Attack of the Sex Pixies

So apparently the Sex Pox have a new name. We’re the Sex Pixies now. Which is cute, I suppose. At least they’re not comparing sex positive women to a disease that causes boils and then death any more, right?

In honor of the new name I decided to make a sex pixie of my own (credit to Kiya for the idea). Isn’t she cute? With her widdle wings?





Now here’s the thing. This whole sex pixie business…I’m assuming it’s meant to appeal to one’s memory of childhood fairy tales in which the pixies were adorable but fundamentally untrustworthy creatures who did things like steal babies and generally caused trouble for decent, law-abiding people. Yes, dear, we get the analogy. We, the sex pixies, are the harbingers of the Patriarchy, pure evil wrapped in a cute shiny package designed to hide our true (evil…did I mention that we’re evil?) natures. All we do is cause trouble for nice honest decent feminist women, with our suspicious affection for grooming rituals and pretty shoes and our tendency to pretend (admit) that we sometimes enjoy sex, even sex with men! Oh, the horrors! Don’t panic, I have your smelling salts right here. Go ahead, take them. I won’t be needing them since I’m not prone to fainting spells.

Nothing but trouble, the sex pixies. All we do is make other feminists look bad, and give men the idea that not all women view them with the maiden aunt’s jaundiced eye. The good feminists know that we don’t really like sex or shoes or booze or any of the other stuff we say we like, we’re just kissing ass so that the boys will like us. Because we have no needs or desires of our own. Women aren’t sexual, you know, not like men, those brutes. Plus we make other women feel bad, what with being so bright and shiny and what the hell does she think she’s wearing, that slut? Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to slip out. What I meant was I feel so sorry for you because you have yet to see the light, my sister. Come sit with me and I shall explain it to you. Yes, I know that I’ve explained it a billion times before and you’ve told me you don’t agree, but I know that you will if you just listen harder. Silly little girl, thinking that you can think for yourself. That’s the last thing a feminist should be doing – why, she might draw entirely the wrong conclusions. Better to just let the collective do your thinking for you, because after all, when did that ever not turn out to be the best thing for everyone?

Now that we’ve explained who she is, let’s meet the Sex Pixie (de-winged this time, because they’re less dangerous that way). Be careful, she’s tricksy. Don’t get too close.




Funny thing about the Sex Pixie…turns out that she looks pretty much just like everyone else. In fact, this one looks just like me. Take a good look…is she really all that scary? Does she seem like she’s out to destroy womankind? Or does she in fact look like any other ordinary woman who you might find yourself standing next to in the morning waiting to get coffee, or chatting to on the train, or sharing an office with, or nodding hello to while you’re out walking the dog, or…

Don’t believe it, sisters! Under that friendly smile lies a heart of ice, dedicated to nothing except extending the dominion of the Patriarchy. She doesn’t have thoughts, she doesn’t have feelings – all she has is a maniacal desire to please men. Even if she’s a lesbian. It’s OK to call her a slut or a sociopath or insult her intelligence, because she’s not really a woman. She’s a Sex Pixie.