Serena Williams was just named Sports Illustrated’s Sportsperson of the Year. Some people believe the award should’ve gone to a horse. Those people are weird. Still weirder is how Rick Morrissey, writer for the Chicago Sun Times, saw Serena Williams’ upcoming cover, cracked his knuckles, and said, “Guess I have to be the one to mansplain feminism to this here young lady.” It was an odd and condescending approach — speaking for women rather than to them, resulting in an argument that, even at its most innocent, is asinine.

Thousands of men have made SI covers and — confidence level and/or self-or-brand awareness willing — posed in manners to make them look, and feel, powerful. Here, bulging pecs and tensed biceps are far from uncommon sights. If anything, they’re part of the standard optical palette.

The most common form of conventional masculinity in sports is dull and ultra-simplistic: aggression = manliness. But that’s also why it’s so easily accepted; it requires virtually no effort to understand. A terse stare, a few abs, a barely-above-ground, upward-camera angle to make the subject larger than his surroundings —larger than life itself. It’s easy, and it translates. Which is why none of the above photos brought out the needling eye Morrissey ascribed to Serena Williams’ cover.

“In the photo, she’s wearing a black, lacy, leotard-like outfit, legs draped suggestively over a golden chair. It in no way helps the cause of women looking to be recognized for their athletic abilities. A prudish outlook in 2015? Maybe, but it’s hard to shake the idea that women, sadly, are still doing what men want them to do, whether they mean to or not.”

Somehow, describing Serena’s outfit like an E! red-carpet host leads to a conflict in how to properly recognize the athletic ability donning the dress in question. If, say, that were Anna Kournikova, he’d still be wrong, but the dissection would take a little longer. That he wrote this about Serena freakin’ Williams makes the job amusingly simple: ’03, ‘05, ’07, ’09, ’10, ’15 Australian Open Champion; ’02, ’13, ’15 French Open Winner; ’02, ’03, ’09, ’10, ’12, ’15 Wimbledon Victor; ’99, ’02, ’08, ’12, ’13, ’14 US Open Empress. If any woman on this known planet has a résumé that makes their athletic abilities common knowledge, it’s Serena Jameka Williams.

That women can be more than one thing, however, is a concept that’s still difficult for mainstream America to digest. Add the rigid and austere filter of sports, and things suddenly get disturbingly narrow. Nasty, even.

When a woman decides how and when to show her body, she’s hopping into a veritable obstacle course of societal demonization. Sadly, most of these can and will be used against the woman no matter which path she chooses.

Applying the unparalleled arc of masculinity — now resembling more of a plateau — to the modern aspect of femininity can’t be done. Women do power differently. They also happen to do it much better—a byproduct of the litany of societal rules and obligations men have placed on women for centuries. It’s under this diamond-fostering pressure that ideas of feminine power and strength have become far more developed than popular masculine identity. Morrissey and others have fallen victim to this, and all it took was Serena Williams in a one-piece and heels.

“Women don’t need to cover themselves up to be taken seriously as athletes. But athletic success for women shouldn’t automatically translate into a revealing photo shoot either. It’s not the first thing male athletes do. Giants pitcher Madison Bumgarner, who won the award last year, appeared on SI’s cover in his uniform.”

Serena plays tennis, a sport for which there is no standard uniform. And though many male athletes have shed pieces of their standard uniforms to expose whatever body part(s) they see fit, Serena doesn’t exactly have that option. Instead, she chose to exude her essence; her complexity, in all its pressure-cut perfection. Our reluctance to embrace Serena stems, at least in part, from her being a symbol of wearied dichotomies between “belonging” and not.

A black girl from Compton (c-)walked on the grass at Wimbledon.

Many minds, shaped by crusty definitions of what society is and ought to be, weren’t equipped to reason with that.

Simply put, the conversation Morrissey is [clumsily] trying to have can’t be had without more voices in the room. Particularly those of women.

A woman’s body being shown for something other than male pleasure causes discomfort—a weakness borne from a sense of somehow no longer being needed; a sheer vulnerability, coated in disagreement, anger, and outrage. All the more reason why so many men jump to belittle Serena’s presence at every turn.

The horse should’ve won it!

A triple crown is more of an accomplishment than anything tennis related!

She lost her last major!

Look at what she’s wearing!

She’s not helping female athletes’ causes!

And while Morrissey may try to distance himself from the majority of these arguments, they nevertheless highlight the bevy of boisterous voices telling women how, and when, to do something. Even when it comes to their own body.

Let’s not kid ourselves: the Swimsuit Issue remains SI’s bestselling product — by far. The gripe isn’t with the exposed female body; it’s this exposed female body, in celebration of this female athlete. Serena is strong. Unstoppable. Unflappable. And that’s threatening to so, so many.

“Sex is in the eye of the beholder, and many of the beholders of Sports Illustrated happen to be men. If some of them are thinking, ‘Now there’s a powerful woman!’ many more are thinking, ‘If you tied me up, Serena, I wouldn’t complain.’”

Interpreting this vivid a BDSM scenario from a magazine cover of a woman sitting in a chair in a one-piece is alarming, and worth at least one giggle and a couple side eyes. Framing it as evidence as to why Serena should’ve factored in the imbalanced sensibilities of others and treaded on the side of caution is an unbelievably narrow, effed up thought process.

Serena wasn’t Jedi mind-tricked by society into doing what men wanted her to do. Conventional masculinity needs to believe that, though. Because doing so underscores that everything is about power, and that makes her power finite. It is this worldview that’s fueled some of history’s most dastardly men, and remains a part of the social DNA even to this day.

Women don’t necessarily view power in the same simplistic terms. This is for a couple of reasons. The first is that society’s constant covert whispers — and occasional overt shouts — dissuade women from obtaining power in the first place. The second is that power has many definitions, not all of which are easily discernable to men, and this makes them uncomfortable.

Therefore what makes a woman powerful — what gives her a sense of feminine strength — doesn’t parallel with conventional masculinity. This is so for a number of sinister reasons, of course, including but not limited to centuries of callous mistreatment.

It’s at the intersection of these two notions whereby complexity — as applied to femininity — became the expert puzzle piece that no longer fits within the trite, blank spaces of conventional masculinity.

As women continue to fight to prove they too can be athletes worthy of revere and proper respect—take the US Women’s National Team, who after winning a World Cup just five months ago, had to cancel victory tour matches due to an unsafe playing surface, though not before it tore the ACL of star player Megan Rapinoe—questions of the interplay between femininity, strength, and power aren’t for men to answer.

I can’t speak for women any more than Morrissey can. We simply aren’t qualified. But I believe Serena Williams, and I believe the women around me who say that’s power, that’s feminine, that’s strength. When they describe it, I then can see it, too. That’s how we learn, and that’s how we grow. When something doesn’t involve you in a manner in which you can directly relate, the best thing to do is shut up, listen, and learn.

But this is also directly about Serena Williams; an athlete about whom, unfortunately, nothing is stated simply. This is about a black woman exuding confidence and power, and about how that makes some people cringe. It’s about Serena being comfortable enough to portray power, grace, athleticism, pride, and tenacity—and make you feel it.

It’s also about Serena being a woman, and that woman doing something that makes her feel femininely powerful — even, yes, sexy—but on her terms. And it’s about making that okay for other women. It’s about advancing the idea that maybe, just maybe, it’s worth it to make men and women worldwide see a strong black woman reject controlling and outdated societal norms.

Or maybe Serena Williams just wanted to wear heels and sit on a throne. The reason shouldn’t matter, really. At the end of the day, nothing about the cover has, nor should have, a damn thing to do with you.