I round up some girlfriends and we spend hundreds of dollars in a hipster bar, drinking rye Manhattans and eating tapas and talking about the latest crappy, non-gender-blind things that have happened to us in meetings and on business trips and at performance review time. They toast me for taking one for the team. And when we are good and numb we Uber home, thinking Look at all we’ve earned! That bar with the twinkly lights. That miniature food. This chauffeured black car. We are tough enough to put up with being ignored and interrupted and underestimated every day and laugh it off together. We’ve made it. This is the good life. Nothing needs to change.
What was she angry about? Well, on this particular occasion, it’s because she had to serve on a panel with three male co-workers to provide orientation to incoming summer interns. And her male co-workers had the absolute gall to say that women were valuable assets to the company.
“The thing about this place,” he says, “is it’s a meritocracy. And merit is gender-blind.” He smiles at me and I stare back. Silent balefulness is all I have to offer, but his smile wavers so I know I’ve pierced some level of smug.
And she apparently works in an office obsessively devoted to Mad Men Cosplay.
At the office, every desk near mine has a bottle of wine or liquor on it in case people are too lazy to walk the 50 feet to one of the well-stocked communal bars we’ve built on our floor.
We get it. She’s miserable, and she drank to cope with her misery (as all women do) and now that she has stopped drinking she sees that it was all the fault of the patriarchy and had nothing whatsoever to do with her own self-absorption. Because that’s what modern feminism teaches women: Put yourself at the center of the universe and blame men for any and all unhappiness.