It's one of those privilege things you usually can't even hop up to see what it looks like on the other side of the wall. It's not a competition, it's not a power women wield over men, it's not a threat or an accusation, any more than pointing out that half the chessboard is black is racism. It's not about words or weapons, it's about the world as it actually is.
Paula Deen isn't a capital-R "racist," Sam Grey isn't a rapist: But they have a place to stand, as a white lady and as a man in a man's body, that means they never have to look into the other yard and what that's like; presuming it's as green there as it is over here because there's no reason not to. There's no corrective way of including this new information of how other people live into your continuously updated equation of how you see the world, because it always drops like a bomb, like a weapon.
Of course calling attention to this blind spot feels like an attack: It is one, an attack on the way the whole world appears to work. Of course men flip out about the p-word: It's a fight they didn't ask for and calls into question every part of life. If somebody tells you the sky is green, you're going to call them a liar. If they say the sky is green and you maybe benefit from that, you're going to start hollering.
Karen: "And then okay, but you broke into my office?"
Sam: "Just to leave you that picture, I didn't know the alarm would go off..."
Karen: "That is dubious, but either way you did this to provoke me, right? Like a stalker would? To escalate?"
Sam: "No, like a man in love. To provoke you because you were freezing me out."
Karen: "Enter Jacob Lerner?"
Sam: "At first, but then we started talking -- that being his job -- and I began to..."
Karen: "You spoke to him about me?"
Sam: "Uh, no. It was my therapy. The talking cure. I talked, but not about you. Just about my feelings for a woman and how I fucked it up."
Then he leaves, in case she tells him that he did; because he is afraid of being laughed at. And of course, once he's gone and her body takes it down a notch, she can cry for him. We always do.
Savi: "This is my nonthreatening baby voice! I'm a baby-lady!"
Harry: "We need to talk."
Savi: "Oh-oh! Baby scared! (Also, don't do that. We've discussed this before.)"