by Shelt Garner
I am what I am, play my piano, sing my little Songs
— Ray Stevens
Here I am, an aspiring novelist working on some pop art. I am constantly reminded, however, of what a pain in the ass the Vox identity politics critique of pop art is. I just want to entertain people and yet in the back of my head I have to constantly worry about the Vox assholes poo-pooing anything I may produce because I’m just another CIS man who can’t write women because I’m too busy “fridging” them.
This is how we got Trump.
I have come to believe that a lot of the criticism from likes of the very beautiful and talented Olivia Wilde and Jessica Chastain is they don’t even want men to write women — THEY want to write women. They just dress up their own creative ambition in an identity politics critique of men’s work.
This is not to say that their complaints aren’t valid — they are. But I’m making a good-faith effort to address their concerns and I fear that just because I’m a “CIS male” that it will all come to naught. There’s just nothing I can do to placate them because of who I am and what I look like.
The whole thing is a shit show — especially on Twitter — because the “thought leaders” on this subject are so fucking touchy that it’s best that you just not say anything and work on your art. The proof is in the pudding, as they say. But if you’re an anti-MAGA person like me your echo chamber is fucking full of women harping on the piss-poor portrayal of women by male authors. They’re right, it happens all the time.
All I ask is a fair shake if I try to address their complaints.