I had a momentary brain lapse on Friday night when, after a long week, I committed to the folly of He’s Just Not that Into You. I thought I signed up for a mindless evening of innocuous entertainment when I would have been better off bloodying my head up against a wall for free.

Instead, I paid $14.50 for someone to do it to me, and helped misogyny wave a $27.5 million banner atop this weekend’s box office.

I love that place where movies take us—anywhere but the battlefields of real life—but this weekend confirmed that Hollywood is just in the business of trailer-making.

This movie tragically, devastatingly, painfully and horrifically brought me into a particular darkness, where women, famous women, cry out to the man-gods: Where art thou to club me over the head? All the while, the laughter of many audibly confirming something very wrong as right.

Don’t get me wrong: the dating realm is a minefield and all the more ripe for explosive humor. But I call negligence when a film skirts everything that’s nuanced and profound and complex about our relationships with each other and instead offers up nothing but played-out stereotypes and untruths and the terrifying meat grinder of sexism.

On the other hand, the film does paint a world so unreal and vapid, so unpleasant and awkward, so devoid of scruples or moral courage, perhaps we are safe from what it touts.

Then again, I wouldn’t really know; I walked out after 35 minutes.

As a private protest, pocket your money and takepart by watching a movie that gets women right. For a more public, communal approach, takepart and voice your support for alternatives to stereotypical female role models.