She wears her hair in a bob, and on the day we met, she had on a black-denim button-down and a beige trench coat. ![]() Her father, she says, was abusive and moved out when she was 6, and she has lived with her mother and grandmother ever since, a mini-matriarchy that suits her fine. “But I’m sorry, I am a little bit on that side-that is, on the extreme side.” “I try to have faith in guys and not to be like, ‘Kill all men,’” she says. ![]() ![]() On the days she’s feeling most generous toward men-say, when she sees a handsome man on the street-Helena Lee can sometimes put her distaste aside and appreciate them as “eye candy.” That’s as far as she goes: “I do not want to know what is inside of his brain.” Most of the time, she wants nothing at all to do with men. This article was featured in One Story to Read Today, a newsletter in which our editors recommend a single must-read from The Atlantic, Monday through Friday.
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