The Weeknd

On Saturday night, I had a dream that I met The Weeknd in line for the bathroom at a bar and he invited me to sit with him and talk about feminism. WHAT?! I woke up sweating and panting. It was the most wondrous dream I've had since whenever the last time I dreamt about dragons was.

It's the dreads; they get me every time.

Are you all familiar with The Weeknd? If not, let me tell you about him: His name is Abel (!), and he's from Canada. He's also disgusting, misogynistic, possibly a sexual predator, and I'm in love with him. I'm not sure how to negotiate my feelings for him because he personifies everything I stand against, clearly. I feel guilty listening to his music, which I do almost always. I try to justify this by fantasizing (and apparently dreaming) that his musical identity is ironic, that he is drawing on people's most basic impulses to prove some kind of point (I haven't figured out what that point is yet...). Most likely, though, he is just high and entitled.

BUT THAT VOICE.

Everything I've ever said about girl power can be discounted by listening to this remix. I feel like I need to go to therapy about this.  Do you know how hard it is to be a feminist who likes hip-hop?

See what I did there?