward, still with the ultimately dominant view of feminism.



Very quickly: my view on feminism is one of “fixing” inequality. Inequality borne from marginalisation of women (hence feminism, and not equalism). Feminism is a way of looking at the world and seeing the myriad ways in which women (and sometimes men) are being bullied into submission by archaic rules, and trying to fix them. In small ways. Telling your friends some things are not okay. Even some jokes.



So when that lens turned inwards, I saw this whole image of myself being formed by what feminist people swear by and what anti-feminists mock: the patriarchy. Almost my entire ego, my way of behaviour, my youth, was formed by this, this monstrosity, that makes fools of all of us.

To give you some context: I have two mothers, as I stated above. Both of them are my birth-parents. Yeah, let that sink in. One of them, a decade and a half after I was born, finally figured out she was body-dysmorphic and transsexual (well, she figured it out way earlier, but that’s when I found out), and made the transition a few years after. This shaped me, in ways I’m still finding out.

More context: I grew up in a normal school, in one of the most boring countries in the world. It’s safe, nothing ever happens, and if someone is killed in the streets, it’s regional news and the newspapers do not shut up about it. This is as safe as it gets. I grew up thinking coloured people are the same as everyone else, and didn’t give it much thought (until I actually ran into some, because my country is also rather sparse on POC’s. My opinion hasn’t changed.), and I figured women were creatures that were, at first, just pretty, and then just fell in love with other people. Somehow, even with a “father” who thought “he” was gay for a while, I grew up believing being Gay was a bad thing. School taught me that. Schoolyard games where everyone who didn’t jump was homosexual for some reason taught me that.

I didn’t like Freddie Mercury until I was 18, because I heard he died from “being gay” when I was young and, while of course I grew out of that “being gay is bad” trend as I grew up, the resentment was still there, even if I didn’t know it. There was an instant knee-jerk “ew, this is bad” reaction whenever I heard someone was gay.

As I grew older, and my mother made the transition, there was an even bigger issue. I don’t blame her for that. I do lay part of the blame on my environment. Having grown out of “being gay is bad” I simply picked up another bad habit, another bad belief. The issue wasn’t “being gay”, the issue was “being feminine”. After having been bullied for surely being gay as I grew up (and short, and stocky, and looking remarkably like a child movie-star (you’d think that’d make you popular, but bullies don’t need much)), I learned how to act in such a way that would make me more masculine.

And then I had to become even more masculine. The damage got worse. The amount of reassurance my environment needed, from my other mom to my sister, my friends and grandparents, all of them, their reaction was “we fully support you and and your family in this rough period. It’s a good thing you aren’t like that. You’re manly. And strong. Look at that beard. That testosterone,” and I now realise it was harrowing. Even in a period in which such a large part of my environment was incredibly supportive and strong and accepting, it still managed to make me feel like any kind of femininity was terrible. Even worse, if I now displayed female traits, people might think I was like her!



This scarred me. Deeply. But not irreparably. So I asked myself questions. Mostly “why?”. Why did I feel like I had to suffix every non-masculine act with a reason, an explanation? Why did it take a comparison to Indiana Jones, the manliest man ever to man, in order for me to even consider wearing a carrying bag? Why did I consider wearing women’s clothes abhorrent? These were tough questions to ask, and tougher to answer.

And slowly the damage, done by myself and my environment and this ever present patriarchy, came to surface. Iggy Pop helped me a great deal in this regard. When asked why he didn’t consider it a bad thing to dress like a woman, he replied - and I’m paraphrasing here - “because I don’t think it’s a bad thing to be one”.

That was an eye-opener. All of these issues came bubbling to the surface. I considered what being a woman would mean for me - something that’s hard to write even now - and came to several conclusions:

- I’d be pretty happy either way. I’m fairly certain I’m not transsexual. I’m perfectly happy being me. I’m happy with my genitals, but sometimes I figure I’d be happy with the other ones, too.

- I’m going to be sad that I’ll never get to be a woman, however. I’m pretty sure I’d be bitchin’ at it. I’d have made an awesome woman. Y'all would’ve been jealous.

- I’m not going to wear women’s clothes, but for the right reasons: I’d be uncomfortable in them. I look better in a suit, and it would be daft to wear something not tailored to me and my body-shape.

- I’m feminine. Sometimes very, and sometimes not at all. I can feel dapper one day, and pretty the next. Because I’m masculine too, but I knew that already.

I don’t know what “being a real man” means, but if it means denying the fact that, as a man, you were raised by someone genetically way more feminine than your father - usually - and that these people make up more than half the global population, then I want none of it.

You know why I need feminism? Not because I was harmed and scarred by it, though it plays a part. Not because I’d be marginalised if I was a woman, because I’m not nearly self-centered enough for that.

I need feminism because it took me, a man raised by two women, nearly two decades to figure out being feminine and being a woman is okay.

I need feminism because there are scores, possibly half a billion people, who see non-masculine as non-beings - and they don’t realise it.

I need feminism because if it was this hard for me to realise what an ass I’d been, how hard must be not to be subconsciously sexist when there is no support system.

I need feminism because I’ve been told since birth that everything revolves around me and other men and that there are things like the bro-code and I believed it.

I need feminism because it’s hard enough as it is, without telling everyone half of us aren’t worth the effort.

