The Patriarch Fucks Us All Part II: The Big Smoke
Ahh, the patriarch. That ever present social construct where men hold and wield the power, and fuck you with it in ever new and surprising ways. When I say this post is 'The Patriarch Fucks Us All Part II', this story is really much more 'the patriarch fucked me'. Literally and figuratively.
Being a feminist and dating online is hard. I seem to spend a lot of time explaining to well meaning dudes what feminism is, why they can't joke about making sandwiches and that yes, yes I am confident about the way I look, thank you very much. Every now and again though, a man comes along and seems like they get it, and may even declare themselves to be a feminist.
If you're one of my four regular readers (hi, guys!) you'll remember this piece, the original 'patriarch fucks us all' rant, where incensed by the actions of Barnaby Joyce I tell the story of the boys club, and it 'being ok' for men to act one way and women another when it comes to the workplace, sex and the various power imbalances at play.
When I wrote the piece, I had just started dating a man who was that self-proclaimed feminist. He also happened to be the editor of an online magazine that publishes the opinions of every day people. He read my piece over a glass of red in a local bar, and lavished compliments on my writing and bravery for sharing my story so openly. He earnestly said to me, "I swear, it's not nepotism, let me publish this, this is an important side of the discussion that people need to heard". We had just spent much of the evening laughing over the ridiculousness of Barnaby getting Vicki a job, while getting his dick wet.
Nevertheless, I agreed and the story was published. Our next date, he told me of my pieces success on his site, and continued to lay on the compliments. By the next date, I was being referred to as one of the contributors to the magazine. Soon after, I was congratulated for being a part of the team when the site was listed on Apple News. I was being given status in his eyes. I was chuffed with myself, and told practically everyone in my life. I was not just the woman in his bed, but contributing to his company, his success. That is, until he was done getting his dick wet.
This all went down back in February, things have since fizzled out romantically with the editor, but at least I'd have that one cool thing that happened, right? Maybe, not. A few weeks ago while swapping Tinder anecdotes with a colleague, the publishing of my story came up. My colleague sheepishly admitted that he'd never read it originally, but asked if I could show it to him now. It turns out no, I couldn't. A 404 error has replaced my piece. I guess my important feminist voice that needed to be heard, didn't need to be heard anymore.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that I am complaining about some dude being petty by deleting an old story from a website he has carriage over curating by creating content on a website I curate. This post probably seems petty as fuck, especially considering the relationship is over. It doesn't feel petty to me. I bet it doesn't feel petty to other women who have been fired or had their work discredited because they stopped putting out for the man in the position of power.
My issue is not with our dalliance being over, it was always going to end. My issue is with his intentions being false in the name of feminism. Or, at least blissfully unaware of the abuse of power that was carried out and the culture it perpetuates. He used his fancy job and power as a publisher to woo me. He used my work for content at the height of a news frenzy. He deleted all evidence of that as soon as it stopped paying sexual dividends.
I'll be honest, I swooned at the idea of being published. I was thrilled that someone who has a say over who gets heard thought I was worthy of being heard. To see it deleted, confirming that it was just some good old fashioned sex-fuelled nepotism, was so disappointing. So much for that self-proclaimed feminist ideals and editorial integrity.
Being a feminist and dating online is hard. I seem to spend a lot of time explaining to well meaning dudes what feminism is, why they can't joke about making sandwiches and that yes, yes I am confident about the way I look, thank you very much. Every now and again though, a man comes along and seems like they get it, and may even declare themselves to be a feminist.
If you're one of my four regular readers (hi, guys!) you'll remember this piece, the original 'patriarch fucks us all' rant, where incensed by the actions of Barnaby Joyce I tell the story of the boys club, and it 'being ok' for men to act one way and women another when it comes to the workplace, sex and the various power imbalances at play.
When I wrote the piece, I had just started dating a man who was that self-proclaimed feminist. He also happened to be the editor of an online magazine that publishes the opinions of every day people. He read my piece over a glass of red in a local bar, and lavished compliments on my writing and bravery for sharing my story so openly. He earnestly said to me, "I swear, it's not nepotism, let me publish this, this is an important side of the discussion that people need to heard". We had just spent much of the evening laughing over the ridiculousness of Barnaby getting Vicki a job, while getting his dick wet.
Nevertheless, I agreed and the story was published. Our next date, he told me of my pieces success on his site, and continued to lay on the compliments. By the next date, I was being referred to as one of the contributors to the magazine. Soon after, I was congratulated for being a part of the team when the site was listed on Apple News. I was being given status in his eyes. I was chuffed with myself, and told practically everyone in my life. I was not just the woman in his bed, but contributing to his company, his success. That is, until he was done getting his dick wet.
This all went down back in February, things have since fizzled out romantically with the editor, but at least I'd have that one cool thing that happened, right? Maybe, not. A few weeks ago while swapping Tinder anecdotes with a colleague, the publishing of my story came up. My colleague sheepishly admitted that he'd never read it originally, but asked if I could show it to him now. It turns out no, I couldn't. A 404 error has replaced my piece. I guess my important feminist voice that needed to be heard, didn't need to be heard anymore.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that I am complaining about some dude being petty by deleting an old story from a website he has carriage over curating by creating content on a website I curate. This post probably seems petty as fuck, especially considering the relationship is over. It doesn't feel petty to me. I bet it doesn't feel petty to other women who have been fired or had their work discredited because they stopped putting out for the man in the position of power.
My issue is not with our dalliance being over, it was always going to end. My issue is with his intentions being false in the name of feminism. Or, at least blissfully unaware of the abuse of power that was carried out and the culture it perpetuates. He used his fancy job and power as a publisher to woo me. He used my work for content at the height of a news frenzy. He deleted all evidence of that as soon as it stopped paying sexual dividends.
I'll be honest, I swooned at the idea of being published. I was thrilled that someone who has a say over who gets heard thought I was worthy of being heard. To see it deleted, confirming that it was just some good old fashioned sex-fuelled nepotism, was so disappointing. So much for that self-proclaimed feminist ideals and editorial integrity.
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