But I am getting ahead of myself. What is a “hot feminist”, I hear you whimper from beneath a fortress made of unread copies of Shulamith Firestone’s The Dialectic of Sex? I’ll let Polly explain:
“Hot like: hot yoga, and hot topic, and also ‘hot’ as in ‘sexy hot’, obviously,” I told my favourite, longest term editor, N. “Hot as in ‘potato’ and ‘dangerous’ and ‘relevant’ and ‘ouch’. Hot Feminist!”
The “hot feminist” is not afraid to worry at endless, tedious length about her appearance and she is definitely not at all defensive about being a “shavey leggy, fashion-fixated, wrinkle-averse, weight-conscious kind of feminist”. She even has her nostrils professionally waxed, which I would have thought would lead to rivulets of snot running down your face like a toddler at a birthday party. But what do I know? I’m a “presentable feminist” at best.