You begin by teaching yourself what you can ignore. Rot in hell. You’re a cunt. Maybe you wouldn’t be so mad if you weren’t so ugly. They arrive as replies on Twitter, a line dropped into a DM, comments reassuring in their lack of specificity. The reasons they arrive are not always clear. The first time I was told I should go die a slow and painful death, it was because I had written about Kristen Stewart. I’d posted on a small WordPress blog, and a female fan had disliked the way I’d analyzed her star image.