A few times on your blog I’ve seen you refer to your self as “postfeminist” — what exactly does this mean? Is it a particular branch of feminism, or does it stem from a sense that feminism is over?

Oh jesus. You really want to get me in trouble again, don’t you? Ok, I will write out a full answer to this question, but first with some caveats: I haven’t studied feminist theory. I am not a women’s studies grad. I don’t claim to speak for anyone other than myself. I’m not interested in debates about feminism. And finally: it makes me really sad that while 30 years ago a woman answer a question about feminism might fear retributions from men, I am honestly terrified of answering this question for fear of being attacked by other women. Because it’s happened before. And it was really awful, honestly.

But that’s silly — that fear of feminists would keep me from talking openly about my thoughts about my own feminism. So, let me say this first: while I can’t answer your question with anything other than my personal ramblings, women ten times smarter than me have written a lot about post-feminism:

Postfeminism vs. the Third Wave by Alison Piepmeier
Manufacturing Postfeminism by Susan J. Douglas
States of Play: Feminism, Gender Studies, and Performance by Janelle Reinelt

But, if you’re interested in my ramblings, read on. While you’re reading, I’ll strap on my helmet and wait for the bombs to start dropping from the rad-fem blogosphere.

So, I was raised by a second-wave feminist. My mother has dedicated herself to women’s physical and spiritual for 35 years, first as a midwife and now as a women’s spiritualist. I was raised on her shoulders, and the view from up here has always been pretty great.

I’ve lived my life under the assumption that men and women were created equal. Equal rights, as far as I’ve been concerned, was a battle my mother fought … and won.

Then again, I’m coming from an extremely entitled perspective: I grew up in a progressive, liberal region and have chosen to live in equally progressive regions as an adult. I don’t think we’re living in a post-feminist world (women’s rights have a long way to go globally), but I live in a progressive post-feminist bubble where my family, husband, friends, employer, and most everyone I interact with has at least outwardly accepted feminism.

In other words, I’m a feminist, but so’s everyone else I encounter in my daily life, so the distinction feels sorta moot. Hence: post-feminist.

That said, I might be calling myself a post-feminist, and actually just be a confused, entitled, apathetic third-wave feminist who doesn’t read enough to know how to define herself. Honestly, I’m not completely sure. I know that I do get riled up when people ask me things like “If you don’t cook, who makes dinner?” I’m hyper-sensitive to doing more housework than my share. I bristle when people ask me where my husband is, as if it’s unfathomable that I’d leave the house without him. And I pride myself on my career.

It wasn’t until I worked in Los Angeles that I first understood just how privileged my “the feminists won!” perspective was. When I was working on Lotus Magazine, I used to go down for business trips for business meetings with my coworkers. I was the only woman on the core staff, which wasn’t a big deal until it became clear how much of an anomaly I was for these guys. One of my coworkers, after hearing me go on a curse-filled rant about something, looked at me with a confused look and said, “Dude, it’s weird: you’re just like a guy.”

Uh, no I wasn’t. I was like a crass, loud-mouth, opinionated woman, but I guess they didn’t have many encounters with women like that, so therefore I was deemed guy-like. It was odd, and made me a little self-conscious — and made me feel bad for these guys in LA. And even worse for the women there.

When I step outside of my little bubble, I’ve had some awfully sexist encounters. On a road trip last year, Andreas and I stopped at a mini-mart to get a snack. As we tried to figure out who was paying, the gross dude working behind the counter said to me, “Oh, let him pay,” and then winked at Andreas and said “She can pay you back later. Heh heh.” UM. GROSS. We left as quickly as possible. I suppose I could have spit in the dude’s face, but I’m not really an activist like that. I’d rather just go home and write about it.

I identify myself as post-feminist in part because I really wrestle with the ways second-wave feminism flirts with victimization. It feels difficult for me to argue that we’re strong and powerful and equal to men, and yet we’re supposedly also the sad, abused underlings? I am certainly not a victim: I’m a white, middle class, and college-educated. How could I possibly claim to be part of some underclass? What an insult to those who actually ARE disadvantaged!

I guess another reason I refer to myself as a post-feminist is because I’ve seen the ways some arms of the feminist movement can be exclusionary to feminist men. Andreas is a more traditional feminist than I am (he once got mad at me for going to the Lusty Lady), and he’s got many stories about what it feels like to be shut out of pro-woman feminist events because he’s a male. Heck, he’s not allowed to sleep in my mother’s Moonlodge because he has a penis, even though he’s got more reverence toward women than I do sometimes.

This is another way in which I’m entitled: I’m partnered with a man who in some stereotypical ways is girlier than I am. I mean sure: Dre’s super athletic, likes watching soccer and tossing back beers. But he’s also by far the more empathetic and compassionate of the two of us, is way more sensitive than I am, is much less lecherous, less crass, and less crude. I’ve often been the primary bread-winner, and until Dre just got his new job, I’ve always been the higher earner.

I also have trouble with railing against the objectification of women — primarily because I love objectifying people of both genders! Did I ever tell you about the time I hooked up with a hottie boy-toy four years my junior? And technically, I was his boss? That’s one of the tamer examples of my rampant objectification. I think maybe this makes me a kind of female chauvinist pig, but I wouldn’t know because I haven’t read the book.

So, let’s get back to the term, “post-feminist.” I’m not a scholar on the subject, but the best summary I’ve seen is that post-feminism refers to those who claim to be within feminism on the one hand and calling for a move beyond it on the other. That is me. I believe women are strong and equal to men. But I’m also not especially interested in defining myself (or others) by gender. I’m way more invested in being defined by my skills, opinions, actions, and emotions. Which is feminist, right?

In closing, I very much relate to this blog post:

A recent Facebook-based conversation with Susan Mernit got me thinking about my place in feminism and technology.

I started to argue that “I’m not a feminist tech geek.” I play along with the male-dominated industry by adopting the behaviors of the men around me. I have a history of working on all-male teams and being treated as “one of them” rather than as “the woman.” You’ll find me in a button-down shirt, but you won’t find me in a dress. I expect the same respect and treatment as any man, and I nip any potentially sexist situation in the bud before it escalates. I have a firm handshake, I look people in the eye, I speak with confidence, and I refuse to be pidgeonholed by my gender.

And yeah, okay, I guess that could make me a feminist tech geek.

Argument lost.