One of the strangest anti-feminist stereotypes to me – among the Birkenstock-wearing and bra-burning – is the idea that we're unhappy. Angry. Bitter. Both because the foundation of the insult is the assumption that women should be perpetually happy, and because the truth is that the culture doesn't actually mind if women are unhappy – so long as we keep it to ourselves.
Women's distress directed inward – from eating disorders to feelings of inadequacy – keeps the status quo moving along, with diet pills selling through the roof and women asking for promotions far less often than their male counterparts. But when our dissatisfaction takes an outward turn, people get uncomfortable. Then, women's emotions are "hysterical" or over-the-top. Anything less than a bubbly disposition means that we're "bitches". Hell hath no fury like a man who finds a woman displeasing.