Wandering Thoughts | The Wandering Manc
Well, we've officially made it.
Not because we've sold a million sweatshirts. Not because we've become a household name. And certainly not because I've retired to a beach somewhere, drinking cocktails and watching the money roll in.
No.
We've received hate mail.
Actual, genuine, somebody-took-time-out-of-their-day-to-tell-us-they-don't-like-our-stuff hate mail.
And I have to say, I'm rather touched.
There's something wonderfully reassuring about knowing that somewhere out there, a grown adult saw a piece of clothing they didn't like and decided that simply scrolling past wasn't an option.
They had to say something.
Of course they did.
The Lost Art of Shutting the Fuck Up
Now, I've been on the internet long enough to know that not everyone is going to like everything.
That's fine. That's how the world works.
Some people like our designs. Some people don't. Some people think they're hilarious. Others probably think I need professional help.
All perfectly reasonable positions.
But there's a particular behaviour I've noticed, predominantly amongst men, that genuinely fascinates me.
The apparent inability to encounter something they dislike without announcing their displeasure to the world.
It's almost impressive.
A sweatshirt appears on their screen. It doesn't appeal to them. Perhaps the message challenges something they believe. Perhaps it's simply not their sense of humour.
At this point, several options are available.
They could scroll past.
They could close the page.
They could go and make a cup of tea.
They could quite literally do anything else with their lives.
But no.
They must comment.
They must explain.
They must ensure that a complete stranger understands, in no uncertain terms, that they personally disapprove.
And I find myself asking one simple question.
Who the fuck asked?
An Interesting Question About Anonymity
Here's something else that occurred to me.
The messages we received weren't exactly accompanied by an invitation to meet for coffee and discuss our creative differences.
There was a degree of anonymity involved.
Which got me thinking.
Would those comments have been anonymous if I'd been a woman?
It's a genuine question.
Would the tone have been different? Would the criticism have been more personal? Would the people sending it have felt even more entitled to explain why a woman shouldn't be expressing herself in a particular way?
Or would they have been quite so comfortable saying it to someone's face?
I don't know.
And I'm not going to pretend I can answer that definitively.
But it's an interesting question, isn't it?
Because when you start looking at how women are spoken to online, particularly women who are outspoken, confident or unwilling to apologise for taking up space, certain patterns become difficult to ignore.
Not every man behaves this way.
But enough do that it's worth talking about.
And That Brings Us to the Feminist Range
Here's the funny thing.
When I started The Wandering Manc, I didn't sit down with a grand plan to make feminist clothing.
I wanted to make original designs. Things that made people laugh, raised an eyebrow, or occasionally made someone slightly uncomfortable.
Preferably all three.
But the more I thought about the way people interact, particularly the way some men feel compelled to offer women their unsolicited opinions, the more the feminist range started to take shape.
And the irony is beautiful.
Because some of the very attitudes that inspired those designs are now turning up in our inbox.
You genuinely couldn't write it.
Well, apparently you can. I'm doing it now.
Take a design like "NO IS A COMPLETE SENTENCE."
It's hardly a revolutionary concept.
No doesn't require a supporting statement, a PowerPoint presentation or a detailed explanation of why somebody's feelings might be hurt.
It means no.
Or "TOO LOUD. TOO CLEVER. TOO FREE."
Three characteristics that ought to be celebrated, yet somehow still manage to make certain people uncomfortable when displayed by women.
And perhaps my favourite sentiment of the lot:
"SHUSH! I DIDN'T ASK."
Which, given recent events, I'm seriously considering having printed on my forehead.
These aren't designs born from a hatred of men.
They're born from frustration with entitlement.
The assumption that somebody else's existence, appearance, choices or opinions are an open invitation for commentary.
They aren't.
The Irony Isn't Lost on Me
Yes, I appreciate that I've just spent several hundred words giving my opinion about people giving their opinions.
The irony hasn't escaped me.
But there's a distinction between expressing an opinion in your own space and going out of your way to force it upon someone who never asked for it.
This is our blog.
You chose to read it.
Nobody dragged you here and demanded you listen.
And that, really, is the point.
You're perfectly entitled to dislike our clothing.
You're entitled to think our humour is dreadful.
You're even entitled to think the bloke behind the brand is a complete knobhead.
Some days, I'd probably agree with you.
But here's the wonderful thing about the internet.
You don't have to engage with everything you encounter.
It's genuinely that simple.
So, to Our First Haters…
Thank you.
Not sarcastically. Well, not entirely.
You've reminded me why I started creating things that say something in the first place.
You've provided a little entertainment, a bit of inspiration and, rather conveniently, this week's blog post.
You've also reinforced something I believe quite strongly.
We don't need everyone to like us.
We don't need everyone to agree with us.
And we certainly don't need permission to make clothing that reflects our sense of humour, our values or our occasionally questionable taste.
If you like what we're doing, brilliant. You're more than welcome here.
If you don't?
That's absolutely fine too.
Just remember that scrolling past is free.
And unlike our sweatshirts, it comes with absolutely no delivery charge.
Original clothing. Questionable taste.
The Wandering Manc
#YoureNobodyTillSomebodyHatesYou