Amanda Palmer is easy to hate. She’s loud. She’s demanding… and she’s one of those polarizing public figures it’s hard to casually enjoy or dislike.
But when we criticize Amanda Palmer, I think we need to take a long, hard look at exactly what we’re reacting to — and why.
In a media landscape that typically reduces women to paragons or villains with strikingly little middle ground, Palmer is a self-styled anti-hero, from her feuds with the record industry to her Wicked Queen eyebrows. And it’s worth noting that the actions for which Palmer is attacked most often and most harshly tend to be the ones that conflict with what public femininity is supposed to look like — behaviors and traits that would often sit differently on the shoulders of a male performer.
That’s exactly it. She’s a woman.
And she’s not just any woman, she’s a fearless woman. I rather like her, even though (and maybe especially though) she sometimes claims the name Amanda Fucking Palmer.
I like her so much that I’m going to plug her book, The Art of Asking.