Being a feminist is a struggle. It is a Sisyphean push to gain new, cutting-edge knowledge about oppressed groups that is never completed, all toward the noble goal of shoving your liberal cred in the face of other feminists to assert your superior un-oppressiveness. But have no fear, my fellow feminists, for I have claimed the title as best feminist ever for once and for all. You, my new subjects, can stop clawing at each for meager ally points, since my total score is so ridiculous that no other shall come close for millennia and beyond.
But what, you must be wondering with bated breath, is this daring activism I have accomplished to earn such a glorious title? What have I done to become Super Mega Awesome Leader of Feminism For Life?
I am in love with a trans woman. Here is an artist’s rendering of me playing the theremin in triumph.
Did that image give you enough time to catch your breath? Have you retrieved your monocle from your champagne glass of male tears? I hope for your sake that it did, because it doesn’t stop there! I also live with her.
I have done so for almost two years.
We moved in together after only two months of dating.
AND WE HAVE ONLY FOUGHT LIKE FOUR TIMES BUT IT DOESN’T REALLY COUNT BECAUSE I WAS JUST IRRATIONALLY LASHING OUT AT HER BECAUSE OF OTHER STRESSORS SO I CHOOSE NOT TO COUNT IT!
Don’t worry about the snow-white colour your hair must have turned to from shock just now. Just think of all the colours you can easily dye it for protest rallies! Rainbow for queer rights! Blood red for abortion! Etc!
Let’s get back to what is actually important: me and my superiority over you and your insignificant bit part in the fight against oppression. Yes, you. You specifically.
I know. Such a feat as mine is incomprehensible to you lowly mortals, but I truly have accomplished this super-duperous mountain of a task.
Now some of you plebeians might wonder; since my trans girlfriend is the one who is a member of an oppressed minority, she must be actually suffering, and therefore she is the one who truly deserves the title of Best Feminist.
Oh, my sweet summer child. You don’t understand. She did not choose to be trans, and therefore her suffering is thrust upon by no choice of her own. I, on the other hand, chose this mountainous burden
Almost every waking moment of every day I have to deal with my beloved partner’s trans-ness trans-ing everything she trans-illy comes into trans-contact with. Especially the new china, which I was very fond of!
Sometimes when I hold her hand in public, people smile at us equally, as if we are some normal lesbian couple. I am stripped of my right to get lavish praise for being the best ally this world has ever seen. They should be all bowing at my feet, the ignorant fools, but rather they pay us equal amounts of attention.
Worst of all, when my girlfriend’s big beautiful brown eyes flutter their long black eyelashes at me as our soft and supple bodies are nakedly entwined in our double bed, our hidden island paradise for two, far away from all the horrible tragic injustices of the world, her soft perfectly pink mouth gently coos sweet declarations for her eternal love for me gently into my ear.
I know. I suffer so much. Your hearts must be bursting from my suffering. Feel free to send me expensive tributes to my greatness. Baked goods are also acceptable.
As your new and eternal high empress of feminism I will lead you all, my legion of mindless drones, into battle. Together we shall purify the world of men and false allies and create it anew, in (mostly) my image.
I’m sure this revelation of your insignificant place in feminism must be talking up much of your emotional energy, and that you have already spent a lot of today yelling at people on Twitter and Tumblr. You can now rest easy, my child. Your contribution to the cause is meager but admirable, like when my dog learned how to “shake.”
You can now rest easy knowing that I am here to lead you with my superhuman feminism. I will need you at full strength for when the war begins.
(Reminder: I am better than you.)
Ash is a autogynephilic lady who enjoys other ladies, the ukela and being insufferably quirky. She lives with her girlfriend in Canada as well as making jokes on Twitter.