The Life of the Mind Can Only Get You So Far

Every young feminist, at some point, bumps up against the limits of her ideals. For me, it happened in my early 20s. My consciousness freshly raised and my mind spongier than ever, I spent my evenings imbibing the no-nonsense feminism of Vivian Gornick, the big-hearted feminism of bell hooks, the caustic feminism of Virginie Despentes. On the page, I underlined their wisdom about forging romances rooted in equality and embracing solidarity with other women; yet in life, I chased the approval of apathetic men and harbored resentment for my beautiful, successful peers. I had done all the reading but felt that I was failing the test.