Kate Emery: Does it really matter if someone who lives like a feminist rejects the f-word?

In the decade or so that I’ve been writing about feminism — wait, keep reading, there are jokes — I’ve encountered a type of person I think of as Schrodinger’s Feminist. By that I mean a person who both is and is not a feminist. Schrodinger’s Cat — forgive me if you know this — refers to a thought experiment in which a cat is put in a box with poison and a radioactive isotope that might release the poison and kill the cat. The idea, intended to demonstrate the limitations of quantum theory, is that, until the box is opened, the cat is both alive and dead. A Schrodinger’s Feminist is a person who shows by their words and actions that they believe women should have the same rights and opportunities as men. By definition that makes them a feminist because, guys, that’s all there is to it and cultivating an underarm bush is, repeat after me, strictly optional. At the same time this person, who might be a man but is probably a woman, will loudly and proudly insist they are “not a feminist”. Since I believe everyone has the right to choose how they identify to the world, I am forced to conclude they are not, in fact a feminist. Ergo, they both are and are not on a feminist. But does it actually matter if a person who acts like a feminist calls themselves a feminist? The Western world is now about a decade into fourth-wave feminism but, if you missed the bell that got rung in 2012 to signify this fact, don’t even worry about it. Feminist waves are a bit like pregnancies: hard to spot at first and then too big for you to admit you haven’t noticed it until now. Missing out on the start of a new ‘brand’ of feminism, although brand makes it sound like they sell it at David Jones, is like being too polite to ask if a co-worker is pregnant during the early stages. By the time she’s very clearly preparing to crown in the shared kitchenette you feel weird bringing it up for the first time and face a choice between simply pretending that you knew all along or that you just haven’t noticed that the office furniture has been orbiting her tummy for a while now. Understanding the various waves of feminism is as fundamental to being a feminist as knowing the history of the internal combustion engine is to driving: a nice trick that might help you pull at parties but is ultimately unnecessary. For interested parties, my cheat’s guide — which will send scholars running for the smelling salts — goes like this: first wave votes, second wave sex, third wave gender, fourth wave the internet, meaning the way social media has enabled women to see the universality of those pesky patriarchal problems they imagined to be theirs alone. My condolences to the Proper Feminists now hyperventilating into a paper bag at my oversimplification of one of the biggest socio-political movements of the past 100 years. Get too bogged down in the detail of feminist history and it might seem like the definition of feminism is constantly changing. Are you allowed to like men? What about Botox? Can you still be a feminist if you truly in your heart believe that the trapping and release of spiders is a job reserved for your male partner? In reality, feminism boils down to this: the belief that women should have the same rights and opportunities as men. Historically I believed it was critically important for feminists to identify as such to acknowledge those before them who secured the rights modern Western women take for granted: the right to vote, work, own property and not be married off by our fathers at the age of 12 to a 75-year-old creep called Darren. Declaring yourself “not a feminist” but acting like one always struck me as a bit ridiculous, the way so many grandparents invent new monikers because being called “Grandma” makes them feel like an extra in Cocoon. I’ve since mellowed. Listening recently to a Schrodinger’s Feminist argue in favour of gender equality policies designed to improve the lives of working women, I found myself wondering if it mattered that she eschewed the word itself. Do I think it’s a bit of unnecessarily performative identity politicking to reject the label while enjoying and advocating for the benefits of feminism? Absolutely. Is it a cancellable offence if someone who lives like a feminist rejects the f-word? I no longer think so . . . although ask me again when the fifth wave rolls on through.