In my version of Feminism – and no offense, but I’m using my privilege to declare my own – I value the Feminine most highly. I honor Women’s Work.
I’m also fine with anyone doing whatever they will. My version of Feminism isn’t a proscription for everyone, or anyone, else. It’s a personal statement of principle, of the values I hold genuinely dear.
This differentiates me from a great many reflexively feminist liberal men, who resemble nothing so much as those husbands who learn to ignore their wives by telling them what they want to hear and not taking them all that seriously. These are the feminists who create a public face at variance with their private. Agreement for them is easy, and truth inversely as hard.
In my version of Feminism, men also do Women’s Work, but there is no necessary shame in segregation of life’s general domains.
Of course my version of Feminism is based on idealism. My version of Feminism has to allow for my favorite fictional relationships, as between Duke Leto and the Lady Jessica.
It’s fucked up, I know, but there’s no reasoning with my heart.
Thing is, my version of Feminism really isn’t about reforming society directly, but about reforming myself and then seeing where I stand. As I see it, Feminism in the main – at least in my generation – is filled with men whose passionate beliefs long ago outstripped their ability to practice what they preached. It’s awash in men who reduced themselves, at least outwardly, to “allies”. It’s filled with fuckers like Bill Clinton and Tim Kaine.