(Anti) Feminism, part 3 – The Phenomenon of the ‘Pick-Me’

 

 

Ah yes. We have reached the end of this angry rant with my favourite topic.

Not least because I am, by the standards of Twitter’s feminists, a big fat, giant, massive pick-me.

I don’t believe pick-me exists in the Oxford dictionary, but by and large it refers to a woman who doesn’t hate men (and vice-versa, but I can only speak from the perspective of a straight woman).

You defend men, believe they have feelings and should be looked after the way women are? Pick me! You want to look after your man; you want to show him love, cook for him, and do nice things for him? Absolutely a pick me, disgusting! For shame! You like men for their personality and their character, rather than their money, clothes, possessions etc? Ew, I hope he picks you sis. You don’t want all men to die? On God, we gon’ get someone to pick you.

Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? That’s because it is.

The only anti-pick-me narrative I agree with is that of a woman actively bashing other women for the approval of men. Being snide, bitchy, and unnecessarily rude just to get a few laughs out of men; laughing when a man hurts a woman who has done nothing wrong; supporting an abuser just because you think he’s sexy. Purposely putting other women down and trying to make yourself look better. That’s a real ‘please pick me, I’m different to the other basic bitches. I’m so much cooler and better than them, please pick me, they’re all ugly ogres and I’m so different to the rest; you’ll never find another girl like me, I promise you that. You’ll be thinking about me when you’re with her lol I’m so different, I leave a mark on people.

But obviously, people have watered this down to suit their own agenda, and now pick-me generally refers to a woman who apparently does and says things as a mating call, because we obviously don’t have our own brains, and everything we do in life is solely in the quest to attain male approval. Which is very telling for the people who use the phrase. What a phenomenon.

I want to dissect it and destroy it.

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Four things I’ve learnt this decade

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Every time you try to forget who I am, I’ll be right there to remind you again

 

I know. And yes I did mean this decade. And yes I am here again, a mere week after my last post. It’s pissing down outside, which makes it a fine day to rant.

We’re only halfway through February, we’ve barely grazed the new decade, and I feel like I’ve been hit in the face with a million lessons and gained another five years of life experience. I’m just hoping it doesn’t show on my face, so I’m frantically blurting it out onto a new post in the hope that it doesn’t settle into my fine lines.

Lesson number one, typing on a MacBook with long ass nails does not a good idea make.

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Ridiculous things I've heard this Ramadan

Except this time, they’re from Muslims.

We’re halfway through Ramadan and I can’t tell whether it’s going really fast or really slow. It’s harder, I cannot lie. I am but a shell of myself, a zombie going into work with shit skin and minimal words. I see everything 3 seconds after it actually happens.

I think I wrote something last year-ish about questions I’ve heard during Ramadan in general. I’ve grown up since then. I’m older, wiser, angrier. Very impatient. I have no time for ignorance and stupid people, and the more time I spend on twitter, watching the influx of 17-21 year olds spew their bullshit, I’m seeing more ridiculous opinions and lack of education. Lack of self-awareness. Lack of consideration. Kids these days really look for any reason to be offended – it’s like they enjoy the idea of being oppressed, they get a kick out of being controversial for no reason. I feel like an old angry lady waving her stick around at the children outside for being too loud. But in my old age and wisdom, I’ve also learnt to be much more tolerant. I know, it sounds so ironic given my impatience. But I’m more forgiving, less judgemental; I adopt more of a ‘let people be’ stance. So let people be. Except people who stay stupid things.
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Writer baby, you could be the quote [Love, pt. 2]

[Shitpost – 4:30am]
They say the only people awake at this hour are the lonely and the loved, but I’m here because my caffeine buzz is wearing off and I wish I was in love. Right now I feel like I am, but with no one in particular, possibly someone who doesn’t exist, and it’s frustrating. Why am I talking about love so much? Everyone around me is getting into relationships, getting married, and, honestly, being single is getting boring real quick. But I also see people getting into the wrong relationships and just generally being unhappy; I’m tryna stress how important a foundation is. No more time wasting. I only want something if it’s real.

My state of mind right now is equivalent to being intoxicated in some way, so it’s about to get real raw and embarrassing. I feel high. I’m also listening to old J Cole and Miguel and I feel like aunt flo is about to visit, so my head is a real shitstorm right now. Soppy bitch mode currently turned on full blast.

The sun’s about to rise and I’m not tiptoeing around my thoughts; when everything is silent and still, we’re forced into introspection, we have to face everything about ourselves head on. It’s painful, it’s liberating, there’s something sublime about it. I’ve dashed anxiety out of the window, focused too much on being happy with myself and, in the process, forgot to really get back into my head. Not trying to fall back into bad habits, but here we are. I got me up all night, down and out with these love songs. Can’t lie, I missed this.
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Something that she ain't seen yet [Hey Assbutt: Love, pt.1]

I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve done a hey assbutt, aka one long bullshit rant. I guess I’ve kind of gotten my shit together in the sense that I don’t have the time to complain anymore, but alas; this part of me will continue to thrive.
Let’s talk about the L word. We all like to think about and not talk about the L word. We all like to talk about and not think about the L word. The L word is a stressful thing. I’m gonna do it.
To avoid confusion, I’m talking about ~romantic~ love. Gonna bump some MJ and begin.
Honestly, what even is love?
Platonic love is simple. One of the strongest feelings ever, because you don’t even have to like the person to love them, to care about them, to want the best for them and to be there for them always.
Romantic love is more annoying, but I haven’t properly felt it. I once thought I did, but in hindsight, I was terribly, inconceivably, dangerously wrong and it makes me nauseous. I have a good idea of what it is, and I would love to confirm it, but I’m not about to risk my heart for the wrong person. I, too, am cringing at the soppiness of that sentence so I’ll bring it down a notch right about now.
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Let me tell you something [How to genuinely improve your shitty life]

When will someone nominate me for the Worst Blogger award?
The devil really is locked up because I’ve just written a blog post after two months of nothing. Not a single word.
I guess I’m supposed to include an update of my life here, except I’m not going to because when do I ever do that? Also I’m yawning and my eyes hurt and I’m sick. If you want to see me rant, my twitter is available for you to view all the thoughts I could and should have kept to myself. I’m at a weird point in my life, though. Super inspired but super unmotivated. Super happy, but super nonchalant. Super ready to be an adult, but.. yeah. In a weird limbo where the pieces of my puzzle are just hovering above me, waiting for me to give them the go ahead to just drop into place. Not yet tho, I’m not done being a fuck up.
I’m not worried, though. My skin is shit, but I’m not worried. My life isn’t any better on paper at all, but in my head, it’s all rosy. My mental health was suffering last year, and anxiety is now but a distant memory. It’s weird to think that I had a prescription for antidepressants that I, thankfully, didn’t collect. I went to a gig alone. I cut my hair. I give people chances. I now go with my gut instead of overanalysing every little thing. I say yes more. I say no more. I’m a whole other person. And I wanna tell you how I did it, starting with this post.
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