I consider myself to be a modern, liberal, tolerant, liberal kind of a man.

However, “Clementine”, my online Facebook pal – and waaay more of a Radical Leftie I am – reposted an overly precious Mummy blog.  It had an accompanying status update that I found – dare I say it? – a little sanctimonious.

Anyway, the blog this woman had written was about her 3 year old boy.  This precocious, bright eyed young man was absolutely 100% adamant that he wanted to wear NOTHING but Disney themed princess dresses.  Not wanting to stifle her son’s creativity with some kind of NARC gender bias – and also pleased, no delighted, with her little boy’s display of tolerance and, just, well, Right On-ness –  she allowed this to happen.  Unfortunately, they live on some grotty estate in Newcastle, not entirely blessed with an appreciation for such things.

Why am I wasting space re-writing all this?  Read it yo’ self, muffuggah.

Anyway…  Under Clem’s post, I voiced my concern and bemusement at the actions of the mother.


“Naaaah, I don’t buy it,” I wrote, probably.  “It’s kind of borderline child abuse.”

Well.  Words were exchanged.

Before too long, and in short order, I’d been accused of supporting – if not condoning – rape.

“The words you’re using are LITERALLY the same ones that people use to defend rape!  Just because a woman dresses in a certain way, doesn’t mean she invites rape.  It’s LITERALLY THE SAME THING WITH KIDS IN DRESSES.”

I disagreed, but I also tried to keep things light and brief.  Clem favoured a more serious tone, and preferred the long form response – full of quotes and links to Noam Chomsky and stuff –  which I would skim read.


See, Clem was of the opinion that the only sensible course of action – the RIGHT thing to do – would be to:

  1. Proudly allow your pre-school aged son to wear his pinkest, most elaborate dress
  2. Go out and attend to your business, perhaps buying or selling hemp in the roughest part of town
  3. Go to the busiest public park or soft play
  4. Invite all challengers
  5. Educate anyone who insults you or bullies your child with a reasoned and well thought out debate.

In doing so, any ruffians within earshot would inevitably bend to your will, and walk away feeling refreshed with a different point of view.  What’s more, the world view you presented would then be carried on by The Converted – reworded into their earthier, more basic speak – and fed back into the community (in larger folk gatherings or tribal dances).  Their tales would tell of the wise man who came unto them one day, bearing a boy who was as a girl.  And lo’, the people did rejoice, for they had found peace and understanding.

In no more than two, maybe three generations, intolerance will have been entirely bred out; replaced by a cooler, more gender neutral kind of a vibe, yeah?  Nice.


The point I kept making – at least 3 times, using a different set of words each time – was this:

People are cunts.

For example, I rattled out this little ditty:

“Look, what you’re proposing is going down the Zoo, picking up the biggest, angriest Leopard you can find and then attempting to scrub off its spots with wire wool.  Whilst your 3 year old is watching.  In a dress.

If you’re prepared to do that kind of thing, don’t act all surprised when you get mauled.”

…Something along those lines anyway.  It was probably punchier and better written.

Clem bounced back with something like:

“Look, people AREN’T animals.  That’s LITERALLY what you’re saying. We’re all capable of change, and we all need to be challenged sometimes.  Hiding away from conflict and not sticking up for what you believe in is absolute fucking cowardice.  It’s LITERALLY cowardice.”

Only his was a lot longer, with links to websites.


Well, this kind of this went back and forward with no end in sight.  The longer it raged on, more and more people – Clem’s mates  – started to come out of the woodwork and chip in their two pence.  About 500 words in, I’d informed my bent WhatsApp group that I’m in – all former Media production graduates, ex-housemates, and frenemies – that I was engaged in a heated online debate.

It’s the kind of bent thing we like to do.  That and talk about films.

Truth be told: I felt a little let down by them.  Only one of my mates – a fellow Dad of two – jumped in on the thread, and started thrashing out salient points, and presenting case studies, etc.  Even those on the opposing side offered ‘likes’ in appreciation.  He was, I felt, on my side.

Not so much with the others.

One of them, who lives in that London and makes daytime television programmes, was bemused that I would have any kind of issue.  From his perspective, any toddler NOT seen Gender Bending around Shoreditch or wherever would be viewed with liberal derision… But that’s London for you.  Full of bell ends.

Another one of my mates disagreed, but he’s an out and out communist.  And a criminal.

With Clem, I was genuinely starting to feel sorry for him.  All he’d done was publish the truth and advocate that all children be raised as some kind of homogenized gestalt blob.  Now he was fighting a war on about seven fronts, with each reply warranting a 750 word response – complete with fact checked points and links to a number of websites. And that was just for the people who agreed with him.  It must’ve been exhausting.


My missus arrived home from work – we had plans to go out that evening – and was immediately annoyed with the amount of time I was spending tapping away on my phone.  I knew I only had a brief window left to thrash out another decent quip or two.

For example, after being presented with a 13 point list of things I was supposed to agree or disagree with, I replied with the following:

“Look mate, I’m not even going to respond to all that.

What I will say is this:

If we had it your way, we’d all be living in some neutered, genderless future world.  One with shaven heads and unisex boiler suits; where we all own liberal dogs who are in open, gay marriages.  Probably.

It’d basically be like living in Demolition Man times (only without clearly defined men and women).  You remember Demolition Man don’t you, Clem?

And what happened to the people in the future world of Demolition Man, eh??

Wesley Snipes happened.

Food for thought there.”


This drew nothing but contempt, and an attack on my beloved blog.

“Hey, you do you and I’ll do me.  I didn’t ask you to come on here and comment.  You have a blog, so obviously feel that your words are worth reading…”

And so on.  Also:

“Everything you’ve come out with is LITERALLY just a defense of the status quo.  That’s so, so wrong…”

I could feel an intense thermal of hatred coming towards me both from the screen of my iPhone, and from my wife who was busy glaring at me (whilst feeding the kids, etc.)


Clem’s arguments about gender being a myth – for both humans and animals – had led him down a path fraught with difficulty.  I believe he became locked in a heated debate with a geneticist; one which would go on to dominate much of his time from then on.

Eventually, I managed to walk away from it all – and the WhatsApp group argument – in order to make myself look pretty.  With the kids successfully baby sat, my wife and I fucked off out to join the rest of humanity in watching Guardians of the Galaxy Vol: 2.

Frankly, I couldn’t wait to see the 40 odd Facebook updates I would get to enjoy on the other side!


…And yet, when I turned my phone back on:  Nothing.


I searched for earlier notifications and found that they’d vanished.  With the truth starting to dawn on me, I typed Clementine’s name into the little Facebook search tool:  There he was!

I clicked on the name and was presented with… Nothing.  Some kind of error screen.  One which I received for nobody else.


I’d very clearly been blocked.  Worse still – and this brings us back around to the start of part one in this saga – I had lost a hard earned ‘like’ for the Dadzilla page.

Well, I reasoned, sometimes you have to stand up for what you believe in – which in this case is that:

  1. 3 year olds shouldn’t necessarily have a free choice in what they wear if there’s any kind of potential risk, and
  2. As a parent, no matter what your views on any given topic are, (or stance on gender politics happens to be), your Duty of Care should come first.
  3. Don’t use your small children as Political Pawns.

Oh, and I lost another like the day after, the minute I spent £2 to promote an earlier post.


Reading all of the above, and the stuff from part one, you might think to yourself:

What’s this guy’s problem?  It’s only fucking different coloured fabric.  Who gives a shit?

Hey there buddy.  I agree with you.  BUT…  It’s the ‘death to gender’ stuff that got to me.

Cards on the table:

I like there being two genders.

Whilst I’ve nothing against there being a potential third gender – hi non-binary kids! – I think everyone, or most everyone, wants to be in at least one of the two camps.  Trans-gender people are on their way into, or already living in, one or the other.  They’re not fighting to be a different clan:  They wants in on the boy bus.  Or the girl one.

Bruce Jenner is a beautiful woman now.  Not a third thing, and definitely not nothing.

And I like Status Quo.  A bit.  Everyone does.

…I’m rambling now.  Let’s get back on track.

Allow me to lay out my own uninformed view of Gender based politics.


Alright – taken as read that:

  1. Men and women are equal and deserve the same pay – both in the workplace, in politics and in sport, etc.
  2. Both men and women should have access to the opportunities in life.
  3. Anyone should be able to switch genders if they wish – though on a surgical level this should be subject to some sort of culturally agreed ‘age of consent’ to help avoid irreversible surgical whoopsies.
  4. Boys can play with girls toys, and especially vice versa.

…Plus every other rational thought on the matter of gender politics.  Those are in the bank.  Those are safe.

BUT there are still definable genders, I.e. Male and female. And you shouldn’t dress your poor little boy up like a cunt just to prove how amazing you are.

It’s mainly an ‘age of reason’ thing with me. Gender bend as much as you like from – I dunno – 12 onwards, provided nobody older than you uses that as a license to try and bum you.  Non-consensual, like.

Believe me, I’m all for consensual anal.  Not as much as SOME, – woooo, nowhere near – but provided due care is taken, and hygiene is observed – I definitely wouldn’t view that kind of thing as a sin.

However, that’s not important right now.  Also, we were talking about small children, so I’m uncomfortable with the whole anal tangent.


Well there you have it.

Look, I never claimed to be a journalist, or a good writer even.  You might have found some of the above questionable – or even flat out wrong.  My honest hope is that at least you weren’t bored.

Ultimately, isn’t that the best outcome for everyone concerned?

I certainly like to think so.

See you later, bye!

* waves *





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