It says a lot when an international movie star,desi sex mms videos small boy with aunty feminist activist, UN ambassador, Brown University graduate, and pop culture icon feels anxious about being single as she approaches 30. It says even more about our culture when she is subsequently ridiculed online for choosing to use a word other than 'single' to describe herself.

The backlash to Emma Watson's assertion in a British Vogueinterview that she calls herself 'self-partnered' instead was difficult to digest. Britain's Misogynist-in-Chief Piers Morgan mocked her and said she "can’t get a bloke". Jokes about masturbation abounded. The internet seemed to scoff in unison at the very thought that there's an issue with the way our culture treats women who are single.

The term self-partnered is not for everyone. Many have raised the valid point that it buys into the very culture it seeks to reject: the notion of partnership. To be single is to be partnerless. But setting aside those criticisms, a strand of the conversation turned unpleasant. And in doing so, it proved the exact point that Watson raised.

One tweet which perfectly distilled the skewed focus on Emma Watson's use of the word "self-partnered" to describe her singledom was this by Bitch Media cofounder Andi Zeisler.

This Tweet is currently unavailable. It might be loading or has been removed.

My achievements don't come anywhere close to Emma Watson's (Editor's note: Yet.). But when I talk to my extended family about important life milestones — getting a literary agent, getting promoted, moving into a flat by myself — they are eclipsed by questions about my lack of a partner. "They haven't made the man for Rachel," I've been told. "Are you not married?" is a firm favourite in the questions put to me at gatherings.

In the midst of the debate over Watson's use of the term 'self-partnered' I tweeted a story I wrote about how single women are still — in 2019, no less — battling against the same outdated, patriarchal trope of the sad, lonely spinster.

"We really need to overhaul the way we think about singledom and especially how our culture views single women," I tweeted. The torrent of abuse that ensued was deeply troubling.

My mentions proved precisely the point I made in the article. "You single cause you butt fuck ugly missy," was one choice comment. "Self partnered means, 'No one can stand me,'" opined another commentator. "Self partnered = chronic masturbator," added someone else. "Being 'single' is not a hardship. Might be time to make more of an effort to work on those insecurities," wrote another.

"Must bug ya if you putting it on twitter."

"Careful, they say it can make you go blind."

This Tweet is currently unavailable. It might be loading or has been removed.

"Wow, what a load of shit..."

"Lunatic."

"God, STFU."

"How stupid can you get? I am amazed at the idiots who think that being miserable is the new happy, if only they say it that way!"

On and on the comments went...

As I waded through the ire that my tweet had apparently invited, it struck me that these people were telling on themselves. It's one thing to disagree with the need for a new term for 'single' — a fair criticism. It's another to question the idea that a woman could possibly be fine and dandy with being alone.

I am 31 and I have been single for the past decade of my life and I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that there is something deeply wrong with the way our culture views single women of a certain age. My friends ask me continuously if I'm swiping on apps. Other friends feel the need to explain away my lack of boyfriend by saying, "You've just been focusing on your career, that's all."

I have felt extremely conflicted during the 'self-partnered' discourse. On the one hand: I love that Emma Watson has a term that reflects her happiness with being single. I also love that she's talking about the pressures single women face. On the other hand: the term still has the notion of "partnered" at its root, suggesting that aloneness is an undesirable state. But most of all, what has felt unpleasant and deeply personal is the utter scorn with which this topic has been treated.

We do not need a new term for 'single.' What we need is for people to stop fucking asking us why we don't have a partner. Why we're not married yet. Why we haven't had a baby. Ask me about my job. Ask me about my apartment. About my ambitions. As Vicky Spratt wrote in a piece for Refinery29: "The word "single" is so loaded. Six letters that speak to society's problem with women and how we move through the world." "The term's direct opposite – 'doubled' – implies that we are all greater in a couple than we are alone and, therefore, that anyone who is not in a relationship is somehow lesser," Spratt continued.

If we go beyond Watson's term and read what she's actually saying, it's a lot more telling. "Cut to 29, and I’m like, ‘Oh my God, I feel so stressed and anxious," Watson told British Vogue. "And I realise it’s because there is suddenly this bloody influx of subliminal messaging around. If you have not built a home, if you do not have a husband, if you do not have a baby, and you are turning 30, and you’re not in some incredibly secure, stable place in your career, or you’re still figuring things out… There’s just this incredible amount of anxiety."

I am not here to make a case for singledom. I am not making a case for adding any new words to our ever-burgeoning lexicon.

The trope of the single woman is one that is played out constantly on our television screens for decades with the likes of Carrie Bradshaw, Bridget Jones, and Hannah Horvath. As someone who's been single for a protracted period of time, who time and time again is asked to justify this state of being, it feels patently clear that the conversation hasn't evolved a whole lot since the '90s and '00s.

We don't need new words. We need our culture to change the way they view single women. We need you to face up to the attitudes that are nothing more than hangovers from a bygone era.