The Feminine as Structural Problem
Twelve years ago, I committed to a life in philosophy—knowing it meant poverty and prolonged adolescence. Years of it. Maybe forever, given the job market’s generosity toward philosophers! And my commitment hasn’t wavered. How could it? Philosophy does something almost nothing else can: whether I’m reading, writing, teaching, or lost in dialogue, it lifts me beyond the bounds of identity—beyond being a grad student with no real job, Iranian, cisgender, immigrant, daughter, sister—beyond every label pinned to me. But not in an erasing way; I am still each of them, yet for a moment, I become something more. What strikes me about my ongoing commitment to philosophy is that the deeper I go, the more feminist I become! Yet my experience of academic philosophy has largely disclosed the opposite: a discipline that solemnly declares its devotion to openness proves curiously unsettled by me as a woman—and, more precisely, by my perceived femininity. This discomfort is not a private or isolated experience unique to me; rather, the incompatibility of femininity with intellect appears to be deeply embedded in …






