Enemies are for life

Obviously, I’m all about women supporting other women. I know that the sisterhood is a beautiful thing that uplifts us all and slowly crushes the patriarchy — built, as it is, on pitting us against each other. Feminism is a movement of solidarity and we’re all, obviously, #feminists now — and we’ve got the T-shirts made in a Bangladeshi sweatshop to prove it. But. But. Is there any such exquisite joy as that of having an enemy? The sacred craft of nurturing enemy ship is as old as time: from the earliest evidence of human civilisation in cave paintings, to the Homeric epics, to the Bible, to Cardi and Nicki.

Perhaps you think you don’t have any. Perhaps you’ve listened too sincerely to your yoga teacher and believe yourself to be full of light and positivity.

But tell me there isn’t someone who, when you see their various mundane activities pop up online, fills you with irrational rage: the person whose face provokes an involuntary ‘urgh’ reflex.

Lean into it. You deserve a guilt-free enemy or three. Unlike friends, who convince you you’re perfect just the way you are, enemies challenge you to do better, through sheer bloody-minded spite. They clarify our beliefs; they tell us what we are. An adversary is the first step to self-actualisation.

For women, I’ve found, the best enemies are those who slightly resemble you — there’s nothing that strikes such disquieting dread into the hearts of basic b*tches as the words, “She really reminds me of you, actually.”

Or perhaps your boyfriend shifted them once; perhaps they have had a level of success with their bad poetry; perhaps she Instagrams her gym sessions. Take that guilt and jealousy and turn it into straightforward, uncomplicated loathing. And enjoy.

Friends come and go, but enemies are for life: you will recall the name of your playground bête

noire, and shudder when it is mentioned in any context.

So choose well, friends. And as for my enemies? Thank you, huns, you’re the best. xoxo