Loading summary
Amrata
I can grant, like charitably that I don't think like Amrata's immune from like the more like wholesome and tender female emotions. Like she, you know, women do need men and we need something from them and we're better off when we're getting along with them. But she adopts again, this like invulnerable and crass feminist attitude. I know to like not acknowledge that she's hurt and disappointed. And that's okay.
Commentator
I saw her doing something and it's not dogmatic commentary. Yeah, well, she talks like there was some clip that the cut was peddling where she's talking about like, what makes a good personal essay. And she says like, exactly that. That like, you have to really be willing to like, take a good hard look at yourself or whatever and like make fun of yourself. And I was like, you're not, you're not doing that.
Amrata
Yeah, I mean, I guess she sort of is because in the end she acknowledges that much like her victim Persona, her villain Persona was a put on and it was a product. I'll pull up the quote.
Commentator
She admits that the victim Persona never really gets eviscerated. The victim Persona is still intact because that's what she really like is connected to.
Amrata
Yeah, she feels like that in spite of the fact that like, yeah, she should be grateful that like she, she literally is like a beautiful young woman with a beautiful son. She's rich, she's famous, her parents are still alive. She probably has a fleet of nannies. Like her life is like not that bad in the grand scheme of things. As like far as single moms go, she's doing all right. And she, she says something. I think the one really self aware thing that she says is that I've never been connected to my own desires. It was all ridiculous. A silly performances with no substance. This is when she's saying that she's just as misguided and vulnerable as she was in her 20s. But that's not exactly true. She is connected to her desires. It's just that her desires aren't really about like love or intimacy. They're about one upmanship and competition and power. Like, her view of the world is very like zero sum and antagonistic.
Commentator
Well, and it's very like you said, it's very like invulnerable. Because to actually voice something that you actually want that isn't just like to have something someone else has or to make someone feel bad or to enact some kind of like vengeance on your ex husband is actually vulnerable.
Amrata
Yes.
Commentator
And To. Yeah. Actually, like, live in feelings of, like, inadequacy and shame and, like, the desire that's wrapped up with those.
Amrata
Yes.
Commentator
Is, like, way more humane.
Amrata
Yeah. And makes for a good personal essay, which is why Lena Dunham personal essays always knock it out of the park.
Commentator
Right? Yeah. But, like, yeah, narrating this fantasy of you being Aaron Brockovich of Canal street
Amrata
is, well, it's just so dishonorable to yourself and to your child. And, like, she's a classic feminist confessional writer in that, like, all feminism is wishful thinking. The most common mode you see is, like, the Handmaid's Tale scenario where it's like a wish expressed as an anxiety. The patriarchy forcing women into sexual slavery. And then there's also the wish expressed as, like, bravado or bluster.
Commentator
Like, I'm.
Amrata
I'm a bad girl. I'm a villain.
Commentator
I'm a. I'm a. I'm anchor. Yeah.
Amrata
Yeah. Her date with the elder millennial ends with her sucking him off, even though she doesn't respect him or find him attractive or particularly, like, spending time with him. Perfect.
Commentator
Continues, like, disparage him throughout the essay. Yeah, that's great.
Amrata
I was like, why would you, as a hot woman, reveal that you only sleep with losers? Like, you realize that makes your real estate go down. That doesn't make you relatable.
Commentator
I mean, that makes you look bad. Yeah, she says.
Amrata
Perfect. I thought. He didn't even think he had a chance with me walking into this. Which meant that when I found myself on my knees in front of him an hour later in his half empty apartment filled with cardboard boxes, a fiddle leaf fig typical, and a bookshelf on which the books had been organized by color. I was especially satisfied by his expression when I looked. When he looked down at me, he couldn't believe I was putting his dick in my mouth. He told me I looked like Cleopatra when I gave head. I'd found everything. I come. I'd come there for a praying mantis devouring her mate. This. This was really sad because, like, first of all, you don't. You don't have to look like Amrada to have men, like, fall all over you and suck a guy. You could look half as good as Amrada and they'll still be looking down at you like, oh, oh, oh, my God. Like, they're just happy to be in the presence of a. Of a five or a six.
Commentator
And yeah, I mean, the real bad,
Amrata
you only sleep with the ugly loser men.
Commentator
Men pretending like they didn't even think they had a chance with you is also like shtick that they do. Yeah. To fuck you.
Amrata
Yeah.
Commentator
Like, you're not. You're not pulling a fast on on this guy by giving him talk.
Amrata
I know.
Red Scare – "First Person Gooner" TEASER
June 27, 2026
In this Red Scare teaser, hosts Anna Khachiyan and Dasha Nekrasova (with a guest commentator) dissect the evolving genre of feminist confessional writing through the lens of a recent personal essay by a figure they refer to as "Amrata." The discussion navigates themes of vulnerability versus performative bravado, the limits of self-awareness in personal essays, the pitfalls of projecting antagonism in relationships, and how supposedly subversive confessionalism sometimes reveals more about power and competition than true self-examination.
The conversation’s tone is incisive, acerbic, and laced with a certain world-weary amusement at the cultural scripts of contemporary feminism and the confessional essay form. The hosts’ banter is dense with social criticism, yet retains the gossipy intimacy familiar to Red Scare listeners.
In this Red Scare teaser, Anna and Dasha dismantle the postures and pitfalls of a certain brand of feminist confessional essay-writing. They point out the limitations in Amrata's “victim” and “villain” personas, arguing that true vulnerability (not bravado or competitive antagonism) is what makes for powerful, resonant writing—and authentic relationships. By scrutinizing Amrata’s sexual vignettes and supposed self-realizations, they reveal how the genre’s aspirations to honesty can ironically end up reinforcing competitive and self-pitying narratives, instead of the strength and self-awareness the genre claims to value.