"As long as you don't whip it out and show them, you're probably fine. Although, you can never be quite sure in this day and age. You could tell them, and then suddenly the headline says you showed them, just because the outrage would get more clicks."

"Are you saying they make up those Me Too stories?" Zac asked.

"God, no. Not at all. I have a huge amount of empathy for those women."

"Have you ever experienced anything like that?"

"I've never been raped before, thank God. But I have been followed by men. Like, really followed, in a stalkery way — in the middle of the day and at night, just walking around town, minding my own business. I've had men walk past me and grope my ass, just because they felt like it. When I was fundraising in Silicon Valley, I went out to lunch with a potential investor, and he put his hand on my upper thigh. I was twenty years old, for God's sake! I was just thinking, 'What the fuck is happening?' It was very confusing.

By far, my worst experience was being sexually assaulted by a complete stranger on a train in the middle of the day, though. It was the dirtiest, most disgusting feeling I've ever had in my life. I went straight home and showered for about an hour. When you talk privately with other women, it's surprising how common it is."

"Oh." Zac looked a bit awkward. "Do you want to talk about-"

"No, not really. It happened, and it could have been a lot worse so I was actually quite fortunate. Anyway, my point was not about the Me Too movement. It was about journalistic integrity and truth-telling. Like, when I wrote that viral failure article five years ago, it was quite a long article that took about twenty minutes to read. There were only one or two sentences that alluded to some subtle sexism. I think I said something like, 'I split-tested high heels versus flats when going to these male-dominated investor events, and high heels definitely got more attention.'

After the article went viral, all these publications wanted to interview me. A surprising number of them only wanted to talk about that line. I found that odd at the time, considering it was a throwaway line and not the point of the story.

So I did their interviews. Afterward, I remember one article came out in a decently popular online publication, and the whole thing was just an insane distortion of the truth. The headline, and then the entire article, made me sound like a victim of the patriarchy — like I was a little girl throwing a tantrum because the Big Bad Men wouldn't give me money for my silly little fashion business.

It was honestly disgusting. I am not a victim. My life is the epitome of privilege and my business failed because I fucked up. They wouldn't even let me take responsibility for my own failure and it really pissed me off. If I succeed, then 'Rah rah, go feminism!' If I fail, then 'Oh, it was the patriarchy.' That's not a very empowering message for young women. It's like a corrupt form of capitalism — let's privatize the gains and socialize the losses.

Anyway, the same kind of thing happened a few times. I'd tell the truth and they'd manipulate and distort it into what they wanted the truth to be so that they could get clicks. Every single one of the journalists who took on that female victim angle — and I'm talking all of them — were women. So much for feminism, eh? Then afterward, I was talking to my girl friend-"

"You have a girlfriend?!" Zac asked. "Nikki, you didn't tell me you were that way inclined…"

"What? No. My girl — space — friend. My girl, who is a friend. A friend who is of the female variety."

"Oh. That is disappointing," he frowned. "Have you kissed a girl before?"

I stared at Zac. "I was shipped off to an all-girls boarding school for seven years. There were communal showers. What do you think?"

"Oh, I like this story. Tell me more about these communal showers…"

I slowly pointed north, to the silhouette of an old building perched on top of the hill that overlooked the harbor. "Do you see that building up there, out yonder?"

"Yes…"

"That was the boarding house. And in that boarding house — which was only for females aged eighteen or older, of course-"

"Of course," he nodded.

"-there existed a giant communal shower. And we would all get naked together and wash each other in the shower and make out."

"How often did this happen?" Zac asked, eyes wide.

"Every night."

"Really?" His eyes grew wider.

"No, dumbass. Of course not. But if that were a clickbaity headline, you'd have tapped your mouse sooooo quickly-"

"Ew, Nikki! I would never tap a mouse. Bestiality is revolting!"

I scrunched up my face in disgust. "Jesus! Your mind is so gross."

"Relative to what?"

"Relative to a mind that is not gross. Anyway, I was merely pointing out that you would have clicked on that clickbait headline because I'm telling you exactly what you want to hear. And who cares if it's the truth or not if it plays into your fantasy of what you want to be true?

You see, I'm not incentivized to tell it like it is. I win when I get clicks; you win when you get to maintain the delusions and fantasies in your head that make you feel good about yourself. Your predictability makes you very easy to manipulate. I can hook strings into your mind and make you dance like a puppet.

This is what I find so irritating. I'm all for building women up so that they know they are capable of being whoever they want to be — whether that's a stay-at-home mom who creates a beautiful home and family, or a CEO who creates a multi-billion dollar empire. They're both equally valid goals, and one of those moms is going to raise a son or daughter who changes the world. Thus, her work is of great service to society.

But I'm not okay with being the pawn in someone else's fucked up agenda telling women in developed countries that they're victims just because they have boobs. They're not. They're capable of being total badasses if they choose to be. They've got obstacles ahead of them, and yes — the system is built upon masculine values and is deeply flawed in so many ways — but conditions are never perfect. If you wait around for conditions to be perfect in the world, you'll never get anything useful done.

Because while some women are busy reading that terribly untruthful article painting me as a victim of the patriarchy and nodding along, thinking, 'Yep, I may as well not try because the patriarchy will keep me down anyway, just as I thought… yep, better stay in my comfort zone of mediocrity' — while they're busy doing that, there are other women out there of all shapes and sizes and colors and backgrounds who are on a fucking mission. The world moves out of their way as they come charging through. We should all aspire to be more like them. The journalists should be writing stories about them."