in defense of Chappell Roan: your anti-choice-feminism feminism is just another form of choice feminism

in response to the sex doll costume discourse & the ongoing legacy of lesbian feminist histories

Chappell Roan’s RuPaul’s Drag Race appearance in her blowup sex doll costume has awoken the vestiges of the “sex war” related feminist (in)fighting online. Representational discourses that we as queers, lesbians, feminists, and queer-lesbian-feminists have been debating for decades are getting rehashed with every new image representation of a female pop star that appears on our feeds. I refuse to engage in the Sabrina Carpenter thinkpiece industrial complex, but that comes to mind as well. With regards to Chappell, however, I do find it powerful how one lesbian pop star from Missouri has managed to revive so much canonical feminist beef.

Something more contemporary and popular (rather than canonical) in feminist discourse is the term “choice feminism.” Never before in the history of the Anglophone world have women seemingly had such an array of choices for their lives in front of them as they do now–to be a girlboss or a tradwife, a “girl’s girl” or a “pick me,” a fake bisexual or proud heterosexual woman or … something else. I’m not sure. “Choice feminism,” as a lived, practiced, and debated online philosophy has become an embedded part of queer discourse when it comes to social media phenomena and criticism.

I want to look at Chappell Roan as a case study regarding the ways that “choice feminism” has become the #1 enemy to “real feminism” online. I am interested because: 1. I’m a stan and 2. (which is related to the first point) I think that she has been unfairly persecuted by many people from many different social angles. From liberals harassing her for not endorsing Kamala Harris, to people digging up information from her personal life trying to “prove” that her gay identity is fraudulent, the most insidious form of paranoid and unserious critique of Chappell Roan comes from her ostensibly feminist and queer audience. “Look at our ‘feminist’ lesbian representation dawg,” one poster wrote about Chappell’s sex doll costume on RuPaul’s Drag Race.

Of course, the response to this commentary from me and my friends came in swiftly as well: my dear friend Kennedy, whom I’ve known since I was a teenager, posted “You not gettin nowhere with bitches that critique Chappell Roan.” A play on an old tweet about Jhene Aiko and Kehlani. To which my friend Rayne Fisher-Quann, whom I’ve known since my 2021–2023 TikTok days, responded, “the concept that chappell roan thinks sex dolls are good and is dressing up as one to endorse the practice of men using sex dolls.” You have to laugh!

I understand the ‘sex doll’ as a piece of sexual technology and a manifestation of a grotesque form of male desire to detach their sexuality from women as human beings. The whole project of patriarchy, in its fascist decimation of women, demands this dehumanization. Feminist sensibilities of intense disgust towards sex dolls, dead objects that simulate the female body that merely exists to be penetrated by a living person’s erect penis, reiterates the core ideology of feminist struggle—that women are human beings. We are people, not merely sex objects and mothers and gestators.

Silvia Federici argues from a Marxist-feminist lens in “Wages Against Housework,” (1974) that we (women) are also workers, performing feminized labor that have been so naturalized into “womanhood” that our literal blood, sweat, and tears rarely, if ever, get recognized as labor. Or at the very least, it’s the kind of labor that does not require material compensation or formalized wages (outside of the incredibly low-waged domestic service economy), and can merely be acknowledged and ‘compensated’ through appreciative gestures: Mother’s Day, flowers, huge and expensive parties (ex: the billion dollar wedding industry). These performative gestures towards the Mother ignores the preceding years or decades of marital entrapment that often begets private torture—all cheap forms of labor that is not financially compensated and condescendingly feminized.

A couple weeks ago, I brought up Chappell Roan to a best friend, Miss Eliza, and she immediately mentioned the Call Her Daddy podcast controversy Chappell had been sparking at the time. Namely, how Chappell had spoken frankly about the terrorism of motherhood. My friend Moira Donegan spoke to the refreshing and necessary feminist perspective that Chappell elucidated: “Need a little more of this kind of cheeky feminist provocation: a frank and unapologetic assertion that the lives patriarch[y] prescribes for women are in many ways joyless, claustrophobic, and intellectually vacant.” Though the tweet has since been deleted, the point stands.

The fact that Chappell Roan confidently tells the public that the women in her life “who have kids are in hell” is merely an expression of a truth feminists have organized around since the seventies: reproductive labor is hard, deeply exploitative, and uncompensated work. It’s the type of emotional and bodily destruction that is assumed to be women’s rightful place in the world, the role all women must inevitably fulfill eventually. Lesbian feminists have fought this assumption of women’s existence within this hellscape of limitations since the inception of lesbian-feminism. Especially because as lesbians, our assumed reproductive capacities are seen as limited or unsatisfied.

Women’s other role, fundamental to our position as reproductive laborers, is that of the sex object. Even as women have sex because they want to: they’re horny, they’re in love etc, we continue to hear the collective lamentations of straight women grappling with the reality of being actively dehumanized during sex with men. Federici’s epigraph to “Wages Against Housework” delivers this banger: “They say it is love. We say it is unwaged work.” Ultimately, this applies to sex as well. Of course, to identify reproductive tasks as “work,” whether that’s child-rearing or fucking, is not to dismiss the fact that women often do derive pleasure, fulfillment, and joy from these things. It’s to articulate that these things we do operate within capitalist patriarchy in a very particular way. As Lillian Pentecost says in Secrets Typed in Blood, “I also enjoy my work, Samuel. But I expect to get paid for it.” (Spotswood, 295)

At my own job, I have jokingly told my coworkers that I refuse to smile at men unless I am on the clock. My bitterness towards facing the endless drudgery of household work I must do when I’m off the clock is related to this refusal. Misogyny is evident in every aspect of my life, especially in my home and in my family. Doing laundry and the dishes and cooking and cleaning do not come naturally to me, though who exactly does these tasks because they enjoy doing them? Certainly some people. Not me though! As an employee, I definitely do evil things such as leaving my own dirty dishes in the break room sink, but I consider it a fair tradeoff for when my coworkers who don’t mind doing the dishes (if they’re clocked in to work) wash them while I clean our public bathroom.

While I’m pretty obvious in my lesbianism, from the double venus tattoo on my chest to the fact that I tell everyone that I’m a femme lesbian, that of course does not stop the dehumanization and harassment I face as a woman. Once when I was commuting to my job, a white pickup truck pulled up next to me as I was walking to my bus stop. One of the men in the car asked if he could take me out to dinner sometime. Abruptly, I told them I was a lesbian, put my Airpod back in my ear, and walked off quickly. But as I have written before, in my essay on my personal substack about the female gaze in the digital age, the fact that I myself do not engage in heterosexual sex or dynamics does not negate the ways that men’s sexuality affects my personal life and safety, alongside heterosexual women. Even as I don’t involve myself in heterosexual relationships with men, the reproductive labor exploitation inherent to my womanhood remains.

Sex dolls are, in a way, technological developments that cut the human labor out of the feminized reproductive labor of sex. One can have the physical experience of sex (or a simulation of it) without having to deal with any of the things an actual human woman’s presence usually comes with: emotions, reproductive systems, reciprocal communication etc. Andrea Dworkin expresses in “The Coming Gynocide,” the fifth chapter of Right Wing Women, that she holds a visceral fear that men will be able to technologize their way out of “needing” women to do reproductive labor. This comes together with her diagnosis of prostitution as being one of the greatest manifestations of patriarchal violence. In brothels, Dworkin writes, women “sell themselves for sex, not to make babies.” (Dworkin, 167) We see an explicit portrayal of this in Poor Things (2023), as well as the complications that occur when a baby does show up in the mix. (You can hear more about my thoughts on Poor Things as an adaptation in this video I made, “Poor Things: what the movie misses,” as well as in this Patreon bonus episode, “the grammy's, TTPD, Poor Things (2023) & The Zone of Interest (2023) reviews,” for the podcast.)

When it comes to women who “sell themselves” to make babies, Dworkin identifies “artificial insemination and in vitro fertilization” as enabling “women to sell their wombs within the terms of the brothel model. Motherhood is becoming a new branch of female prostitution with the help of scientists who want access to the womb for experimentation and for power.” (Dworkin, 171) Dworkin’s dire predictions for the state of womankind through the separation of female sexuality and female reproduction from women as people feel prescient in our current state of ever-advancing technology. As online pornography proliferates in frightening quantities and brain-dead women are experimented upon ostensibly for the sake of their unborn baby, it would be delusional to entirely dismiss Dworkin in this respect.

Dworkin explicitly articulates her fears of what she calls “gynocide”:

All these reproductive intrusions make the womb the province of the doctor, not the woman; all make the womb extractable from the woman as a whole person in the same way the vagina (or sex) is now; some make the womb extraneous altogether or eventually extraneous; all make reproduction controllable by men on a scale heretofore unimaginable. (Dworkin, 177)

But the idea that gestational labor itself was ever in “the province of… the woman” rather than patriarchal forces is already a false one. In Caliban and the Witch, (which Sunnaissance will be discussing in an upcoming episode of The Lavender Menace Podcast) Federici articulates the labor history of gestational labor as that which was displaced from the domain of the midwife into the domain of the doctor during the medieval era. The “reproductive intrusions” of the male science Dworkin theorizes are not new. In fact, they are as old as patriarchy and capitalism itself.

The paranoid predictions for in vitro fertilization technologies in Right Wing Women, published in 1983, fall flat for me as a 21st-century-born feminist. Especially considering how common, even if unaffordable, IVF technologies are in our present day reality. This style of conception is largely absent from conversations about feminism and pregnancy online. In contrast, topics of sex work, objectification, and women’s sexuality remain hotly contested in online feminist discourse.

Considering the lack of feminist consensus around what sex even is or what experiences do or don’t constitute the physical act of “sex,” I find it fascinating that so much of online feminist discourse concerns itself so deeply with women’s sex lives. There is constant “dialogue” to no avail about antifeminist sexual self-expression and representations for women. It’s a particularly flattening discourse as well; one that refuses any type of nuance and draws a line in the sand between two distinct opposing camps with no other alternatives. You’re either a pro sex work/pro porn/pro women’s sexualization/pro surrogacy/pro kink “liberal feminist” or you’re an anti prostitution/SWERF/anti porn/anti surrogacy/“not the fun kind”/“radical feminist.” For example, this tweet that I scrolled across that quote-retweeted a video from Amsterdam’s red-light district, proclaiming: “nobody will ever convince me this is progressive.” To which I ask, who is trying to convince you?

In describing a protest she went to in college, Sophie Lewis’ Enemy Feminisms: TERFs, Policewomen, & Girlbosses Against Liberation (2025) takes anti-objectification sexual politics to task:

If patrons got lap dances… they’d feel encouraged to treat all of womankind here ‘like whores’ (apparently, respectful treatment of a sex worker was a contradiction in terms). Strippers themselves, we inevitably implied, were antifeminist—walking pornography—liabilities we didn’t want to have to see unless, of course, they agreed to be hurt victims in need of rescue. ‘We object,’ we chanted, ‘to ob-ject-ification just for sexual grat-ification.’ I decided that I hated the dreary chant. The suspicion was creeping up on me that ‘objectification’ within sex isn’t always or necessarily bad, and that even when it is, it still isn’t the central thing about capitalist gender. (Lewis, 154)

Part of why opposing objectification within sex failed as a form of feminist politics, Lewis argues, is that it manifested in virulent lesbophobia towards butch-femme lesbians, who were apparently participating in patriarchal violence in their sexual practices of using dildos and playing with gender. Femmes and butches “became a movement anathema,” (Nestle, 16) Joan Nestle–a lesbian feminist foremother whom I hold dear to my femme heart–wrote in the introduction to The Persistent Desire: A Femme-Butch Reader. Anti-sex radical feminists’ fervent opposition to the mere existence and presence of butches and femmes in their midst undergirded their campaigns against “deviant” sexuality and what they considered to be anti-feminist portrayals of women. Even and especially if those portrayals were made by those women themselves. These feminists literally called for boycotts of Nestle’s erotic writing about her femme sexuality and lesbian sex!

Chappell Roan’s sex doll costume, an overt representation of the objectification of women’s sexuality in gendered technologies (though, what technology is not inherently gendered), is itself the problem in the eyes of queer feminist discoursaires online. This only reflects the historical and ongoing divide between “radical, post-left feminist pornophobes focused on fighting objectification in media and law, and liberal feminists continu(ing) to endlessly reinvent sex positivity” as Lewis documents. Meanwhile, “sex radicals stayed with the trouble, criticizing porn and arguing for seizing the means of human libido production.” (Lewis, 157) I would argue that Chappell Roan, in so explicitly embodying herself in this playful, tongue-in-cheek, campy and silly costume, is “staying with the trouble.”

One of the most profound experiences of reading Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg for me as a femme lesbian feminist was how Feinberg, in descriptions of the bar scenes Jess frequented, refused to make the distinction between femmes as the transfeminine drag queens and the often sex-working ostensibly cis femme lesbians. The specific trans solidarities between butch-femme lesbians and trans women who were not lesbians is one with a long history. Considering the historical and present day realities of butches, femmes, and transfeminized peoples engaging in prostitution, this current popular wave of anti-choice-feminism feminism online demonizes everything from Chappell Roan’s sex doll costume to sex workers themselves and exists as a product of the victory of cultural feminists over the sex radical queer feminists—those who fought both the lesbian feminist androgynous butch-femme haters and the patriarchy’s violence and erasure.

Part of what makes discussions of pop stars like Chappell Roan and Sabrina Carpenter’s engagement with sexual politics so fraught is this overbearing configuration of a “feminist sexuality” that actually doesn’t really exist. If Chappell or Sabrina, or any other woman in the public media spectacle of pop culture, do not positively embody a liberated female sexuality, then who does? What determines the “right” and ethically feminist and morally pure way of having sex or embodying sexuality? And what’s the difference between those expectations for expressions of women’s sexuality and the morality police of Christofascist or Islamic patriarchy?

That might feel like a false equivalency, but in examining the actual discourses surrounding ‘improper’ (as determined by apparent queer feminists online) forms of female sexuality, it becomes very clear that any vision of feminist liberation from patriarchal violence that demands our policing of women’s sexuality and pleasure is one that will necessarily exclude many women. It is this impulse to exclude other women that, I think, motivates the anti-choice-feminism feminism which I’ve been seeing more and more of online.

These feminists call themselves “radical” in their intervention and critique of Chappell Roan’s sex doll costume, but they lack a true feminist politic that would identify the humanity of the woman who is Chappell Roan, the woman who has her own sense of humor and trademark playful and glamorous image. Chappell Roan, as an artist, has always played in the domain of the fantastical and proudly identifies as a lesbian. She gets critiqued specifically because of her failure to meet feminist standards that her audience has projected onto her. It’s a vestigial radical feminism that holds women accountable for things they are not even doing. As Lewis writes, “Radical feminism as they knew it had been gradually beaten out, realized people like Nestle, Echols, Hollibaugh, and Califia… The new ideology sure called itself ‘radical’ feminism, but it was really something quite different—female cultural nationalism might be a better phrase.” (Lewis, 158)

This female cultural nationalism and the performative feminism that it proliferates embodies anti-choice-feminism feminism. Performative feminism being a term that Renaissance and I have come up with to identify this type of critique. We’re not Judith Butler scholars, and “performativity” in relationship to gender has its own scholarly history and lineage, but the type of performativity we see in this new age of feminism has a lot to do with the performance of identity and politics as it exists online. In all of the derisive posts that exist complaining about “choice feminism” and all its evils and fallacies, we can find this cultural feminist repudiation of real actual politics. Performative feminists are far more concerned about women claiming their wearing of makeup as a feminist choice and women who choose to wear hijabs as reinforcing the violence of patriarchy, than how the state (such as the imperialist military and prison industrial complex), the family (in its privatization of care and enforcement of reproductive exploitations), and male violence (femicide, rape, domestic violence) endanger women.

Even the most liberal feminist, pro-capitalism, girlbossy manifestation of feminism rarely seriously argues the things the performative feminists pretend they do. Like with the quote retweet of the red light district video, the performative feminist posturing against the (basically) nonexistent pro-red light district feminists serves who and what exactly? Is the point that prostitution and sex work is not, in fact, “progressive” supposed to be a revelation? Perhaps it is to some people! Truly, I do think that the “pro-sex work” “pro-prostitution” camp of liberal feminism that argues that sex work is in fact empowering or inherently politically progressive really does not have the cultural pull that fakeminists pretend it does. If it were true that the vast majority of feminists or even women at large genuinely believe that sex work is inherently empowering or some other such nonsense (is there such thing as “empowered” labor under capitalism?), then why is sex work still so often deeply criminalized and culturally taboo? This is true even in feminist or queer spaces. What exactly does identifying Amsterdam’s red light district as ‘not progressive’ do for the working women, trafficked laborers, and any person whose waged labor exists within the red light district’s economy?

In performing a feminist critique of unconvincing liberal feminist attempts to configure things with patriarchal origins (though what doesn’t) as embodiments of “female empowerment,” the work of feminism has been done and dusted. The negative implication of all of this critique, however, is that there is a definitively feminist way of artistic self-portrayal—or even women’s self embodiment—that would not beget this particular response or critique. That somehow, there is a better or different or more feminist way for a woman to exist in the world.

Is this not just another form of choice feminism? That we, as women, can choose our way to liberation? In choosing to not wear makeup, or in choosing to not have sex with men, or in choosing a man who doesn’t happen to beat and abuse us, or choosing to vocally dislike women artists we find anti-feminist, or choosing to be feminist, can we rid ourselves of the daily sins of existing under patriarchy? By shopping at women-owned businesses or by going to the women’s communes or practicing lesbian separatism in our own lives, that then allows for us to evade this particular form of performative feminist critique?

It all comes back to the “sex wars.” When it comes to the lesbian-feminist sex radicals, the femmes and the butches and the transsexuals and the drag artists and the freaks and the queers, we stake claim in these contemporary manifestations of the feminist “sex wars” because of the level of danger we experience in our mere existence as feminized and/or queer laborers. Hollibaugh in conversation with Cherríe Moraga told us:

Some of us were really trying to hold out for a sex-radical perspective in the context of our own histories as women, in lesbian and gay communities where we wanted pleasure to be something that we had a right to, without having to explain it to people all the time, where we had a right to take sexual chances and be a part of sexual danger. And that wasn’t something that we expected feminism to remove from our sexual terrain… Part of my read on lesbian feminism and its resulting narrowness around sexuality is that women are tired. Tired, tired, tired. Tired of hurting, tired of being scared, tired of everything. And the sexuality that ended up getting articulated from that was a sexuality of safety from sex and a really problematic relationship to pleasure and to being a sexual actor. And some of us, as tired as we might be, have never wanted to give that up. I mean my own sexuality is fundamentally grounded in danger. (Hollibaugh, 142)

The danger of women’s sexuality and the sexuality of danger remain ever present in a cisheterosexist society. So what is the solution to women’s sexual submissiveness expressed in media, culture, or the bedroom? I would say that the fact that predominating feminist discourses posit women’s sexual submission as a “problem” that needs a “solution” means that feminism has failed. Not to say that all women’s behavior cannot or should not be subjected to feminist critique! In fact, Enemy Feminisms, which I heavily quote throughout this essay, is a book entirely dedicated to a feminist critique of feminist movements and of women more generally. TERFs, girlbosses, and policewomen are all enemies to our collective liberation.

But by aiming our feminist critique towards pop stars and expending so much energy on whether a certain woman’s art or behavior or self-configuration is feminist or not, our feminism fails to aim at the real enemy: patriarchal white supremacist capitalism. We have, in proliferating discourse on cultural feminism’s own terms, capitulated to the most defanged version of feminism possible. It’s a neoliberal feminism that in fact misogynistically negates women’s own desires and pursuits of pleasure. We as “real” feminists, or as anti-choice-feminism feminists, have not offered any viable alternative to the things we are critiquing. And in fact, we’re asking women to give up the little that they have—their own pursuit of pleasure in their sexuality and self-embodiment—for something in which they have nothing to gain. How is stopping yourself from liking getting your hair pulled during sex going to stop rape or femicide for all womankind? It just won’t.

I have previously stated that I do not want to engage in the Sabrina Carpenter Man’s Best Friend discourse, but I think that one of the funniest things it has revealed is the limitations of identifying representations of empowered or even non-misogynistic female sexuality. The “feminist solution” to the album art they speak of simply does not exist. Would a photo of Sabrina doing something not at all sexually provocative have been a better album cover for her, considering her entire brand is about playful heterosexual desire and goofy sexiness?

@cartoonshateher: Why couldn’t Sabrina Carpenter have done this for her album cover (photo of Hillary Clinton in a blue suit with her arms crossed)

In participating in this constant exercise of denying the ability of women artists to actually embody an authentic or even satirical sexuality, performative feminists actually refuse materialist engagement with women’s conditions. Really, what does arguing about Chappell Roan wearing a sex doll costume have to do with the real life women dealing with men who make use of sex dolls? (It’s not like the population of people who purchase sex dolls and the audience of RuPaul’s Drag Race have even a little bit of overlap.) According to these performative feminists criticizing Chappell and Sabrina, women, even and especially women artists, are no longer autonomous individuals making decisions for themselves as informed by the social apparatuses around them. More importantly, women are not workers under the schema of reproductive labor under capitalism.

Feminism within popular discourse contemporarily has revolved almost entirely around cultural judgments of women’s choices in their expressions of their sexualities. Which speaks to the absolute victory of female cultural nationalism over Marxist and/or feminist analyses of feminized labor. Proletarianized women, even wealthy women artists who actually do not hold the means of production, become ever more scrutinized under the gaze of the feminist critic, even as “the borders are shrinking,” as Amber Hollibaugh once wrote, around us.

As my brilliant friend and little sister-in-the-movement Reem told me, “The wages for housework movement was not about the choice as to whether or not one would perform housework and other such types of labor, but that this labor (should) be waged. Decisions and lifestyle choices have never been the center of Marxist feminist resistance, and this obsessive focus on choices and lifestyles, only serves to reinforce victim blaming rhetoric that implies that women choose their chains.” If Chappell Roan’s sex doll costume makes her anti-feminist, then are all of us sexually submissive and sexually driven women and queers who enjoy playfulness in sexuality inherently anti-feminist? I just cannot believe that that is true.

The frustration that anti-choice-feminism feminists feel is real. It resonates and I feel it deeply. However, this ire rarely gets directed towards women who regard themselves as feminists even as their literal life choices produces the super-exploitation of other women. I’m thinking about the Hillary Clintons of the world, AKA those who drop the bombs and kill brown babies, AKA the female co-founders of BlackRock, AKA one of the key funders of the genocidal war machine, and the shareholder boards of the fast fashion companies that trap third world women in burning factories and that traffic cheap labor around the globe. Instead, this anti-choice-feminism feminist criticism gets directed at female pop stars and celebrities who experience the brunt of the misogynistic abuse that fame proliferates.

I’m intimately familiar with the cultures that produce the women of the She-E-O class and war machine. I went to Wellesley College, a women’s college that famously has multiple Secretary of State alumni (the aforementioned Hillary Clinton and also the genocidaire Madeleine Albright) and which is the alma mater of Susan Wagner, a co-founder of BlackRock. Nonetheless, many brilliant women have also come from the hallowed halls of Wellesley as well: Lizzie Borden, director of Born in Flames (1982) and Working Girls (1986), authors Malinda Lo and Jasmine Guillory, and of course, myself. Actually, one of the underclassmen friends I made from Wellesley texted me last week saying: “I wish the new Sabrina album cover came out before you had your podcast episode on pop music (because) I am so interested in takes that aren’t just the tik tok echo chamber,” which was very very sweet of her.

I think that the Chappell Roan sex doll costume debacle and the Sabrina Carpenter album cover discourse is tiresome. Like Hollibough told Moraga, “Women are tired. Tired, tired, tired.” As a high femme lesbian feminist, I’m tired of seeing the same old sex wars arguments come up again and again. I’m tired of the pop cultural obsession with picking apart everything female celebrities do or don’t do. I’m tired of anti-choice-feminism feminism. And I’m tired of this supposedly feminist cultural critique that only ever comes back to bite us in the ass.

In opposing choice feminism, we’re no longer able to see beyond the inherent limitations of this discourse. Acknowledging the fact that white supremacist patriarchy has embedded in our minds and bodies and souls in ways that shape our choices can be an enlightening feminist intervention, but it is so often used to specifically deride and sneer at other women deemed unenlightened and traitorous in their choices. As Reem told me, “A true, dialectically materialist feminist movement does not obsess about what is or isn't chosen or what the consequences of choices are, but rather, a collective right for freedom from violence and freedom to assert one’s own autonomy and freedom from capital and freedom from the state.”

We’re destroying any semblance of feminist women’s solidarity in casting aspersions towards whatever pop artist is the It Girl at the moment, rather than fighting against the war machine that kills women every day. We are picking apart the representational sexualities of women who are strangers to us, when the women in our lives are struggling to navigate this woman-hating world, experiencing abuse from their boyfriends and getting beaten by their dads. We’re berated for not voting for the female presidential candidate because we oppose genocide. And at the end of the day, Chappell Roan probably understands this better than any of us, being on the receiving end of all of this inauthentic criticism. As much as the anti-choice-feminism feminists want us to reject and renounce the moments of women’s sexuality and play we do see in our culture, it’s as Chappell once said: “I’m gonna keep on dancing.”