I think I used to be if not the worst nightmare, at least a
bad daydream of feminist trailblazers. I reaped the benefits of their labors
and never truly felt oppressed as a female, but was relatively ambivalent to
the feminist cause. My high school assigned a fair amount of books by women,
not just the Brontes, Austen, and Shelley, but Cisnero, Angelou, Hurston, Tan
and more. For me, feminism was inapplicable to my immediate life, and almost
historical, at least in America and other “enlightened” countries; I never
applied feminism with the urgency of activism to my life, because I couldn’t
see how or if I was being oppressed.