It’s not the same thing at all. I’d be more worried about you if you weren’t angry. I hear you, though; it’s one thing to be thought of as “a Black woman who’s righteously angry,” and another to be dismissed as “an angry Black woman.”

If I say something about the #MeToo movement, I’m a “militant feminist” even though I don’t even know what that means. I’d like to burn my bra, but that’s between me and my not-quite-18-hour bra, not part of a movement.

If I talk about racism, I’m a “social justice warrior.” Like, how do you even say that and manage to make it sound like a bad thing? It’s like declaring “antifa” a “terrorist organization” when (a) it’s NOT an organization at all; and (b) it stands for “anti-fascist” — weren’t all decent people against fascism, once upon a time?

I don’t believe the troublemakers at the protests were “antifa.” I think they were just people looking for trouble. A handful of cosplaying “anarchists,” like little Miss Pink Backpack and her friend. (I am acquainted with a few real anarchists. They weren’t out throwing Molotov cocktails. I doubt they were out there at all. Mostly pontificating and philosophizing on Facebook.)

If I don’t laugh at racist and misogynistic jokes, I’m a humorless bitch. When I was young and single, if I didn’t find a man attractive, I was “frigid.” Because of course it couldn’t possibly be that I simply didn’t like him or his tasteless, tacky, hateful jokes.

I’m just tired knowing that so little has changed in my lifetime. I thought it had. I really thought it had. And I’m sorry that it hasn’t.