When Women Hate Men, It’s Called Survival

Spend five minutes online and you’ll see it: a woman says something true about sexism, and suddenly there’s a man in her replies shouting, “That’s misandry!”

He thinks he’s exposed hypocrisy. He thinks he’s found the feminist weak spot. The irony, of course, is that the existence of his outrage proves her point. Because misandry and misogyny are not the same thing — not historically, not socially, and certainly not in the damage they cause.

One kills. The other hurts feelings.

Pretending they’re equal isn’t just lazy — it’s dangerous.

The Scale of the Problem

Misogyny isn’t an attitude. It’s an ecosystem. It’s built into our laws, our media, our religions, and the unwritten rules of everyday life. It’s why women check the back seat of their cars before getting in. It’s why we text friends to say, “Home safe.” It’s why we clutch our keys like weapons and plan our routes home as if survival is a strategy.

Misogyny kills women. Literally.

The Femicide Census — which has tracked every woman killed by a man in the UK since 2009 — shows that on average, one woman is killed by a man every three days. That’s not metaphor, not exaggeration, and not a one-off. It’s the steady rhythm of a culture that refuses to change.

One woman. Every three days.

Now, compare that to misandry. There’s no equivalent statistic because there’s no equivalent system. No long-term census of men murdered by women simply for being men. No pattern of female violence woven into the structure of society. Misandry doesn’t shape the economy, influence policy, or fill morgues.

It might bruise egos, but it doesn’t end lives.

“But Hate Is Hate!”

Whenever women express anger, someone inevitably appears to moralise: “But hate is hate!”

No. Context is everything. Power is everything.

If someone punches you in the face and you shout, “I hate you,” that’s not the same as the punch. Your anger is a reaction to harm. Their violence is the harm.

Misogyny is the punch. Misandry is the bruise that heals into self-protection.

When men hate women, it manifests as control — laws, violence, pay gaps, harassment, domination. When women say they hate men, it manifests as fear, exhaustion, and a refusal to play nice anymore.

One maintains power. The other resists it.

Misandry Isn’t Dangerous — It’s Defensive

When women express misandry, men clutch their pearls as though civilisation itself is under attack. They seem genuinely frightened — but not of violence. Of irrelevance.

Because when a woman says, “I hate men,” what she usually means is, “I hate what men have done to me, to my friends, to my mother, to the world.” It’s not a random act of bigotry. It’s cumulative trauma turned into language. It’s shorthand for centuries of fear and exhaustion.

When a man hates women, women die. When a woman hates men, she stops returning texts.

That is the difference.

Why Men Panic About Misandry

Men panic about misandry because it flips the mirror. For once, they’re forced to imagine themselves on the receiving end of the same collective disdain they’ve normalised towards women for centuries.

But misandry isn’t personal. It’s political fatigue. It’s not about your boyfriend who holds doors open or your dad who cooks Sunday roast. It’s about living in a world where men’s comfort is constantly prioritised over women’s safety, where entire governments debate what women can do with their bodies, and where “not all men” has become the most predictable interruption to any feminist conversation.

When women say they hate men, they’re not generalising; they’re summarising.

They’re talking about the man who follows them home from the bus stop. The boss who tells them to smile more. The stranger who touches them at a bar. The boyfriend who apologises with flowers instead of change.

They’re talking about patterns. Not people.

The Weaponisation of “Misandry”

“Misandry” is one of patriarchy’s favourite red herrings. It’s pulled out whenever a woman speaks too loudly, too directly, or too truthfully about misogyny.

A woman says, “Men commit most violent crime.” A man replies, “That’s sexist.”

A woman says, “I don’t feel safe around strange men.” A man insists, “That’s misandry.”

And just like that, the conversation shifts from women’s lived experiences to men’s hurt feelings.

It’s a sleight of hand designed to shut women up. The goal isn’t equality — it’s silence. Because if men can make women feel guilty for reacting to oppression, they never have to confront the oppression itself.

Misandry isn’t a problem to solve; it’s a symptom to understand.

The False Equivalence Problem

Equating misandry and misogyny is like saying being angry at billionaires is the same as being a billionaire. One side holds all the power; the other side is simply tired of being crushed by it.

When people claim both are equal, they erase scale. They erase history. They erase power.

Misogyny has shaped the world for thousands of years — from property laws that treated women as possessions to religions that call us temptresses, to political systems that still debate whether we deserve bodily autonomy. Misandry, meanwhile, exists mostly on the internet, in memes, TikToks, and exasperated group chats.

One controls lives. The other vents frustration.

And yet, somehow, women expressing anger at systemic injustice is seen as more alarming than the injustice itself.

What Misandry Really Is

Misandry isn’t violence. It’s refusal. It’s the moment women stop apologising for their boundaries. It’s the decision not to educate men who treat feminism like a personal insult. It’s women saying, “I don’t need to fix you anymore.”

For generations, women were taught to soothe men’s egos, to temper their own pain, to smile through discomfort, to forgive endlessly. Misandry is the collective moment when women stopped doing that.

It’s not hatred; it’s self-preservation.

When women say they hate men, they’re often saying, “I hate what men’s power has cost me.” They’re not seeking vengeance — they’re seeking peace. And that’s what terrifies patriarchy most of all: women who no longer need men for safety, validation, or identity.

The Real Danger

The real danger isn’t misandry. It’s the fact that we still treat women’s anger as a moral failure while excusing men’s violence as “a moment of madness.”

When women speak with rage, it’s labelled hysteria. When men act with rage, it’s labelled humanity.

Misandry doesn’t write laws. Misandry doesn’t deny anyone access to healthcare, safety, or education. Misogyny does all of that — globally, daily, and unapologetically.

This isn’t about demonising men. It’s about naming what exists. It’s about saying that women’s resistance is not equal to their oppression.

Final Thoughts

Misandry and misogyny are not two sides of the same coin. One is a centuries-old system of domination. The other is the inevitable recoil from it.

When men hate women, it becomes culture. When women hate men, it becomes therapy.

Misogyny is violence, fear, and control. Misandry is the refusal to be polite about it anymore.

So no, they’re not equal. And the next time someone tries to derail a conversation about patriarchy with “but misandry!”, remind them of this:

Misandry doesn’t kill. Misogyny does.

If you’re a man who made it this far — first of all, thank you. If you agree, or if you have your own perspective to add, I’d love to hear it in the comments. I’m especially looking for examples of men who are genuinely trying to understand, listen, and do their part.

And if you liked this piece, you can find more of my work — essays on feminism, culture, and uncomfortable truths — on my profile under No One’s Daughter.