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So, let’s talk about feminism. Until about four years ago, I was that young woman sitting in the back of my university lecture hall talking to another female friend and stating “I am not a feminist. I don’t hate men”. I scoffed at the ‘Women’s Studies’ department. I’m not the only woman to have done this. Many of you still believe it to be nonsense. But how could I say I wasn’t a feminist? I could sit in a class, go to university, even speak in public. Wasn’t that the result of feminism
Introduction I don’t remember the exact moment I became a feminist, but I imagine it began around the time I got my first job in retail. An elderly gentleman called me ‘pretty girl’. To some people that may seem like a compliment. What’s wrong with being called pretty? Maybe you’ve even said that to a young woman: “which of these pretty girls wants to help me today?” In that moment, though, and in the eyes of that man, I was an object. I wasn’t Alexis. I wasn’t even Cashier Number Three. My enti