Truthfully I was born a misandrist. From a very young age I remember thinking girls were naturally superior. Girls were generally kinder, more orderly, and less chaotic. They did better in school, didn’t have outbursts in class, didn’t stuff their papers and assignments into their backpacks folderless just to be crumpled and torn apart, always had a pencil, and could read aloud during class without having to sound out the words. All around me boys were just constantly struggling. And it’s not that they were being left behind either, teachers were taking plenty of time out of class to devote extra assistance to these primitives. It was clear to me that boys actively chose this because they simply didn’t care, didn’t care about school, about not being a burden or a nuisance to their peers, or even their parents concern for them.
The only thing they did seem to care about was Dragon Ball Z and WWF as it was called back then. I hated their constant obsession with fighting, I thought it was annoying and beneath civilized people, completely undignified. Because even at that tender age, I knew it was nothing but a larp. None of them would ever be warriors, we lived in the suburbs and were expected to go to college, so why were they worried about practicing fighting moves with their WWF dolls when they couldn’t even read without moving their lips? In short, I just thought boys were stupid and not on the same level as girls, and my opinions of grown men weren’t really better.
I grew up in the suburbs, a normal American childhood. The grown men in my community all had jobs and families and were considered decent, productive citizens, but I knew there was something sinister lurking in their hearts. I had no concept of what sex actually was, but I could see that there was a certain look in their eyes that I witnessed in the presence of women such as my mom, and it scared me. I knew that men wanted something that was evil in nature, that it felt like a predator stalking its prey, ready to consume another life for its own gain. Boys went from chaotic, loud, and messy to men who held down jobs and got married but longed for something even more hideous than play fighting with roided out looking dolls. The male went from something annoying and dirty to something scary, of course I was a female chauvinist.
As I got older, my frustrations started to turn towards women as well. The girls in my class were starting to go through puberty and things were rapidly changing. Suddenly our mutual agreement that boys were gross and weird and lesser than us was fading fast. Girls wanted their attention, badly, and they were more than willing to lean into those very sinister desires I had noticed in order to get it- rolling up their shorts during gym class, wearing child size shirts to school, even sneezing in a way that made them sound like a small woodland creature. I was appalled and confused. Didn't they see what I see? That men’s lust for them was about destruction? That it was no compliment but in fact a threat? And what were they even gaining from all of this? The attention of barbarians? How could that possibly be worth it?
I remember being in the 6th grade and my friend Beth told me she tried on makeup for the first time, I felt immediately heartbroken. I had always hated watching my mom put on makeup and refusing to leave the house without it. I resented that she didn’t believe she could freely walk outside without drawing on herself first, men were never chained like this in such a manner, never had to feel that the faces God gave them were too offensive to see the light of day. I saw makeup the same way that many westerners see a burka, to me there was no real difference, just a another flavor of cage and my friends were willingly choosing it for some reason I couldn’t yet understand because I wasn't going through puberty myself.
In fact, not only was I not going through puberty yet, but I was terrified at the thought of it. I had nightmares about growing boobs and being sexualized by men, for whatever reason I always saw how dehumanizing it was despite growing up in a culture that was largely promoting it at the time. I never bought into the post-feminist messaging of the 2000s that sex was empowerment and leaning into men’s lust was the key to fun, freedom, and influence.
I hated seeing the covers of Cosmo magazine while waiting in the checkout line. Was this all that women were reduced to? Blowing a man’s mind with your mouth? Whatever the fuck that meant, I just knew it had to do with that sick look in men’s eyes. I remember being in Amsterdam and trying to pick out some postcards only to find that the display I was looking at didn’t have pictures of clogs and tulips but instead only featured naked women. I was immediately filled with rage and wanted to set the thing on fire. The way men clearly saw women as nothing more than parts felt like a horror movie to me and I couldn’t for the life of me see why everyone was just putting up with this and treating it as normal.
I feared nothing more than developing a woman’s body, of having breasts and hips and bleeding every month. I felt sick at the thought of carrying a man’s baby and giving birth. Men made the whole process seem filthy, as if agreeing to have a child with a man was willfully allowing him to ruin you, participating in your own demise and then thanking him for it. On some level I believed that any woman who became a mother didn’t respect herself and was choosing the loss of her dignity in favor of her own desire for people who saw them as nothing more than meat, something that men themselves believe about women but won’t explicitly state, instead they do things like create religions where God can only be born of a virgin because sex is just that defiling to women and then throw a fit if you dare state the obvious implications here aloud. You’re just supposed to internalize the message, but you’re not supposed to name it. If you name it, you might have the nerve to reject it, and that’s the last thing they want.
But eventually I too would succumb to the pressure and the longing for partnership. After years of seeing my friends get used, abused, and lied to by the unique evil that is teenage boys, I finally began dating once I entered college and felt more prepared both mentally and physically. My first boyfriend was actually quite sweet but clearly had an inability to be single and had a habit of entering new relationships while still not over his last breakup. He’s a doctor in Ohio now, I hope he finally managed to get married, he genuinely wanted a family in the way a woman wants a family, not as possession but as belonging. My second boyfriend was a nice Jewish boy with some mental health issues, nothing crazy, just depression, but he was still a very hard worker with a lot of political ambitions. His Twink Death was brutal but he’s working in finance and married and seems fat and happy. My other two exes were completely insane, to the point where I genuinely believe the world would be a better place without them because rehabilitation is impossible, total cluster Bs.
All this to say that no, my personal dating history is not why I feel the way I do about men. It’s just too small of sample size and there’s no clear trend, half of them were fine, half were crazy, and the horror I felt towards men and their lust had existed with me since I was a small child. And before there’s any speculation, no, I was never molested. I had a fairly standard upbringing with a few notable exceptions such as living in the Middle East for a couple of years. I was just an only child who likely spent more time around adults than the average kid and was too observant and curious about them for my own good.
Here’s the thing about believing that the average male is inherently a lust motivated degenerate with the intent to consume you- you’re either going to become an incredibly obnoxious trad wife or a radical feminist, in my case it was both. Because I felt that men were dangerous, I figured my best bet was to find one who would for whatever reason think I was special and worth protecting from others. Opting to be his private property so I could avoid becoming public property seemed like the best option in a world that was clearly not designed for the wellbeing and safety of women. If I just found the right man, I could have that health and safety in the privacy of the home he would grant me.
I became an insufferable anti-feminist. I worshipped men in hopes they would think I was different and special and save me. I would say things like “repeal the 19th” and bought into redpill nonsense that painted women as conniving evil genius stupid vapid whores. I excused the many faults of men because men were just that important and superior and their sins ultimately didn’t matter as long as they kept “building civilization” and caring for us lowly women as their most prized possesion. But that’s the ultimate lie at the center of it all. Have you ever seen how a man cares for his possessions? Have you stepped foot into a man’s home? If you’re looking for health and safety, being a piece of living reproductive machinery in his household is probably the worst option you have. After all, the person most likely to kill a woman is her own husband, and the average man has no intent on caring for you beyond maybe providing free room and board in exchange for perpetual servitude.
In fact, being a prized possession would be a step up for the average wife who is more akin to an overworked farm animal drudging along well beyond her physical means lest she be sent off to the glue factory. Gold digger and Sugaring trends on tiktok are nothing more than young women’s misguided attempts to avoid barnyard animal status. Women are so entrenched in a culture that tells them they’re subhuman and worthless, that many of them cannot fathom an option that outright rejects the notion that they’re property at all, they only hope for better conditions for their own enslavement.
Tradwifery is the belief that trading your dignity for fake positive attention and dubious notions of “protection” is a gamble worth making. But the moment you no longer believe this is the moment your fundamental belief that men are a danger to you will turn into blackpilled radical feminism. One small change in your risk analysis or finally reaching exasperation with the loss of your own dignity is the thin line between baking bread in sundresses for men who hate you and living life on your own terms.
I became a misandrist because misandry is self preservation. Traditional values will tell you to be wary of men, but again, they don’t want you to plainly state the implications of those instructions. They want you to internalize the message that sex is your own defilement, but they don’t want you to state that this clearly means men are dirty and immoral and that the most rational decision in light of that information is to dislike them and not bear their children. I’m a misandrist because I take men at their word and I follow their words to their logical conclusions.
