The Hate Mail

Once the blog hit a certain size, the hate mail changed. Not I disagree hate. Actual threats. Kill yourself, hang yourself, die of AIDS. You read some at first because you’re curious what people will say. Then you stop reading them. Then you start again. Then you stop again. Eventually you just scroll past them, except some days one lands different and you pause on it.

The worst part isn’t getting them—it’s noticing who gets them worse. I get angry comments, sure. Women who write online and aren’t apologetic about being feminist get a completely different operation. It’s meaner, more sexual, more targeted. It doesn’t stop at comments. It escalates. It gets personal in ways that show exactly what people are terrified of. Not women in general. Women who are confident about existing.

I notice it most when I see it happen to people I know. There’s something about the volume and texture of it that’s different from what I get. An energy underneath the anger that’s just pure fear. And here’s the thing—it works. Most people fold. They stop posting, delete the account, realize visibility costs more than it’s worth.

So when two women actually manage to have a real conversation in public, it means something. The noise level that had to be generated to prevent it shows you what was worth protecting. Some guy terrified of women spending hours typing variations on the same threat. That’s the infrastructure underneath the whole thing.