Am I psychologically fucked by the stereotypes that society and our culture have cultivated? I asked myself this question as I reflected on Natalie Angier's "Woman", particularly, as I grazed the pages of chapter eighteen: Of Hoggamus and Hogwash. Oh, the chapter of love. I’m a feminist, and while this obviously doesn’t mean that I am opposed to love or relationships, I feel like it should have meant that I could read Angier’s piece objectively instead of searching through her words and trying to “read between the lines” of her text in order to find the answers to my failed relationships and subpar love life.
