Many women of my generation were thrilled at the prospect of a woman in the White House — finally. Then, we watched in horror as the campaign unfolded. The discomfort over Ms. Clinton's gender was not only palpable, it was toxic and disgusting. We watched it first in the primaries as some of Bernie's lovable, crunchy "bro" supporters attacked Ms. Clinton in explicitly sexist terms. The Trump rallies were far worse, as white men with children in tow reveled in the calls to "Trump that bitch" and wore T-shirts that read "Hillary sucks, but not like Monica." The viciously personal nature of the attacks was appalling, but so was the media commentary, which relentlessly pointed out how much people disliked Ms. Clinton. At some point, one has to assume that the laser-like focus on Hillary-hatred in some cases fostered, or at least normalized, it. After hearing again and again how unlikable Ms. Clinton was, it became uncomfortable to admit that you found her, in fact, quite likable and even admirable. Pantsuit Nation took on the aura of a coming-out party as we older women rallied to her cause.