and fuck you too, schopenhauer

From On Women:

It is only the man whose intellect is clouded by his sexual instinct that could give that stunted, narrow-shouldered, broad-hipped, and short-legged race the name of the fair sex; for the entire beauty of the sex is based on this instinct. One would be more justified in calling them the unaesthetic sex than the beautiful. Neither for music, nor for poetry, nor for fine art have they any real or true sense and susceptibility, and it is mere mockery on their part, in their desire to please, if they affect any such thing.

Personally, I have rather long legs, and I must insist that anyone who believes me unsusceptible in any degree to poetry, music, or fine art go and seat himself enthusiastically on a unicorn's forehead. But why does this even bother me? It was written 150 years ago, and it was crazy then. Fuck Schopenhauer, right? (Well, or not, cause whoa. Talk about unaesthetic.) But it does upset me. As ridiculous as it is, it still feels... threatening. I mean, I'm over it, it's okay, but I couldn't even bring myself to read the whole essay.

Anyway, that's all. Just your daily episode of Sexism That Freaks Me Out.