I Pretend to be a Feminist to Get Laid

Satire

I Pretend to be a Feminist to Get Laid

Illustration: Sushant Ahire

I

am a 25-year-old Indian male living in a middle-class suburb of Mumbai and this is my confession. I’m choosing to not reveal my identity since it might have serious implications on my currently thriving sex life and I’d prefer to retain my romps. In a couple of minutes you will know why.

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Before I tell you my story, let me start with a disclaimer of sorts that might make you want to clobber me a little less. I belong to a generation of men caught in an historic moment during which the opposite gender is going through a transformation. We’ve grown up as sons of college-educated parents, but several of our mothers have had to sacrifice their careers to raise us. I’ve watched enough of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and How I Met Your Mother on the one hand, to learn that women are empowered creatures who can kick our asses to kingdom come. But I have also watched enough Bollywood to subconsciously think that, at the end of the day, if Bhai can get away with harassing a woman into falling in love with him, we can too. So, we’re not quite misogynists but we’re definitely not feminists either. We’re in the middle and we’re pretty fucked.

Now that you understand where I’m coming from, let me tell you a little more. It will give me more courage to ease into my confession.

By the time I was 23, I had had two failed relationships, was miserably single, and had little success attracting women. This was despite my IT-sector salary, average-at-best looks, and a car key that fired up the engine of a very flashy SUV: This was what women were supposed to go for, right? One coworker even stated her reason for not going out with me as “your dull personality coupled with behaviour that contributes to rape culture.” Let it stand as a testament to my desperation that I took the “dull personality” bit as a compliment.

But the long and short of it was, I wasn’t getting laid. I didn’t understand why this was happening. I mean, I was even using my best lines “Talkin is only the 2nd best thing we can do with our tongues,” and that ol’ classic, “Y you so grumpy, love? Give us a smile,” but it wasn’t cutting it. The ladies, they were not biting. In the parlance of nightly home-shopping ads, this would be the “Before,” phase.

And then magic happened. Call it inspiration or divine intervention. A home shop ad would call it a product shot, but this was the night that my story changed forever.

After two-and-a-half decades of operating under the belief that women will only sleep with me if I am rich, loud, or muscular, I realised how wrong I was.

I met a girl online. She was dusky and a bit on the heavier side (yeah, go judge me for noticing. Why do you think I’m writing anonymously?) and had a master’s degree in gender studies. Our date comprised of conversations that touched upon how “biological sex was merely a construct created to keep women at home.” Now because I have an SSC board education, I had zero idea what she was talking about. So just like I would in sex-ed class, I merely nodded along. Things were going fine and I was going into my “Physically-present-but-mentally-humming-a-Yo-Yo-Honey-Singh-tune” zone until I found myself confronted with the question: “So do you identify as one?” I had no idea what she was talking about again, so I just continued nodding and smiling.

To my surprise, she ecstatically said, “I knew it! You’re such a good listener!” This was my first positive reaction on a date in God-knows-how-long and I was intrigued. What had I agreed to?

I found out soon enough. Apparently, I had agreed that I was also a feminist. I decided to ride this wave and simply kept quiet through most of the night just to see where this would take me.

The place this took me was 11 different sex positions.

My existence up until that point had been a lie. After two-and-a-half decades of operating under the belief that women will only sleep with me if I am rich, loud, or muscular, I realised how wrong I was. Women don’t want brawn. In fact, it would seem like they are almost completely capable of taking care of themselves. Shocker, right?! All women want is a guy who cares about what they are saying.

In other words, girls want BetaMaleCucks! I know what you’re thinking. “But we are Indian males! We know nothing about being feminist or BetaMaleCucks!”

But it doesn’t take much. All it takes is the art of shutting up.

We Indian men are at a sensitive point in our young lives. We are negotiating hairpin bends like we’ve never seen before, walking roads that haven’t been walked before on minefields that still haven’t exploded in our faces. The best thing we can do is shut up and keep walking until we cross over to the other side.

This means hiding the fact that you really like songs that glamourise telling a woman what she should wear (seriously, “Tenu suit suit karda” for the win), or the fact that you think LGBTQ is a brand of millennial clothing. It means dropping “I’m into spoken-word poetry” into every conversation and talking about being raised by “strong female figures” even though your mom only stood up for herself when bargaining with the sabziwallah, and your 22-year-old sister was hastily arranged-married to some NRI dude because come on, “paraaya dhan.”

My advice to you is to just shut up and play along. Actual words in your mouth will turn off a potential partner sooner than you can say “syphilis.” Don’t speak and just nod the hell out of the conversation. Your sex life will thank you.

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are the author’s own.

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