Judith Butler may be best-known for her post-structuralist theories of gender and her ongoing beef with the Vatican, but that’s not why we’re here today. Today, like so many days, is about unpacking my feelings of intellectual inadequacy through various proxies. So let’s dive right in.
Almost no inadequacy triggered here. Judith looks open and approachable, as if I’ve met her at a book signing and said something kind but not particularly insightful. Am I a bit intimidated by her having a better version of my haircut? Obviously. But I’ll live.
Anyone would be intimidated by that blazer, but it’s the mysterious half-smile which looses the first stirrings of not-enoughness. Did you find that Foucault pun charming, Judith, or are you only humoring me?
I mispronounced Lacan and everything is ruined now.
Oh no, not this blazer again. She definitely didn’t like the Foucault thing. Stupid, stupid!
Fine, I admit it: I don’t totally understand performative utterance and never will. I don’t even know what possessed me to bring it up. Please stop looking at me like that.
She’s not mad, she’s disappointed. That’s even worse.
No, wait, I take it back. Mad is worse. Much, much worse. I’ve got to get out of here.