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When I argue with a sexist, there’s an inevitable point at which he will call me “sweetheart”. (I like to think of it as shorthand for “you’re winning”.) If I’m really making him feel foolish, he may resort to “bitch”. “Ugly” is the last refuge of the hopelessly destroyed.
I’ve been writing about feminism on the internet long enough that these names don’t really bother me. But nothing is more grating than when a man I don’t know - in comments, Twitter or real life - calls me “Jessie”.
It may seem odd that I’d prefer a curse to a cutesy nickname. Like most things men call women when they want to diminish them, “Jessie” is meant to remind me that no matter what I accomplish – the number of books written, articles published, speeches given – I’m still “just a girl”. But it’s the overly-familiar infantilization that really makes my skin crawl. Very creepy Uncle Chester.
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