At the risk of stereotyping (an activity I’m not averse to), why do they look so dire?
The prototypical feminist is riddled with sternness. Donning tightly clenched, testosterone-suffused expressions of stoniness and anti-femininity, these women appear dour and pretentiously grave.
Why, I wonder, are “feminists” the visual and behavioral antithesis to the delicate archetype of the gender they defend?
Feminists question society’s justified and evolution-tested (as in millions of years’ worth) definition of gender expression, and their best refutation of the historic female gender role is to manifest its polar opposite, the foulest repugnant version. To deny the naturally accepted definition of “female” is the genesis of a feminists intellectual lineage, but if they are looking to deconstruct it so intently and thoroughly for the sake of upheaval, perhaps they should leave the “fem” out. Perhaps they should concoct a novel semantic vehicle by which to renew the social construct of “woman” since all previous social constructs were evil and perpetuated the archaic patriarchal expectations of women. Such an existing social construct implies that a modern “liberated” definition is similarly a social construct. Feminists want to replace the old social construct for the new one; it’s not the concept of social construct they disagree with. It’s the old version they fight.
They call it a social construct but that overly dignifies the concept. It makes it seem legitimate. I call it a trope.
The feminist trope, personified.
Parade out the bitter defiant woman, of manly spirit and gruff countenance.
“Feminist” is another word for a disarrayed ensemble of faltering evolutionary divergencies gone dystopian and corrupted beyond nature’s wildest imagination. Rather than revolutionize the essence of femininity from within its foundations by embellishing the nature of the trait with refinements and focused distillation, the concept is scrapped for self-conscious constructions of ostentatious innovation.
There is little admirable about a feminist’s descent into unnatural artifice for the sake of egotistical expediency. The currency of modern identity politics overlaps with exhibitionist levels of bodily defilement, including sloppy regard for one’s mental and physical state of well-being.
The greater the vileness, the more pronounced are the aberrational indulgences practiced by said practitioner of cutting edge gender archetypes.