Who are These Fucking Rapey Dudes
I’ve never met an incel, at least not a card-carrying one or one who admitted it, let alone a “He-Man Woman Hater.” I can’t think of a time when I was friends with a dude who thought it was anything but vile stupidity to cat-call a woman on the street or from a car. Granted, I quit theater years ago, don’t hang out much in comedy clubs and decided that the improv scene was far too much like high school so maybe I’m missing out on all the dripping toxicity of dudes who are doing everything they can to be seen as funny and cool in order to get laid, sometimes at any cost.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?