We’ve come to a point in the gender wars where certain repugnant male behavior is no longer up for debate among reasonable people. Republicans have taken up the mantle of domestic violence; Megyn Kelly will grill Donald Trump about sexist tweets on national television; spousal rape has gone from acceptable to illegal in all 50 states. Even the lesser offenses are universal enough that we now have terms for them — some that seem old-fashioned, like “catcalling”; others that have recently sprung from the internet like “manspreading” or “mansplaining.”

And yet one of the major obstacles in the Fight Against Patriarchy is that a sexist guy will always seem like an outsider — a bad-news ex-boyfriend, perhaps, but not your male feminist friend, your super chill brother, your gentle dad. Never the bros you know and love, never the “fair-minded guys who want women to succeed.” Never one of Our Guys.

But realistically, mathematically, it doesn’t add up: We must know some of these dudes. It wasn’t always so easy for our supposed male allies to hide in plain sight; when radical feminists first burst on the scene at a New Left rally in Washington, DC, in 1969, progressive hippie men screamed at a women’s libber: “Take her off the stage and fuck her!” Paradoxically, now that such blatant sexist behaviors are in theory no longer tolerated, we convince ourselves that the specific men in our lives would never engage in them. It’s why the concept of date rape still provokes the deepest self-doubt in the most confident women: a playful peer, a friend, wouldn’t cross that line.