Don’t like how you’re treated? Don’t like the racism and misandry? Feel abused? Tell us why. Yes, I’m serious.

Man in a hoodie with his hands to his face, boxes in the background, feeling despair
Photo by Christian Erfurt on Unsplash

Women must know more than men about how to be a real man because it seems like 910% of advice articles written about How To Be A Better Man are written by women.

It’s embarrassingly sexist. Remember the days when almost exclusively men wrote articles and whole books teaching women how to be better wives, mothers, human beings? The kind men approved of? And we didn’t get to say much about it? Our job was to listen, nod, and take notes to Improve Ourselves To Please Men More?

No, me neither. It was the ’50s and ’60s. I was either…

My worst job was a case study in Internet-boom corporate misogyny and a toxic masculine sales strategy

Fiber Optic chandelier that looks like shark’s jaws
This is what working for Fiberphonophobia reminds me of Giant shark’s jaws. Image by Jan Hrasko from Pixabay

“This is my letter of resignation.” I pushed it across the desk. My boss glanced at it — there wasn’t much to read, just short impeccable corporatespeak saying, in essence: “I’m fucking off now. Goodbye, and thanks for all the fish.”

I don’t remember what he said. Probably, “Okay.” Maybe there was a relieved look in his eyes. He’d no longer have to worry about baby rattlesnakes in his desk or yellowcake uranium doughnuts.

“I know you haven’t been happy here.” The understatement of the year. He wasn’t solely responsible for my unhappiness. …

It was the longest three minutes of my life. I think what I did at the bus stop mattered.

Photo by Donald Tong from Pexels

I hadn’t been long in Canada while I waited for the bus, sitting on some low stone steps, on a lovely sunny warm day. He approached, carrying a McDonald’s bag.

I immediately went on full red alert. He was large, scary-looking, and black.

Yeah, that last part’s not supposed to matter but it does to an American. I got hassled by black guys more there than I ever have in Canada. I only ever felt racially targeted in Toronto by Indian and Middle Eastern men. I’d been American all my life, and Canadian for maybe a year.

To be fair…

Without contributing to misogyny, or juicing your own misandry

Daphne running from Apollo statue
“NO MEANS NO!” Photo by Rafael Edwards on Flickr CC0 2.0

“I’m from Portugal,” he said in his thick fresh-off-the-boat accent. “I’ve been living here for seventy years. My wife died, and I am alone now. I live right over there.” He pointed to a building across the street from mine.

Oh yeah, I could see where this was going.

I am literally a young chick for the retired seniors in my ‘hood.

La plus ça change.

“Yes, well it was nice chatting with you,” I said. My head dipped toward my shopping bags. “I’ve got stuff that’s melting, I need to go. You have an awesome afternoon!”

Problem solved.


Porn created by women *for* women had to be light-years better than male-created porn, right? Right?

Attractive black woman with short-cropped hair reclining senusuously against a brown background in sensuous leopard tights
Photo by Arianna Jadé from Pexels

Feminist porn? WTF? Porn created by women for women? I jumped at the chance to attend Toronto’s Feminist Porn Awards several years ago.

I knew women were making female-centered porn which I assumed, I hoped, meant it would suck less than male porn. My friend Janessa, far more a connoisseuse of sex, kink, non-cishet sex, and big dicks than I, headed eagerly to the Bloor Cinema to watch porn we expected wouldn’t involve a lot of tedious pounding of female orifices and ejaculations on faces, which has always struck me as disrespectful at best and degrading at worst.

The music…

But is porn the problem, or *mainstream* porn? What does ‘better’ porn look like?

Man facing away from porn on his computer, hand on his head, contemplative
Photo by Jens Karlsson on Flickr CC0 2.0 (and a violation of Medium guidelines altered out)

Edited to add a gay ethical porn site in the list. Thanks for my buddy Anthony Eichberger for calling it to my attention!

When I was six or seven my mother took my brother and me to an annual Orlando fair. The main attractions were kiddie rides and of course the usual fright houses.

This particular year, either the layout of the park changed or I was now old enough to notice attractions featuring torture and abuse of women, intermingled with the children’s attractions.

You see the palest imitations of such fair bait today: The garish pastel paintings remain, but…

A book on dating app culture demonstrates how misogyny persists when women *allow* it. When we don’t tolerate bad men, they disappear.

I don’t approve of violence in relationships, but I chose this photo because my last article and this one deal with misogynist violence exacerbated in the online dating app world. Photo by Dawolf on Flickr CC0 2.0

Men don’t really care about any of of this. Not if they like you. Don’t waste your money. — Park Avenue plastic surgeon to Nancy Jo Sales

I used to do what Nancy Jo Sales describes in her book Nothing Personal: My Secret Life in the Dating App Inferno, after she fell in love with a man half her age who wasn’t nearly as into her as she was into him.

She waits for him. She moons for him. She doesn’t want to appear too eager or clingy or — Goddess help us all, needy — so she makes few…

Nancy Jo Sales’s book on addictive, toxic mobile apps reveals how women still cater to men and blame it all on ‘misogyny’

Couple in bed with their backs to each other; the woman is wearing a protective helmet
Photo by Mad Mags on Flickr Creative Commons CC0 2.0

Note: Edited to include the title of the author’s newest book.

It amazes me that award-winning journalist Nancy Jo Sales even wants to have sex anymore. I’m further amazed she ever found dating apps addictive, which she discovered in 2015. She articulately presents how dating app companies engineer them to keep you swiping, swiping, swiping but not why she was so willing to settle for loveless, dysfunctional, often dangerous sex.

The author of American Girls: Social Media and the Secret Lives of Teenagers and The Bling Ring: How A Gang of Fame-Obsessed Teens Ripped Off Hollywood and Shocked The World…

My casual friend lost her mind when I blocked her for making a sharp turn to the far right. Why, Jamie, why?

Angry red-haired woman with hands to her head wearing a witchy-looking cape and hood
Public domain photo by George Hodan

I don’t defriend people much. I block ex-friends even less. I don’t even block assholes as much as I should on social media.

I especially don’t block people I’ve come to part ways with. Until the rise of Trumpism.

These Trumpy blobs of protoplasm take up valuable bed space in hospital wards, begging for the vaccine they refused last week as they drown in their own lungs. That’s only the apex of their mountain of sins.

Because guess what, we’re *all* narcissists! Seriously.

Glenda the Good Witch with Dorothy about to grant her a wish in The Wizard of Oz
“Are you a good narcissist, or a bad narcissist?” Creative Commons 2.0 image by Insomnia Cured Here on Flickr

Calling someone a narcissist is like accusing them of being a carbon-based life form. Duh.

I tend to roll my eyes when people talk about the ‘narcissist’ in their life or past, except for experts. I sometimes read Dr. Sherri Heller, a therapist who specializes in complex trauma and narcissism who writes extensively about genuine toxic narcissism. She’s an eminently more informed source for diagnosing it than the average layperson.

Everyone else? Not so much, unless they have something new to say (they mostly don’t), or describe what sounds like a genuine malignant narcissist, or to learn more about the…

Nicole Chardenet

I say what others think. Ideologically central. Never been busted for belly dancing while driving. Reclaim your power on Grow Some Labia!

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