I make no secret of my religious beliefs regarding myself and my past; I was a man before I became this...thing. Now I'm stuck in the body of a woman. (Incels have it wrong: It may be harder to score random sex as a male, but that's the only area where it is. In the main, it's harder - or at least a thousand times more irritating - to be female.)
People - men; I've never had a woman do any of what I'm about to describe - don't just suggest you smile. They outright tell you to. I've had one scrutinize what's in my shopping cart, another question my lunch choices. Apparently "fuck off" or "mind your own damned business" mark me as an angry feminist rather than merely as someone tired of the five-minute health lecture. This body is in its 40s. I'll eat what I damned well please.
A few nights ago, around midnight, I was walking to the store in my customary attire: men's pajama bottoms, a T-shirt several sizes too large for me, and a men's fleece jacket when some jackass pulled up to me at the corner and commented on how I was the worst dressed prostitute he'd ever seen before pulling away. That I found funny, but I can see where most people wouldn't.
Anyone who has actually met me would see the humor in it.
Point is, one encounter like that is irritating. Dozens of them - and every woman has had dozens, both minor and major - are enough to leave any sentient being with a healthy wellspring of anger.
And among the self-aware, that anger doesn't manifest as a hatred of men but rather of a fundamentally flawed system that hurts persons regardless of gender. (Again the incels come to mind, calling themselves manlets and betas - no one can convince me they haven't been damaged by the current state of affairs. They're simply picking the wrong target.)