In the fifteen or so years that I've been actively feministing, I've never tired of being asked whether or not I hate men. When I say I've never tired of it, I am of course lying. If I could summarise my experience of the anti-feminist backlash into one tedious, repetitive interaction, it would be thus: "Do you hate men? Wait, let me rephrase that. Why do you hate men?"

Although my care factor for whether or not men think I hate them hovers somewhere just below zero – and I will teach you how to adjust your scale similarly – the blatant lack of self-awareness on display when this question is asked (and asked and asked and asked, repeatedly, on and on into infinity) still manages to astonish me.

Here's a sample of some of the things that have been said to me by men distressed by the thought that feminism might not be a political movement that advocates for gender equality, but just a club for ugly chicks to hate on blokes:

Misandrist. Man-hater. Feminazi boner killer. Joyless harpy, jealous of the prettier girls. Dumb fat cow. Sour-faced wrinkled bitch who's only angry about rape because no one would ever rape her. Wants to kill all men, but only because no man would ever touch her. You're a c---. I hope you get raped by someone with AIDS. I hope you get raped by a pack of Muslims. F--- you, you f---ing man-hating dyke.