“Even though my dildo is bright pink and it’s this laborious process to strap yourself in, something about it still feels real. “I love wearing a strap-on,” she said, casually flipping her long curls behind her shoulders. Lori sipped her green juice and rolled her eyes. Like, ‘Does shaving my armpits make me a bad feminist?’ And, more pressingly, ‘Is my strap-on a symbol of male supremacy?’ And if so, should I set it on fire as a performance art piece?” But we’re also being forced to ask ourselves some serious questions. I was saying something like, “Sure, it’s cool that we live in this post-everything world where gender is over and hetero-normativity is off-trend and all the rules of sexuality have been thrown out the window. On the receiving end of my rant was my friend “Lori,” a 23-year-old MFA student studying queer theory.
Last week, I found myself at Cafe Gratitude in Los Angeles, eating a gluten-free scone and fuming about gender, as one does in 2016.
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