Poor Men.
I recently broke the only New Year’s resolution I’d made to myself: Stop getting roped into pointless and ignorant conflagrations on social media. Especially the ones where misogyny tries to call itself Traditional Christian Values.
The Context: Everyone’s favorite Appalachian InCel (VP Vance) had recently supplied the soundbite of the century: he told the Permanently Perplexed Tucker Carlson that the votes of people with children should be worth more than us ‘miserable, childless cat ladies.’ Apparently, I don’t have any reason to care about the future. While those who haven’t figured out why they’re popping out puppies every 18 months become the true electorate. (I still can’t believe he said that crazy shit.)
This caused flareups all up and down the political spectrum. And this was one of them:
We begin with a woman who is getting a little stabby about all the ways her boyfriend annoys and tries to control her, as well as some broader complaints about the patriarchy. Her solution is to choose her cat and a glass of wine over whatever men are offering.
.
Then a random Brad stitches in from his car at a roadside somewhere in the heartland, declaring that these types of women are not worthy of the genuine love, affection, safety and financial security he has to offer. He goes on at some length, detailing our selfish and shallow nature when we expect all legit candidates to be 6 ft tall, college educated, and making $500k/yr, ideally in the finance world. Then he puts some emphasis on his upbringing, insisting that his sainted mother never acted this way. Getting stupider by the second, Brad ends up making the woman’s point for her.
.
Now the benevolent publisher of the post runs in like a hero, chastising his compatriot for behaving badly, mentioning double standards about beauty, and starts mansplaining on behalf of the woman. Bless his big manly CareBear heart, he does get a bit salty about it. HIS summation declares that women can and SHOULD choose cats and wine over a man who wants a new mommy. Of course, his entire following is a bunch of women needing to be seen, I’m not sure his admonition ever hit the target.
Yes, of course. Cats+wine = good. Dogs+wine, chinchillas+wine, bunnies+wine, also delightful. Parrots are especially good because they love to hear us talk, which we do because: wine.
It’s true, many more of use are choosing a single life. Because we can choose. You’re figuring out that we don’t really need you anymore. Now you have to be something that we want in our lives. That’s an uncomfortable position, and we understand: it’s been OUR position for time immemorial. Beyond blue-ball management, having babies, and housekeeping, you didn’t really need us around. In fact, paying for two of those services a la carte is far easier and more cost-effective than ‘taking a wife.’ Men have always had the option of perpetual bachelorhood. No need to involve a woman in every aspect of your day-to-day; no inexplicable emotional outbursts, no secret decoder ring to understand her subtext. No copilot. Fully independent! Confirmed bachelors have always been envied by men and chased by women (and chased by men). We girls had to accept the idea that none of us would be worth the bachelor’s time and energy, and complaining about it made us look hurt and desperate.
We’ve always been more of a subject in your realm or built-in assistant vs a real partner. It’s gotten better over the years, but we’ve seen a tektonic shift backward in the last decade.
Now we’re choosing a solo life and your tidy whities are in a twist. I get it! Since the dawn of time, you’ve been at the top of the mountain with a 360-degree view of your horizon: free to have a future of your own making. Because up to the 20th century, the term ‘marriage contract’ was a real contract with legally-binding elements like how much money would change hands for her dowery, how many kids he expects, what sorts of practical skills she has —sewing, wool spinning, farming/gardening, a quiet, pliable nature, etc. Is her family in the aristocracy (giving husband a possible status upgrade) or landed gentry (you’ll get 50 goats, 20 head of cattle, and unlimited game hunting on Daddy’s estates)?
If we can believe Jane Austen, there’s also a sliding scale of looks to talent: If you’re Gal Gadot, that’s your skill, here’s your lanyard. If you’re, say, Tilda Swinton, you’ll need the full battery of wifely skills, plus small engine repair, iron smelting, or a burgeoning large animal veterinary practice that will generate revenue. Otherwise, dad’s gonna lay down a fk-ton of cash to offload you. (Sorry, Tilda. I adore you. And you know you’re a unique flavor profile.) There’s a reason why so many marriage terms come from business: proposal, contract, license, agreement, etc.
After the vows and kissing, signing the paperwork in the padre’s ready-room was a Bill of Sale. A commitment to future services rendered, the majority of which to be performed by the woman. I have a strong impression that Making America Great Again means bringing all this back.
Fellas, you have to get yourselves right with the concept of our wanting you in our lives rather than needing. We no longer have to keep our fingers crossed in the hope of someone finding us worthy. We know our worth. In fact, if we’re giving up our freedom, we may have our own expectations from this arrangement: Minimum, do you have a reliable job, or are you still sponging off your parents? [I’ll acknowledge the existence of the ignorant, shallow woman with demands about height, appearance, career title, annual income, vehicle make/model, if you’ll admit to pressing your face against the glass because she’s really pretty.] Can you hold two or more thoughts in your head at the same time? Can you cook? If we have kids, will you be participating in their management? Are you willing to do some laundry from time to time? Are you gonna be all purple and sore if I make more money than you? As long as you don’t start spending like you made it, I’ll share every dime with you!
For fifty fucking years, women and minorities and all the other marginalized groups have thought we were wearing down the automatic superiority and dismissal. As if maybe we’d finally chucked enough harpoons into Great White Male. Turns out, we’ve not made much headway at all with many of you. Our arguments simply drove you underground where you’ve waited and festered and complained to one another. With the gutting of Roe v. Wade, the insidious rise of Christian Conservatism and the Neo-Trad wifey world, we’re closer to Margaret Atwood’s nightmare than we ever thought possible.
If you’re a guy who’s entirely on board with having a true partner in your life, THANK YOU. Talk to your simian friends. Explain how and why it works. Tell them how we still want to make BOTH of our lives better, and we’ll do it together. When you and your real partner decide to push out a puppy yourselves, do us all a solid and teach them to value others. ALL others, not just women. Teach your sons to recognize us as people whose inherent value is equal to theirs. Otherwise, women will always be Less Than. We’ll remain the server, purveyor, enabler, the petter of furrowed brow, remover of obstacles. Occasionally we’re an envy generator among his peers. And far too often we’re just a collection of interesting holes.
Think about THAT if one of your precious pups is a girl.