They say ignorance is bliss.

First, read this article (“We Are All Confident Idiots” by David Dunning) so you know what I’m talking about.

We’ve all seen this, haven’t we? People who are very convinced that they are right about something–even something made up. Just watch Fox News (but not for very long–at some point it stops being funny and starts being terrifying).

I used to teach university students, and (probably due to my own failure as an educator) I could see this very thing happen. Students would be convinced they understood something, and then when they didn’t score well on a test they were confused and usually made no effort to understand why they didn’t know what they thought they knew.

ignorantSuppose, though, you’ve read your Socrates and your Hume and your skeptics.

Imagine you know the things you don’t know (and it’s a lot–pretty much everything).

Imagine you don’t even fully trust your ability to make patterns because you know you seek patterns and causes even when they aren’t there.

Imagine you don’t believe you are a good, capable person, because these things mean nothing to you and are totally relative.

Imagine you think every system of rule is wrong. That every belief system is wrong. That every ideology is wrong. But that you don’t have a right one to replace them, because it would be wrong too.

Imagine you struggle to form opinions anymore because you don’t have ideologies or sacrosanct beliefs. Imagine you don’t have opinions because you can’t ground them in anything and so they’re useless to you because you want something to hold onto.

At that intersection, you have me.

And I guarantee you, it sucks.

Most of the time, I don’t even feel like a person.

It’s lonely.

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Feminism in Three Parts: Part 3–The Labeling

*Disclaimer: These are my personal views not a philosophical argument or theory. This is where it gets interesting.*

As I established in Part 2, I’m mostly a nihilist (insofar as one can be a nihilist), so calling myself a “feminist” doesn’t actually mean that much to me.

Feminism–it’s a word.

But I do understand the weight of that word.

I understand that while the word doesn’t really matter in practice, it does matters to people symbolically. It helps point out a group of people with a shared goal. Depending on your point of view, it either picks out the people you find to be subversive or the people who might be the ones you should turn to if you need help or support.

But I also understand that people hide behind labeling words like “feminist” while others use the label to discriminate, criticize, and berate. Because using a label means you don’t have to think about what the word means. How many people call themselves “Republican” or “Democrat” or “Libertarian” without really grasping what identifying as such commits them to believing and supporting?

Credit: MTV

Credit: MTV

Labels and demographics are two things that rule our episteme[1]–the way we think about things and our practices and discourses. We take completely ridiculous personality quizzes to determine what stereotype we were in high school. (As if we didn’t go to high school, live through it, and selectively block it out of our memory.)

We deny the complexity of motivations that drive us, instead narrowing them down to our gender or our sex–which often get conflated. Labels are a mental shortcut, a technique we use to establish group identity (and all the biases that go along with it).

But a lot of times what could be fruitful discussions turn into name-calling and finger-pointing because of these labels, these words, and these demographics.

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Feminism in Three Parts: Part 1–The Problem

*Disclaimer: These are my personal views not a philosophical argument or theory. Some things can’t be grounded.*

I’ve been meaning to write something about feminism ever since the (strange to me) controversy started happening in the media about women calling themselves “feminist” or not. (Then the second wave controversy of men calling themselves feminists followed by accusations of them trying to take ownership over feminism like they do everything else.)

The Dylan O'Brien Heartthrob Factor. Source:

The Dylan O’Brien Heartthrob Factor. Source:

But then I read the following in a recap of The Maze Runner’s impressive box office figures that made me sit down and write this.

The Maze Runner, which drew a 51% female audience despite an almost all-male cast…” The fact that this was considered unusual enough to print made me pause. It’s an innocent statement on the surface, but it is also an ignorant one. It simultaneously separates women’s interests from men’s on strict binary lines (I love post-apocalyptic dystopian stories. They provide a hideous metaphor of my life.), makes a normative claim about what should entertain women (If women are supposed to be interested in only stories that have female characters, that would give women approximately zero options.), and in a backhanded way denies girls and women an innocuous expression of their sexuality (given the Dylan O’Brien heartthrob factor).

I’m female-bodied, and I largely cannot identify with the things marketed toward women, because products, films, books, etc., marketed toward women generally fall into three categories: domesticity, romance, and bodily appearance. In order to achieve this in the entertainment industry, they sometimes bank on attractive (another socially-determined category) young men (the same way attractive young women are cast in token roles in films “for men”). I have probably spent $100 over the course of my life to see Zac Efron take his shirt off on screen, and I’m not going to bother pretending otherwise.[1]

This is just smart marketing by the capitalist machine. The problem, of course, is that socially we chastise young women for having the very sexuality we exploit to make money off them. Until, of course, we want them to sleep with us–and only us. Of course.

And this is the problem. There are institutions operating around us and over us and through us and in the very way we see the world, and we don’t realize how much we internalize practices that we might not actually believe in or accept if we had any control over our social construction.[2]

But there’s the rub.

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