Too sharp to woman? Why misogynists think I’m a man

I’m the two things a woman can never be to a chauvinist: pretty and smarter than him

Author’s Note: Most beloved brothers, dearest friends blessed at birth with an extra appendage, those who seek out drill bits and most nobly wear chinos, oh most honoured kinsfolk of the male variety: this is not about you. This is very specifically about misogynists and how they treat women. Offend thyself not. I love you with my whole beating heart and wish Lego onto you.

By the winds of fate, and through no talent of my own, I look like a D-list period drama heroine. You know the drill, ladies; lots of fainting and heaving bosoms. I look and sound like a low budget Catherine Cookson TV movie from the 1990s. The kind you found yourself watching when home with a flu, wondering why there are so many bandits with glamour muscles after a squealing heiress. I don’t need to explain this, I think, but: I look like the sweet, soft, submissive heroine. I’m the girl misogynists demand women emulate.

Except: I’m not. I’m the bitch who challenges them on their ridiculous red pill boy math. I’m the…