Self-described feminist "daddyblogger" Andy Hinds sees women everywhere (How bizarre!) — at the gym, at the market, even on the street — and can't help but mentally defile these tempting petals of purity by thinking about sleeping with them. His solution is to "cloak them in imaginary burqas."

"How could enlightened, feminist guys like myself put up with these unbidden fantasies that violate our dedication to gender equity and basic human decency?" Hinds asks over on Slate. (BTW, whoever commissioned this drivel can't justify the decision on Slate's contrarian ethos; I've read more reasonable op-eds on MRA websites.)


Dude. You don't have problems because you want to have sex with women you find attractive. But maybe you have problems because you think you live in some sort of Andy Hinds Show where female strangers exist solely to tempt you into thinking impure thoughts.

Speaking of purity: what kind of fantasies are we talking about? Hinds only divulges his guilt, not the details of the "never-ending porn movie" inside his head. I'm guessing he's not the next Anthony Castro:

I called the toll-free number for Sexual Addicts Anonymous, and had a chat with what seemed to be the nicest guy in the world. He explained to me, gently, that their program was designed to deal with dangerous and destructive behaviors, and that lessening the annoyance of “normal” fantasies was not in their purview. “


It's sexist to treat women like objects because you can only think about fucking them. It's sexist to expect women not to wear clothes that make you feel guilty for getting turned on. But it's not sexist to think about boning strangers, and it's horrifying, really, to resort to mentally censoring women so you don't have to consider the possibility that you're not actually as much of an "enlightened" feminist as you think but a dude with a latent Madonna-whore complex (Hinds could ask his wife how she feels about all this, at least?):

When I interact with the staff at the kids’ school, and later the female cashiers and shoppers at the grocery store, again it’s a bit of a relief to make myself focus on their faces. Instead of undressing them with my eyes, I’m cloaking them in imaginary burqas. It seems like I shouldn’t have to do this, and that it’s not the “right” solution, but it’s working, and it’s less draining than catching myself furtively checking out the parts that are—forgive me—on display, and then creep-shaming myself.


"It’s a little strange and sad to me that, when I try to think of the women I’ve interacted with over the past 12 hours, I can’t really pull up any distinct images, as I would normally do with ease," Hinds writes post-burqaing. With Hinds, it's boobs or nothing! The Awl semi-helped matters by putting a burqa on him. But that didn't diminish the "triggering" urges I feel after reading his piece to...well, The Cut's Maureen O'Connor sums up my feelings nicely. All out of "basic human decency," of course.


Image via Catherine Lefebvre/Shutterstock.