Jessa Crispin has a blistering column in the Guardian, complaining about the superficial and ideologically self-defeating nonsense found in Hulu’s Mrs. America, the series about the feminist push to ratify the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA), and Curtis Sittenfeld’s novel Rodham, which imagines Hillary Clinton’s life without her husband:
How did our culture get like this, filled with feminist paper dolls, all shiny and flat, easy to dress up in whatever flattering outfit you please? What makes someone take up the pen (or laptop I guess) to write fan fiction about their favorite failed presidential candidate? What makes women fervently fantasize about downing bottomless mimosas with a woman who has a doctorate of education and exceptionally white teeth?
I liked this part, especially:
Depicting women who have real ambition, who long for power, who have compromised any basic human decency to defend the activities of the CIA in the 1950s and 60s or destabilize governments in order to maintain that power, as just doing their best is not only objectionable, it’s boring. Plus, I read in Rodham a fictionalized Bill Clinton referring to the fictionalized Hillary’s fictionalized vagina as a “honeypot” and I think I lost consciousness for a minute or two.