I’m a feminist. I challenge myself each and every day to take an active role in propelling my gender forward, unrestrained by men and their outlook on the world. Perhaps most importantly, I try to get a couple of my (named) gals together each day and shoot the shit about something other than a man just so I can pass the Bechdel Test, and I pass it every time! As long as you don’t count Bigfoot as a man.
I must say, passing the Bechdel Test is kind of a breeze for me. I don’t have a boyfriend or a male boss whose wants and needs dominate my conversations with other women. I surround myself with female friends, and men simply don’t come up too often in my day-to-day conversations, primarily because I only talk about one thing: My unrelenting obsession with a certain hairy beast who has occupied North America’s many beautiful forests for several millennia.
Bigfoot is a multi-hyphenate: a Gemini, a lover, a cryptid whose repeat appearances have created a nearly impenetrable aura and mystique around what is an undoubtedly tortured soul. But there is one thing Bigfoot is not: a man. That’s why I can proudly say I pass the famed Bechdel Test each and every time I speak to another woman about Bigfoot.
Take yesterday for example: I was eating lunch with my friend Kaylee, and she asked me if I had any plans for the weekend. “Does Bigfoot throw rocks and audibly strike trees as a form of communication?” I responded excitedly. She replied with a hesitant yes, which I interpreted as a green light to tell her at length about the extensive collection of Bigfoot art and memorabilia I would be bidding on at Christie’s come Saturday. Because women have varied and complex interests!!
Unfortunately, Kaylee totally forgot about a “super important” work meeting she had to attend, so the conversation ended rather abruptly, even though it was passing the Bechdel Test with flying colors, assuming you count Bigfoot as an unknowable entity rather than a man. As you should.
Despite my female friends constantly rushing off to emergency babysit their cousin’s kids or handle a really pressing church matter, I know they appreciate my commitment to feminism by prioritizing topics other than men in our conversations.
And hey, if Bigfoot can spend centuries walking alone in the woods, constantly dodging bloodthirsty paparazzi and avoiding the potentially fatal mistake of leaving DNA evidence, then I can blaze a new, progressive trail, too.