I am writing as an ugly one for the ugly ones: the old hags, the dykes, the frigid, the unfucked, the unfuckables, the neurotics, the psychos, for all those girls who don’t get a look in the universal market of the consumable chick. I’m making no excuses for myself. I’m not complaining. I would never swap places, because it seems to me that being Virginie Despentes is a more interesting business than anything else going on out there.

Nice, clever, and punk (rather than just angry) personal essays on sex, sexes, rape, pornography, prostitution. This is from 2006 and is written in broad strokes: men and women are the two categories used for this analysis of their relationship and mutual exploitation by the State/Capital.

Family, warlike virility, modesty—all the traditional moral values are intended to keep the genders in their assigned role. Men as soldiers for the state, women as the slaves of men. In the end we are all enslaved, our sexualities confiscated, policed, and normalized. There is always a social class which has an interest in maintaining things as they are, and which does not tell the truth about its deeper motives.

In traditional feminist fashion, she tells about both female and male oppressions and how they articulate.

There has been a feminist revolution. Words have been spoken, despite decorum, despite hostility. And continue to be. But for the time being, on masculinity, nothing. The appalled silence of the sensitive little boy. We’ve had about enough. The supposedly stronger sex must constantly be protected, reassured, looked after, spared. Protected from the truth. That women are rogues, too, and that men are mothers and whores, all in the same bewildering boat.