Gifts for the Card-Carrying Man-Hater
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Misandry: so hot right now. But man-hatery is also timeless and classic: chic as an elegant chignon bun, tough as a steel-toe boot. Think, if you will, of a stunning black dress, but with a highly venomous snake coiled around the waist, trained to sink its fangs into the neck of any motherfucker who steps to you. Gifts for the dedicated man-hater need to be sophisticated, dangerous, and smart. Let’s proceed:
Poison vial jewelry
Purely for its metaphorical value. Yeah. A metaphor. Think of this subtle little gold number, or this lovely skull cameo ring. Etsy will be your best bet here, with options running the gamut from sweet Victorian propriety to metal as fuck.
Shulamith Firestone’s The Dialectic of Sex: The Case for Feminist Revolution
The obvious book recommendation here would be the SCUM Manifesto, but that thing hasn’t aged well. (Lots of transphobia, lots of ranting about the sexism behind hippies and communes. Historically interesting, but not exactly crucial for the modern man-hater. Also impossible to read without considering Valerie Solanas’ descent into untreated mental illness and Warhol-shooting).
And anyway, man-hating is not about hating individual men, some of whom are… fine. It’s about the need for fundamental structural and societal change. In Dialectic of Sex, Firestone mounts a sharply reasoned case for revolution over reform, and unlike a lot of second-generation white feminists, she does it without ignoring issues of race and class. And Dialectic looks badass lying out on the coffee table, where it’ll terrify all the right people.
L7, Bricks are Heavy
Sometimes it’s necessary to mosh away one’s pain, frustration, and seething rage at either men or The Man, or, on a particularly shitty day, both at once. If your intended gift recipient hasn’t been inducted into the glorious cult of feminist thrash, let L7 show them the light:
L7 frontwoman Donita Sparks is also responsible for one of the finest, foulest moments in modern misandry: when jackasses at the Reading Festival wouldn’t stop throwing mud at the band, she whipped out her tampon and hurled it into the crowd, possibly while yelling “Eat this, fuckers!” Bonus tip: You could package a CD with a pair of sweet little bloody tampon earrings.