Spot the Misogyny: My Ex-Friend Wim Soetaerts (3)

Wim Soetaerts

In the first post of this series, I describe how W. and I met, were friends,  fought and broke up.  In the second post, I analyze some of the emails he sent me afterward.  In this final post, I analyze more emails and come to some conclusions about W.

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Feminist is enlightened by dudely opinion

Some dude replied to one of my posts to enlighten me with his dudely opinion.  Isn’t it funny how statements that open with “No offense” turn out to be the most offensive things ever?

No offence, but I would never date a radical feminist woman. As an autistic person, I face enough hurdles in terms of interacting with other people in the right way as it is without having to worry about whether the particular way in which I’m looking at a woman is an exercise of my male privilege or whatever. Sorry.


So for this dude, being autistic is an excuse to revel in privilege without checking it ever.    And it’s like he expects me to feel sorry for him because it’s so hard for him to function socially that  he just can’t be arsed to care whether he’s oppressing women.

Dude, being autistic is no excuse for being a privilege-denying asshole.  Temple Grandin is just as autistic as you are and it doesn’t stop her from caring about bigger issues than herself.

Autism isn’t some kind of get-out-of-social-justice-free card.




I haven’t written a personal post in many eons.  Maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.    I’m still here,  just busy with painting and other stuff.

Here’s my conundrum, internet:

I miss someone.  Someone who is utterly wrong for me and who wastes not a moment thinking of me or worrying about my feelings.

You don’t have to tell me that this person doesn’t appreciate me and isn’t worth my time.  I know that.  But we can’t control our feelings.  We can control our behavior but not how we feel.  In my case the feeling persists.   Maybe because I’m human, and my feelings aren’t something I can just switch off.

I try to keep myself working or distracted, but it lingers in the room around me;  it rushes into the spaces between thoughts when my mind is quiet.

Amy Winehouse sang it better than I can explain it, so here: