A few years ago, I had a heated conversation with a very accomplished older white woman. I tried to explain the difficulties I've faced as both a writer and woman of color — poverty, discrimination, microaggressions — and was met with utter disbelief. According to this woman, because I was successful, I couldn’t possibly have faced racism in my field or in my life, for that matter. All the while, she kept recounting the sexism she faced in the male-dominated field of academia. While I sympathized with her struggles as a professional woman, she was unwilling to see how my identity as a daughter of Mexican immigrants would pose obstacles for me. I grew exasperated trying to explain myself to her. How could I prove a lifetime of challenges based on both my race and gender? Even when I cited specific examples of racial discrimination I had endured — being disregarded and disrespected by white editors, for instance — she refused to acknowledge my experiences.

I often remember this conversation because it is so representative of what I see in mainstream feminist discourse. Frequently, there is a willful ignorance about the hardships facing communities of color. Ultimately, feminism without intersectionality is simply self-serving. Women who fret about climbing the corporate ladder and shattering the class ceiling, but who are indifferent to the violence, poverty and discrimination that women of color face on a daily basis are looking out for themselves — or at most, trying to protect people just like them.

Take, for example, the recent Twitter exchange between Taylor Swift and Nicki Minaj. When Minaj’s highly popular music video, “Anaconda,” was not nominated for an MTV Video Music Award in either best choreography or video of the year categories, she justifiably took to Twitter to vent her frustrations. Minaj pointed out that had she been “a ‘different’ kind of artist,” her video would have been recognized. Because she was nominated, Swift quickly and incorrectly assumed Minaj was attacking her personally. Instead of examining the power structures in the music industry that dismiss and discredit black female artists, Swift automatically became defensive, tweeting at Minaj, “I've done nothing but love & support you. It’s unlike you to pit women against each other. Maybe one of the men took your slot.” Swift’s response exemplifies the sort of cluelessness that white women — including those who consider themselves feminists — often exhibit about the hurdles women of color have repeatedly and historically withstood. After she and Minaj shared their points of view, Swift realized she was wrong. “I thought I was being called out. I missed the point, I misunderstood, then misspoke. I'm sorry, Nicki,” she tweeted.

Though Swift eventually acknowledged her naiveté and publicly apologized to Minaj, her initial response is indicative of the widespread myopia among celebrity and mainstream feminists when it comes to race.