It’s true what they say.

Feminism has indeed ruined many things for women.

And for me as well.

I know this might be a tough pill to swallow for some of those crazy feminists out there obsessed with silly little issues like equality and ending sexism, but enough is enough.

Just because I can vote, drive a car, and avoid being locked up in a lunatic asylum because my husband didn’t like the stew I cooked for him doesn’t mean there’s no downside to not being that oppressed anymore, all right?

So here are four things I used to like that feminism has unfortunately ruined for me forever:

Being obsessed with my human flesh suit

I used to shave every week.

Hell, even every other day when I was a teenager since I thought that if a boy were to see a little body hair on me, he’d immediately assume I must be turning into a chimpanzee or something and never talk to me again.

I also used to always paint my nails. Do my hair. Wear a fair amount of makeup. And live off bananas, rice cakes and cigarettes.

Ah, good times.

And I did all of it because I thought, well, that’s what we ought to do. Female humans are supposed to be smooth, pretty, and impossibly thin to appeal to males and society at large. That’s just how it works. You accept it and move on.

Even if it means that every new pimple, stretchmark, extra kilo, and other perfectly normal things that society deemed a ‘flaw’ will send you spiralling into distress because that surely means you’re not enough.

But then I discovered feminism.

And it turns out you really don’t need to — and shouldn’t — tie your sense of self-worth to your appearance. Not even if you’re a woman.

Because there’s more to life on this giant rock flying through space than worrying about our human flesh suit that will probably one day be a meal for a bunch of maggots anyway.

And so now, I rarely perform this little femininity dance I used to do so often. As long as I’m healthy, I just can’t be bothered to care that much.

What a shame.

Not having to make choices in every single area of my life

Life was so easy back in the day, wasn’t it?

If you happened to be born with a female chromosome makeup, you didn’t really have many options.

You grow up. Your father decides which man he should pass you on to. You get married. You spread your legs whenever demanded. You breed. You breed. You breed. Oh, you died during childbirth.

At least it was a simpler time.

Even today, not all girls are taught that they can be anyone and do anything they want once they grow up. I certainly wasn’t.

No, I was taught that it’s best to marry young and start breeding immediately. And, of course, that I don’t get to make decisions about my own body. Because abortions are basically just a Satanic ritual.

Well, at least the latter turned out to be true. However, the type of Satanists that consider abortion one of their rituals don’t believe in Satan, fiery pits of hell or any of that fun stuff.

But women do have quite a lot of choices today, actually.

They can get married young and breed as much as they want, or never get married and never breed. Or get married multiple times. Or breed without getting married. You get my point.

We don’t have to rely on the opinions and expectations of others anymore, and we can freely choose whoever we want to be, whatever we want to do and when we want to do it.

But if I’m honest with you, this pressure is too much sometimes.

I mean, yes, it’s nice that we don’t have to bleed out to death in a back alley after having an illegal abortion, but still. Too much choice is just stressful, you know?

Making up excuses when I’m not in the mood

I was raised to be a good Catholic girl.

But then puberty hit me like a freight train.

And the idea of ‘saving myself’ for one man because a bunch of other men thousands of years ago decided that if your genitals play around with other genitals before you enter a socially constructed union called marriage, then you aren’t ‘pure’ anymore — in particular, if you’re female — stopped making sense to me.

And actually, I didn’t need feminism to figure that one out.

Just common sense.

But even though I wasn’t a good Catholic girl anymore, I still thought of sex as a woman’s duty. And I thought the only way to get out of having it when I wasn’t in the mood was to make an excuse.

Oh, the lies I’d tell.

Some of them were pretty clever if I say so myself. Because saying ‘I have a headache’ simply wasn’t enough for me. Nah, that’s for amateurs.

But I don’t do that anymore, anyway.

Because apparently, women get to own their own bodies now. Crazy, huh?

And we don’t have to pretend to have a headache or that we’re tired or sick or that today it’s the second anniversary of our hamster’s death and we feel really sad because we don’t want to have sex.

We can say just ‘no’, and that should be enough. Imagine that.

But I do miss making up those stories, though.

Consuming media without critical thinking

Before I came across all that feminism stuff, things were much more straightforward.

Movies and fiction books were just entertainment. Songs were just something to listen to. Advertisements were just there to sell things.

That’s it.

You might not always like whatever you’re watching, reading, hearing or seeing, but it’s no big deal if you don’t like it. There’s no need to read too much into it. Just close the book, stop the movie, or move to the next page in a magazine.

And so, I never noticed that in many movies, you could essentially replace the female character with a lamp, and the story wouldn’t change one bit. (I call those characters Sexy Lamps now, by the way.)

Or that in the entire Lord of the Rings film trilogy, no two female characters ever speak to each other.

Or that our bodies and various body parts are used to sell practically anything. From beer, burgers, cars, insurance, and music to air conditioning.

But then, once you become a feminist, you’re forced to think a bit more about everything around you.

And suddenly, you find yourself caring that the main female character in a movie or a book is another one-dimensional, cardboard cutout shaped like a woman that only cares about weddings, babies and wine.

Or that yet another chicken sandwich ad is using a flock of half-naked and oiled-up women to sell it.

Ugh. All that constant thinking and analyzing. It’s exhausting.

Stupid feminism.

On a more serious note, I obviously don’t think feminism ‘ruined’ my life.

Or anybody else’s.

Unless you consider having to think of people who gave birth to you, who might marry you, and who you interact with daily as human beings who deserve the same rights, recognition and respect as you as ‘ruining’ your life.

But if that’s the case, I’m awfully glad your life was ruined.

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