Biology for Dummies or how to fall foul of twitter’s women hating algorithms.

So, I’ve been shadow banned from twitter for what appears to be two reasons. Firstly, I am banned because I have a vagina. Secondly, I am banned because I refuse to relinquish my belief in the political significance of said vagina.

Now, obviously, I can’t do much about the vagina. I was born this way.

The latter is a little more complex. I could pretend to be a liberal feminist who believes that prostitution is a service industry, and that there is very little difference between serving up teacakes and serving up tits and ass. I could pretend to believe that women and men were biologically interchangeable, and therefore oppression was not rooted in our differences, and the patriarchal exploitation of them to the advantage of men, but was actually based on our gender. This, of course, would require me to redefine my understanding of the word ‘gender’, and indeed, the word ‘oppression’.

In order to come to believe that women are oppressed because of their femininity, and not their female bodies, I would have to first believe in an in-ate femininity. Liberal feminism suggests that I, a female, that does not openly define as trans or non-binary, must be, by default, cis.

Only, I’m absolutely not cis. In order to be cis, I’d have be to be aligned with my femininity, and I’m not. In fact, this absence of alignment has got me in so much trouble over the years. My big mouth, for example, directly conflicting with a feminised woman, whose mouth is small and dainty, and above all else, shut. Except, when she’s performing oral sex for money, which is a perfectly valid way to earn a living, and absolutely no different than being an accountant.

Then, there is my flat size nines, that I use to wade in to situations and offer my opinion. In stark contrast to the feminised foot, which is smaller, higher and dances around stuff a lot, careful not to knock things over. Perhaps, having an opinion on matters trans is a perfect illustration of this. Feminised women, often simply self refereed to as cis, defer to their trans sisters on matters of gender, especially trans gender. The logic is that a biological woman lacks the lived in experience of a biological man, who thinks he’s a woman, and therefore, has no skin in the game, and no right to debate the issues. Yet, here I stand, steadfast in my right to a view on what constitutes a woman. And, I do this, with no nail varnish adorning my toes.

Another non-cis thing I do is all the household chores, even the manly ones. This week alone, I’ve emptied bins, changed light bulbs and put together a five tier bookshelf. Admittedly, my young son did most of the technical stuff, and it took nearly two hours, and I got incredibly frustrated… but, I did not manifest that annoyance in a girly fashion. In fact, I kicked the wall and swore, twice, which, when you think about it, is setting a bad example to my son, thus making me a bad mother, itself defying the feminine ideal of always being a good mother.

Truth is, I can’t help but give two fingers to society’s expectations of how I should do femininity. But, I also give those two fingers to femininity itself. What a pile of incoherent, ill conceived, constantly shifting, entirely baseless bollox it is? Being feminine doesn’t make me a woman. In reality, it mostly gets in the way of it.

I am a woman because of my biological make up. That is not to say, as patriarchy would have it, that I am not more than the sum of my parts. That is not to say, as patriarchy would have it, that I am less than the sum of my parts.

 

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