It is fantastic, revolutionary, aggressively savvy and the variety of feminism that I dream will one day take root in Britain.
I utterly abhor the negative connotations of feminism: reading feminist blogs from the Middle East and Europe I am struck by the relevance, urgency and potency of the ideology and movement.
In fact, I find it impossible to be a woman and not care about feminism.
However, mention you are a feminist in Britain and you will be greeted by smirks from men and women alike.
The image of dungarees, hairy underarms, man-hating and general butchness continues to prevail after decades, much to my consternation.
Groups like FEMEN are crucial in conveying not just important messages pertaining to women’s rights in Ukraine, but in offering a template for contemporary feminist organizations.
It rankled greatly each time Natalia has been subjected to another volley of abuse for wearing a tank top or a dress that [gasp!] has revealed flesh.
Being a feminist is not akin to becoming a nun: thou shalt cover up, eschew the male sex and demur from all pleasures of the flesh, etcetera et ad nauseum.
In contrast, it is the embracement of all of the above – on our terms as women – that render us feminists.
We should be able to dress glamourously, court controversy and spur debate according to our agenda.
Last month, riding in the car, an interview popped up on the radio with a woman who claimed to be reintroducing feminism to Britain’s young women.
Her manifesto ran as follows: the man should clean the bathroom, women should be allowed to pamper themselves with the girls, men should wash up…
And so it went on. And on.
Her reedy voice trembling with excitement at the idea of a man holding marigolds being the herald of feminism’s resurrection in Albion induced complete apoplexy on my part.
This is not feminism: the debate no longer centers on picking up socks or doing the washing up.
It is about equal pay, equal rights, asserting independence with impunity, hollering “nay!” to the banality of convention and being valued for our intelligence, fortitude and emotional capacity as women, rather than as mere receptacles of pleasure.
Of course, should we choose to also be receptacles of pleasure, that is also fine – providing the choice is there.
That is the crux: feminism is choice.
It is not about a man with a loo brush; it is about women with freedom.
And that is why I am utterly smitten with organizations such as FEMEN: for they are the future of feminism.