The Wolf, the Egg, and the Fastest Sperm Myth
Yesterday, a man appeared in my Insta comments. He left remarks under several posts—each one soaked in a tone that, for me, screams red flag. I usually have a good radar for the energy and intention behind a comment. I don’t always block immediately, unless it’s absolutely necessary. But maybe it’s time to reconsider that approach. So far, my gut has never been wrong. And in the end, I block them anyway.
What lay beneath his comments was clear after the first two. This man has a problem with women. One of those who show up disguised in sheep’s clothing—dropping in the occasional question, offering selective praise for certain women. But between the lines it’s crystal clear. He has a towering issue with women. Not just me. Women in general.
This sheep’s clothing—posing as a man interested in fair discourse—was barely holding together. Underneath, a wolf. Not the fairytale kind. The kind that smiles politely while quietly sharpening its teeth. A wolf who—whether through personal experience (not my job to diagnose) or because patriarchy’s got him by the throat—harbors a deep, festering hatred for women. Right there in the depths of his wolf-soul. And he likely has no idea. Which, frankly, makes it worse. Because the dangerous ones are always the ones who think they’re just being “reasonable.”
This hatred—or, if you're into New Age spirituality, fear—isn’t just personal, it’s structural. Passed down, absorbed, dressed in social norms, and worn like an invisible uniform. The face of it has changed, yes. But it’s still walking among us.
And the real danger hides behind what passes as “normal.” That slow, invisible erosion. In most societies, patriarchal male behavior isn’t called misogynistic unless it’s extreme. Beating, raping, murdering—those are the “monsters,” the “exceptions.” But most see themselves as the norm, see themselves as the so-called “good men”—harmless, reasonable, decent. The ones who are nice. Who don’t hit or kill. Who say they “love” women. But somehow never show up to fight for women’s rights. Who say they “need” women. Emphasis on need. Emphasis on desire.
But desiring women is not the same as respecting them as equal human beings. Desiring women often looks a lot more like desiring a fast car. Let’s talk about the car. Because the car—yes, the car—has everything to do with patriarchy. With men. With women. With humans. You start to see it when you really dig into it.
Now we’re getting philosophical. This part is inspired by Kilian Jörg, who wrote a book on the subject. These are my words, shaped by his ideas.
The car is more than a way to get from A to B. It’s myth. It’s psychology. It’s history. It’s deeply symbolic, obsessively materialistic, unapologetically patriarchal—and, naturally, wildly capitalist.
The car represents desire. Like a beautiful woman, it’s something to possess. Something to conquer. And yet—it also offers protection. According to Jörg, the car embodies both the phallus and the uterus. The phallus viewed through a patriarchal lens: speed, aggression, competition, domination. The rush of getting ahead. Of leaving others behind.
But also the uterus—because inside a car, we’re sealed off. Sounds dull to a hum. We’re held, shielded from the chaos outside. Safe. Contained. Ready to escape—unless traffic reminds us we’re still part of the system.
In the end, the car is an extension of our reproductive organs and the desires they carry. It’s a projection of the psyche. And those desires are thoroughly shaped by patriarchy.
I love Kilian Jörg for his work.
Even our understanding of reproduction is steeped in this mythology. My sister sent me a video—one I shared in my Insta stories today—where a woman explains a 2020 study that debunks the classic sperm race myth. Turns out, it’s not the fastest, strongest sperm that wins. The egg chooses. It selects the sperm it’s most compatible with. The egg isn’t passive. She doesn’t wait for the “alpha.” She picks her match.
Let that sink in.
We’ve been taught a version of biology that flatters the (patriarchal) masculine. That mirrors a worldview where dominance and competition define value. But that’s not how life begins. Even fertilization isn’t about conquest. It’s about choice.
The male lens on the world permeates everything. Patriarchy has been thorough. Surgical. Impressive, if it weren’t so damaging.
And the need for change is obvious to most of us. We’re living in a time of self-inflicted crises. A time of extremes. A time of unraveling—and of potential transformation. If we want to survive ourselves, this transformation has to be total. Structural. Psychological. Sensual. It has to reach down into our desires, not just our opinions.
Because facts don’t change people. Feelings do. And until we shift how we feel about women—how we see them, want them, fear them—nothing will really change.
Even women aren’t exempt. Internalized misogyny is real. But here’s the difference: women rarely kill women. Men do. Misogyny. Misogynoir (the hatred against Black women, term coined by Black feminist writer Moya Bailey). Femicide. The most brutal forms of woman-hatred are still the least discussed.
This morning, I tried to explain patriarchy to my son. He’s still small. I stumbled through it clumsily, as you do with big words and small ears. He listened, nodded solemnly, and declared that he wants to help more around the house now. Then he put away his toys. Without being asked.
It’s a start.
If this resonated with you, moved you, or made you pause and reflect – consider this your cue. I’ve set up a virtual tip jar via Buy Me a Coffee. No monthly commitments, no strings, no memberships required.
Your sweet kindness helps keep the thoughts flowing, the energy exchange intact, and the glow of my inner goddess alive. It won’t fix capitalism, but it might buy me five minutes of joy (or at least a cortado).
Gracias. Thank you. Jërëjëf. Merci. Obrigada. Danke. Arigatō. Medaase. Grazie. Hvala. Tack. Asante. Shukran. Teşekkürler. Dziękuję.
