Aurora‌‌Carter‌ 

Prof.‌‌Hassan‌ 

English‌‌101‌  

My‌‌E xperiences‌‌with‌‌S exism‌  

When‌‌I‌‌think‌‌of‌‌sexism,‌‌I‌‌can’t‌‌help‌‌but‌‌remember‌‌an‌‌incident‌‌that‌‌occured‌‌at‌‌the‌‌lunch‌ 

table‌‌in‌‌my‌‌freshman‌‌year‌‌of‌‌high‌‌school.‌‌Everyday‌‌I‌‌sat‌‌with‌‌my‌‌two‌‌closest‌‌friends,‌‌Isaac‌‌and‌ 

Makayla.‌‌I‌‌had‌‌recently‌‌been‌‌broken‌‌up‌‌with‌‌by‌‌the‌‌boy‌‌who‌‌took‌‌me‌‌to‌‌homecoming,‌‌and‌‌I‌‌was‌ 

still‌‌pretty‌‌upset‌‌about‌‌it.‌‌Somehow‌‌all‌‌of‌‌his‌‌idiotic‌‌friends‌‌still‌‌sat‌‌at‌‌the‌‌lunch‌‌table‌‌that‌‌my‌ 

friends‌‌and‌‌I‌‌had‌‌originally‌‌called‌‌our‌‌own.‌‌I‌‌was‌‌fine‌‌with‌‌it,‌‌because‌‌they‌‌were‌‌always‌‌talking‌ 

about‌‌something‌‌so‌‌stupid‌‌that‌‌it‌‌was‌‌somewhat‌‌intriguing.‌‌The‌‌day‌‌it‌‌occurred‌‌was‌‌different‌ 

though.‌‌I‌‌was‌‌sitting‌‌next‌‌to‌‌Isaac,‌‌and‌‌Makayla‌‌was‌‌on‌‌the‌‌opposite‌‌side‌‌of‌‌the‌‌table,‌‌sitting‌‌across‌ 

from‌‌us.‌‌Then‌‌came‌‌the‌‌parade‌‌of‌‌idiots‌‌with‌‌their‌‌trays‌‌of‌‌burgers‌‌and‌‌chicken‌‌nuggets.‌‌The‌ 

previous‌‌night,‌‌a‌‌boy‌‌from‌‌the‌‌group‌‌had‌‌messaged‌‌me,‌‌asking‌‌to‌‌hangout‌‌sometime.‌‌I‌‌agreed,‌ 

with‌‌a‌‌plan‌‌of‌‌being‌‌busy‌‌once‌‌he‌‌actually‌‌made‌‌a‌‌plan.‌‌So‌‌at‌‌lunch,‌‌the‌‌boy‌‌came‌‌and‌‌sat‌‌on‌‌the‌ 

other‌‌side‌‌of‌‌me.‌‌This‌‌was‌‌unusual‌‌because‌‌he‌‌never‌‌sat‌‌next‌‌to‌‌me.‌‌He‌‌never‌‌even‌‌talked‌‌to‌‌me‌‌in‌ 

person.‌‌He‌‌was,‌‌in‌‌all‌‌honesty,‌‌a‌‌pompous‌‌asshole.‌‌On‌‌the‌‌football‌‌team‌‌(nothing‌‌wrong‌‌with‌‌that‌ 

but‌‌my‌‌highschool‌‌really‌‌had‌‌pride‌‌in‌‌football‌‌so‌‌most‌‌of‌‌the‌‌players‌‌felt‌‌some‌‌superiority).‌‌The‌ 

prized‌‌Olympia‌‌High‌‌School‌‌football‌‌team.‌‌In‌‌the‌‌eyes‌‌of‌‌the‌‌school,‌‌he‌‌could‌‌do‌‌no‌‌wrong.‌ 

Anyway,‌‌everyone‌‌started‌‌talking‌‌about‌‌something‌‌I‌‌can’t‌‌even‌‌remember.‌‌Probably‌‌because‌‌of‌‌the‌ 

occurrences‌‌that‌‌followed.‌‌I‌‌was‌‌minding‌‌my‌‌own‌‌business,‌‌eating‌‌my‌‌lunch,‌‌laughing‌‌at‌‌whatever‌ 

stupid‌‌joke‌‌Isaac‌‌made.‌‌Then‌‌my‌‌laughter‌‌came‌‌to‌‌a‌‌stop.‌‌I‌‌felt‌‌a‌‌hand‌‌on‌‌my‌‌thigh.‌‌I‌‌looked‌‌down‌ 

to‌‌see‌‌the‌‌boy’s‌‌hand‌‌making‌‌his‌‌way‌‌up‌‌my‌‌skirt.‌‌I‌‌was‌‌stunned.‌‌Unsure‌‌of‌‌what‌‌to‌‌do,‌‌I‌‌got‌‌very‌ 
quiet.‌‌Then‌‌I‌‌looked‌‌at‌‌the‌‌faces‌‌of‌‌my‌‌peers,‌‌but‌‌they‌‌were‌‌still‌‌entranced‌‌in‌‌the‌‌conversation.‌‌I‌ 

heard‌‌a‌‌familiar‌‌voice,‌‌“Do‌‌you‌‌want‌‌to‌‌go‌‌to‌‌the‌‌vending‌‌machines?”‌‌Isaac‌‌asked.‌‌I‌‌looked‌‌next‌‌to‌ 

me‌‌to‌‌see‌‌him‌‌giving‌‌me‌‌a‌‌knowing‌‌look‌‌that‌‌something‌‌was‌‌wrong.‌‌I‌‌said‌‌nothing‌‌but‌‌nodded,‌ 

and‌‌eagerly‌‌got‌‌up,‌‌not‌‌speaking‌‌to‌‌anyone‌‌as‌‌I‌‌left‌‌the‌‌table.‌‌Once‌‌Isaac,‌‌Makayla,‌‌and‌‌I‌‌were‌‌far‌ 

enough‌‌away‌‌from‌‌the‌‌table‌‌I‌‌let‌‌it‌‌all‌‌out.‌  

“What‌‌the‌‌hell?”‌‌I‌‌asked‌‌them.‌‌Makayla‌‌had‌‌a‌‌confused‌‌look‌‌on‌‌her‌‌face‌‌but‌‌I‌‌could‌‌see‌ 

that‌‌Isaac‌‌knew‌‌what‌‌had‌‌happened.‌  

After‌‌some‌‌internal‌‌digging,‌‌I‌‌realized‌‌that‌‌I‌‌had‌‌done‌‌nothing.‌‌I‌‌gave‌‌him‌‌no‌‌look‌‌other‌ 

than‌‌a‌‌normal,‌‌friendly‌‌glance.‌‌I‌‌said‌‌nothing‌‌to‌‌make‌‌him‌‌think‌‌it‌‌was‌‌ok‌‌to‌‌do‌‌that.‌‌I‌‌most‌ 

definitely‌‌didn’t‌‌invite‌‌him.‌‌Most‌‌importantly,‌‌he‌‌didn’t‌‌ask,‌‌he‌‌acted.‌‌Maybe‌‌he‌‌knew‌‌that‌‌if‌‌he‌ 

had‌‌asked,‌‌I‌‌would‌‌have‌‌said‌‌no.‌‌I‌‌made‌‌sure‌‌not‌‌to‌‌sit‌‌at‌‌that‌‌table‌‌if‌‌the‌‌boy‌‌was‌‌there.‌‌A‌‌few‌ 

weeks‌‌later,‌‌when‌‌he‌‌was‌‌nowhere‌‌in‌‌sight,‌‌and‌‌I‌‌was‌‌talking‌‌to‌‌his‌‌friends,‌‌something‌‌inside‌‌of‌ 

me‌‌snapped.‌‌I’m‌‌not‌‌sure‌‌what‌‌made‌‌his‌‌name‌‌come‌‌up,‌‌but‌‌I‌‌remember‌‌saying,‌‌“None‌‌of‌‌you‌ 

noticed‌‌when‌‌he‌‌slipped‌‌his‌‌hand‌‌under‌‌my‌‌skirt‌‌right‌‌here‌‌at‌‌this‌‌lunch‌‌table‌‌did‌‌you?”‌  

The‌‌table‌‌was‌‌silent,‌‌until‌‌some‌‌guy‌‌decided‌‌to‌‌add‌‌some‌‌of‌‌his‌‌input.‌  

“Yeah‌‌well‌‌he’s‌‌going‌‌through‌‌a‌‌really‌‌hard‌‌time‌‌right‌‌now.‌‌Some‌‌stuff‌‌is‌‌going‌‌on‌‌with‌‌his‌ 

mom‌‌and‌‌it’s‌‌been‌‌pretty‌‌difficult‌‌for‌‌him,”‌‌He‌‌said‌‌as‌‌if‌‌he‌‌just‌‌said‌‌something‌‌that‌‌would‌‌fix‌‌what‌ 

the‌‌boy‌‌had‌‌done.‌‌“Some‌‌stuff‌‌is‌‌going‌‌on‌‌with‌‌his‌‌mom?”‌‌Yeah‌‌well‌‌stuff‌‌has‌‌been‌‌going‌‌on‌‌with‌ 

my‌‌mom‌‌for‌‌my‌‌entire‌‌life‌‌and‌‌I‌‌have‌‌never‌‌touched‌‌someone‌‌in‌‌such‌‌a‌‌way‌‌without‌‌consent.‌  

This‌‌is‌‌an‌‌example‌‌of‌‌interpersonal‌‌sexism.‌‌“‌Engaging‌‌in‌‌unwanted‌‌sexual‌‌attention‌‌or‌ 

touching,”‌‌is‌‌one‌‌of‌‌interpersonal‌‌sexism’s‌‌defining‌‌characteristics.‌‌The‌‌boy‌‌who‌‌did‌‌this‌‌is‌‌known‌ 

to‌‌do‌‌things‌‌like‌‌this,‌‌which‌‌I‌‌became‌‌aware‌‌of‌‌shortly‌‌after‌‌the‌‌incident‌‌occured.‌‌The‌‌fact‌‌that‌‌I‌ 

didn’t‌‌know‌‌this‌‌before,‌‌yet‌‌many‌‌girls‌‌had‌‌experienced‌‌a‌‌similar‌‌thing‌‌from‌‌him,‌‌just‌‌tells‌‌me‌‌that‌ 
not‌‌enough‌‌was‌‌being‌‌done‌‌to‌‌stop‌‌him.‌‌I‌‌heard‌‌that‌‌many‌‌girls‌‌had‌‌already‌‌reported‌‌him‌‌to‌‌the‌ 

school,‌‌yet‌‌nothing‌‌had‌‌been‌‌done,‌‌and‌‌if‌‌it‌‌had,‌‌it‌‌wasn’t‌‌enough‌‌to‌‌stop‌‌him‌‌from‌‌doing‌‌it‌‌again.‌ 

Not‌‌to‌‌mention‌‌he’s‌‌still‌‌on‌‌the‌‌football‌‌team,‌‌which‌‌says‌‌a‌‌lot‌‌about‌‌the‌‌school‌‌who‌‌claims‌‌to‌‌be‌‌so‌ 

accepting‌‌and‌‌intolerant‌‌to‌‌harassment.‌  

In‌‌Power‌‌Privilege‌‌Difference‌‌by‌‌Allan‌‌Johnson,‌‌Johnson‌‌writes‌‌of‌‌what‌‌he‌‌calls‌‌the‌‌“path‌ 

of‌‌least‌‌resistance.”‌‌He‌‌describes,‌‌“As‌‌I‌‌grew‌‌up‌‌watching‌‌movies‌‌and‌‌television,‌‌for‌‌example,‌‌the‌ 

message‌‌came‌‌through‌‌loud‌‌and‌‌clear‌‌that‌‌straight‌‌white‌‌men‌‌are‌‌the‌‌most‌‌important‌‌people‌‌on‌‌the‌ 

planet…”‌‌(Johnson,‌‌79)‌‌Johnson‌‌goes‌‌on‌‌to‌‌explain‌‌what‌‌he‌‌calls‌‌“the‌‌path‌‌of‌‌least‌‌resistance,”‌ 

which‌‌is‌‌essentially‌‌just‌‌people‌‌not‌‌challenging‌‌things‌‌that‌‌are‌‌inherently‌‌wrong‌‌because‌‌it‌‌would‌ 

require‌‌resistance.‌‌In‌‌the‌‌instance‌‌that‌‌I‌‌just‌‌described,‌‌my‌‌school‌‌chose‌‌the‌‌path‌‌of‌‌least‌‌resistance.‌ 

They‌‌gave‌‌the‌‌boy‌‌no‌‌consequences‌‌for‌‌harassing‌‌multiple‌‌girls‌‌at‌‌my‌‌school,‌‌just‌‌told‌‌him‌‌not‌‌to‌ 

do‌‌it‌‌again.‌‌He‌‌is‌‌a‌‌straight‌‌white‌‌male,‌‌which‌‌in‌‌the‌‌eyes‌‌of‌‌my‌‌school‌‌is‌‌exceptionally‌‌valuable.‌  

Another‌‌example‌‌that‌‌comes‌‌to‌‌mind‌‌of‌‌a‌‌time‌‌that‌‌I‌‌experienced‌‌sexism‌‌was‌‌in‌‌my‌‌last‌ 

year‌‌of‌‌middle‌‌school.‌‌I‌‌had‌‌been‌‌dating‌‌a‌‌sophomore,‌‌which‌‌now‌‌I‌‌am‌‌a‌‌firm‌‌believer‌‌of‌‌“if‌‌your‌ 

grades‌‌don’t‌‌touch,‌‌neither‌‌should‌‌you.”‌‌I‌‌really‌‌liked‌‌the‌‌guy‌‌and‌‌he‌‌had‌‌become‌‌my‌‌best‌‌friend.‌ 

His‌‌name‌‌was‌‌Ewan.‌‌We‌‌dated‌‌for‌‌roughly‌‌8‌‌months,‌‌yet‌‌those‌‌were‌‌some‌‌very‌‌difficult‌‌months.‌ 

At‌‌my‌‌middle‌‌school,‌‌the‌‌more‌‌experienced‌‌you‌‌were,‌‌the‌‌cooler‌‌you‌‌were.‌‌I‌‌went‌‌to‌‌the‌‌worse‌‌of‌ 

the‌‌two‌‌rival‌‌middle‌‌schools‌‌in‌‌Olympia‌‌and‌‌little‌‌did‌‌I‌‌know‌‌that‌‌when‌‌I‌‌got‌‌to‌‌high‌‌school,‌‌it‌ 

would‌‌be‌‌completely‌‌the‌‌other‌‌way‌‌around.‌  

For‌‌the‌‌sake‌‌of‌‌the‌‌story‌‌I‌‌will‌‌just‌‌say‌‌that‌‌in‌‌our‌‌relationship,‌‌Ewan‌‌had‌‌pressured‌‌me‌‌to‌ 

do‌‌things‌‌that‌‌I‌‌didn’t‌‌really‌‌want‌‌to‌‌do.‌‌Yet‌‌his‌‌pressure‌‌wasn’t‌‌the‌‌only‌‌pressure‌‌at‌‌play.‌‌I‌‌felt‌‌like‌ 

I‌‌should‌‌have‌‌done‌‌those‌‌things‌‌by‌‌now‌‌so‌‌I‌‌gave‌‌into‌‌his‌‌pressure‌‌as‌‌well‌‌as‌‌the‌‌pressure‌‌of‌‌my‌ 

peers.‌‌Eventually,‌‌I‌‌broke‌‌it‌‌off,‌‌after‌‌realizing‌‌that‌‌a‌‌lot‌‌of‌‌the‌‌things‌‌he‌‌had‌‌done‌‌were‌‌wrong‌‌by‌ 
all‌‌means.‌‌Around‌‌the‌‌same‌‌time,‌‌I‌‌began‌‌to‌‌befriend‌‌a‌‌different‌‌boy.‌‌Not‌‌that‌‌it‌‌really‌‌matters,‌‌but‌ 

it‌‌was‌‌nothing‌‌more‌‌than‌‌a‌‌friendship.‌‌Once‌‌I‌‌ended‌‌things‌‌with‌‌Ewan,‌‌he‌‌began‌‌to‌‌show‌‌his‌‌true‌ 

colors.‌‌He‌‌said‌‌he‌‌was‌‌more‌‌mature‌‌than‌‌me‌‌anyway‌‌and‌‌deserved‌‌a‌‌girl‌‌that‌‌would‌‌be‌‌more‌‌open‌ 

to‌‌things.‌‌My‌‌Instagram‌‌DMs‌‌were‌‌then‌‌flooded‌‌with‌‌messages‌‌from‌‌all‌‌of‌‌his‌‌friends.‌‌I‌‌was‌ 

bombarded‌‌with‌‌the‌‌words,‌‌“hoe,”‌‌and‌‌“slut,”‌‌but‌‌that‌‌was‌‌just‌‌the‌‌beginning.‌  

One‌‌of‌‌the‌‌things‌‌that‌‌I‌‌had‌‌been‌‌pressured‌‌into‌‌was‌‌sending‌‌him‌‌semi‌‌nude‌‌pictures‌‌of‌ 

myself.‌‌Nudes.‌‌Most‌‌girls‌‌I‌‌knew‌‌at‌‌the‌‌time‌‌were‌‌sending‌‌them‌‌to‌‌their‌‌boyfriends‌‌and‌‌even‌‌just‌ 

random‌‌guys‌‌on‌‌snapchat,‌‌and‌‌being‌‌fourteen,‌‌I‌‌felt‌‌abnormal‌‌for‌‌not‌‌being‌‌a‌‌part‌‌of‌‌this‌‌disturbing‌ 

trend.‌‌So‌‌I‌‌did.‌‌Ewan‌‌and‌‌I‌‌talked‌‌about‌‌it‌‌and‌‌he‌‌promised‌‌he‌‌would‌‌never‌‌share‌‌them‌‌with‌ 

anyone,‌‌and‌‌if‌‌anything‌‌were‌‌to‌‌ever‌‌happen,‌‌he‌‌would‌‌delete‌‌them.‌‌As‌‌you‌‌can‌‌imagine,‌‌he‌‌did‌ 

not.‌‌Next‌‌thing‌‌I‌‌know,‌‌boys‌‌were‌‌coming‌‌up‌‌to‌‌me‌‌at‌‌school‌‌and‌‌apologizing.‌‌I‌‌was‌‌embarrassed,‌ 

ashamed,‌‌and‌‌worried‌‌as‌‌I‌‌did‌‌not‌‌know‌‌who‌‌had‌‌seen‌‌them‌‌or‌‌saved‌‌them‌‌or‌‌sent‌‌them‌‌to‌‌even‌ 

more‌‌people.‌  

Disgusted.‌‌That‌‌is‌‌the‌‌only‌‌word‌‌that‌‌comes‌‌to‌‌mind‌‌when‌‌looking‌‌back‌‌on‌‌this.‌‌Disgusted‌ 

with‌‌Ewan.‌‌DIsgusted‌‌with‌‌the‌‌boys‌‌at‌‌school.‌‌The‌‌guys‌‌who‌‌had‌‌dmed‌‌me‌‌cruel‌‌words‌‌on‌ 

Instagram,‌‌not‌‌knowing‌‌all‌‌that‌‌he‌‌had‌‌done‌‌to‌‌me‌‌or‌‌what‌‌he‌‌had‌‌put‌‌me‌‌through.‌‌I‌‌was‌‌put‌‌in‌‌a‌ 

terrible‌‌situation,‌‌yet‌‌I‌‌was‌‌blamed‌‌for‌‌everything.‌  

Women‌‌are‌‌often‌‌expected‌‌to‌‌be‌‌on‌‌standby‌‌for‌‌men,‌‌yet‌‌they‌‌often‌‌do‌‌not‌‌receive‌‌the‌‌same‌ 

treatment.‌‌They‌‌are‌‌blamed,‌‌shamed,‌‌and‌‌treated‌‌terribly‌‌when‌‌men‌‌are‌‌always‌‌excused.‌‌In‌‌Kate‌ 

Manne’s‌‌final‌‌chapter‌‌of‌‌Down‌‌Girl‌,‌‌Manne‌‌compares‌‌the‌‌popular‌‌kid’s‌‌book‌‌The‌‌Giving‌‌Tree,‌‌to‌ 

how‌‌women‌‌are‌‌seen‌‌as‌‌givers‌‌while‌‌men‌‌are‌‌consistently‌‌takers,‌‌“In‌‌any‌‌case,‌‌it’s‌‌too‌‌late‌‌for‌‌her‌ 

to‌‌recoup‌‌her‌‌losses.‌‌She‌‌has‌‌been‌‌reduced‌‌to‌‌nothing;‌‌the‌‌boy‌‌took‌‌all‌‌of‌‌her.‌‌When‌‌he‌‌returns‌ 

from‌‌his‌‌great‌‌voyage,‌‌feeling‌‌tired,‌‌she‌‌has‌‌nothing‌‌left‌‌to‌‌offer‌‌him‌‌but‌‌the‌‌amputated‌‌stump‌‌he‌ 
has‌‌made‌‌of‌‌her.‌‌That‌‌is‌‌where‌‌the‌‌boy‌‌lays‌‌his‌‌head‌‌to‌‌rest.‌‌And‌‌that‌‌is‌‌where‌‌the‌‌story‌‌leaves‌ 

them.”‌‌(Manne,‌‌280)‌‌The‌‌tree‌‌unconditionally‌‌loves‌‌the‌‌boy‌‌and‌‌will‌‌give‌‌him‌‌any‌‌and‌‌everything‌ 

that‌‌she‌‌can‌‌possibly‌‌give‌‌him,‌‌while‌‌all‌‌the‌‌boy‌‌does‌‌is‌‌come‌‌back‌‌and‌‌ask‌‌for‌‌more,‌‌“Meanwhile,‌ 

as‌‌for‌‌the‌‌tree,‌‌she‌‌is‌‌happy:‌‌‘.‌‌.‌‌.‌‌but‌‌not‌‌really.’”‌‌(Manne,‌‌280)‌‌The‌‌tree‌‌isn’t‌‌really‌‌happy‌‌but‌‌she‌ 

would‌‌do‌‌anything‌‌for‌‌the‌‌boy.‌‌I‌‌think‌‌this‌‌comparison‌‌is‌‌exceptionally‌‌accurate‌‌in‌‌today’s‌‌society.‌ 

I‌‌relate‌‌to‌‌this‌‌in‌‌that‌‌in‌‌a‌‌lot‌‌of‌‌my‌‌relationships,‌‌even‌‌my‌‌current‌‌one,‌‌I‌‌have‌‌felt‌‌like‌‌I‌‌am‌‌on‌ 

standby‌‌for‌‌the‌‌men‌‌in‌‌my‌‌life,‌‌while‌‌I‌‌never‌‌receive‌‌the‌‌same‌‌treatment.‌‌I‌‌am‌‌expected‌‌to‌‌organize‌ 

things‌‌to‌‌do‌‌and‌‌always‌‌be‌‌an‌‌eager‌‌ear,‌‌no‌‌matter‌‌how‌‌much‌‌this‌‌affects‌‌me‌‌or‌‌my‌‌mental‌‌health.‌  

Manne‌‌ends‌‌her‌‌final‌‌chapter‌‌of‌‌Down‌‌Girl‌‌very‌‌abruptly,‌‌in‌‌a‌‌way‌‌that‌‌leaves‌‌you‌‌feeling‌ 

hopeless,‌‌“And‌‌then,‌‌perhaps,‌‌he‌‌will‌‌be‌‌happy—or‌‌not‌‌really.‌‌Whatever‌‌the‌‌case,‌‌the‌‌point‌ 

remains‌‌that‌‌she‌‌will‌‌be‌‌finished,‌‌silenced,‌‌forever‌‌silent.‌‌We‌‌never‌‌hear‌‌from‌‌her.‌‌She‌‌never‌‌has‌ 

the‌‌chance‌‌to‌‌tell‌‌us‌‌what‌‌she‌‌did‌‌or‌‌didn’t‌‌do‌‌to‌‌not‌‌deserve‌‌it.‌‌Perhaps‌‌no‌‌more‌‌than‌‌failing‌‌to‌‌be‌ 

like‌‌the‌‌giving‌‌tree‌‌and‌‌loving‌‌the‌‌man‌‌as‌‌the‌‌tree‌‌loved‌‌the‌‌boy,‌‌“very,‌‌very‌‌much,‌‌even‌‌more‌‌than‌ 

she‌‌loved‌‌herself.”‌‌Her‌‌lack‌‌or‌‌loss‌‌of‌‌such‌‌love‌‌may‌‌be‌‌a‌‌capital‌‌offense,‌‌as‌‌far‌‌as‌‌he‌‌is‌‌concerned.‌ 

One‌‌woman’s‌‌misogyny‌‌is‌‌thus‌‌some‌‌men’s‌‌poetic‌‌justice.”‌‌(Manne,‌‌307)‌‌I‌‌understand‌‌why‌‌she‌ 

did‌‌so.‌‌The‌‌whole‌‌misogynistic‌‌epidemic‌‌is‌‌overall‌‌hopeless.‌‌In‌‌our‌‌English‌‌101‌‌class,‌‌I‌‌have‌‌heard‌ 

two‌‌boys‌‌say‌‌now‌‌that‌‌“if‌‌we‌‌all‌‌treat‌‌each‌‌other‌‌with‌‌respect‌‌this‌‌will‌‌all‌‌end,”‌‌I‌‌find‌‌this‌ 

laughable.‌‌Realistically,‌‌there‌‌will‌‌never‌‌be‌‌a‌‌point‌‌in‌‌time‌‌where‌‌everyone‌‌is‌‌treated‌‌equally‌‌nor‌ 

with‌‌respect.‌‌Unless‌‌perhaps‌‌we‌‌are‌‌all‌‌medicated‌‌or‌‌brainwashed.‌‌Misogyny‌‌is‌‌not‌‌going‌‌to‌‌end‌ 

anytime‌‌soon,‌‌and‌‌I‌‌understand‌‌Manne‌‌ending‌‌on‌‌a‌‌feeling‌‌of‌‌hopelessness.‌‌My‌‌experiences‌‌often‌ 

make‌‌me‌‌feel‌‌hopeless.‌‌All‌‌we‌‌can‌‌do‌‌is‌‌speak‌‌up‌‌and‌‌not‌‌choose‌‌the‌‌path‌‌of‌‌least‌‌resistance.‌‌We‌ 

can‌‌not‌‌be‌‌bystanders‌‌in‌‌our‌‌society‌‌threaded‌‌with‌‌misogyny‌‌and‌‌racism‌‌(and‌‌much‌‌more)‌‌if‌‌we‌ 

ever‌‌want‌‌there‌‌to‌‌be‌‌change.‌  
  

Works‌‌Cited:‌  

Manne,‌‌Kate.‌‌Down‌‌Girl‌.‌‌Penguin‌‌Books‌‌Ltd,‌‌2019.‌  
 

Johnson,‌‌Allan.‌‌Privilege,‌‌Power,‌‌and‌‌Difference‌.‌‌McGraw-Hill‌‌,‌‌2001.‌