The image of the damsel in distress pervades our visual culture. From Cinderella to Sleeping Beauty to Repunzel, every young girl, at one point in her life, has wanted to walk in the glass slippers of her favorite Disney princess; I know I was not alone in my youthful desires to wear their flowy ball-gowns, battle it out with wicked stepmothers, and meet my prince charming. With that, it becomes plainly obvious that, from very early on in our lives, women are socialized to believe that we are helpless damsels in need of saving at the hands of a powerful and handsome man. Accordingly, the internalization of this message can manifest itself in many ways. Some of us fake stupidity so as to seem less intelligent than our male counterparts. It’s an ego-boost for them and a cop-out for us—play the part of the ditz and everyone is happy. Others seek out domineering men who exude the powerful qualities that we assume are characteristic of masculinity, while some of us sit around and wait for the prince that will never come. Either way, we are programmed to believe that we cannot function without the help of a strong male figure, involuntarily becoming Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and Repunzel: the damsel in distress, minus the fancy dresses to go with it.
While the socially constructed image of the damsel in distress is central to our gender dichotomy, pervading everything from criminology (the stereotypically female victim) to embryology (the ova just waiting to be penetrated by the sperm), I would like to draw your attention to another, less talked about, phenomenon—the notion of the anti-hero. He is the damaged man, emotionally stunted and tragic, in desperate need of our kindness and warm embrace. McNeedy if you will. It is this man, the one we so dreadfully want to save, who captures our attention and feeds our maternal need (if that actually exists) to nurture. The heartbreaking addict. The spineless, yet secretly poetic player. The bad-boy with daddy issues. They’re all perfect, all in need of saving—the more tragic the better. It’s like goddamned Beauty and the Beast all over again.
An analogy. A friend of mine, not for lack of trying, boarded an emotional roller coaster three years ago and has never been able to get off. She met a guy who, at first glance, seemed perfect (are they ever?). He was good looking, charming, funny, and friends with all the right people. On paper, he was a great catch. Now, this girl was somewhat new to the whole dating thing; since she was unfamiliar with the rules of romance (rule number one: never date a guy who knows that indigo shirts make his eyes pop), when the guy expressed that he was just getting over a messy break-up that resulted from his struggles with addiction, my friend was hooked. How sad for him, how perfect for her. The minute this boy unleashed his tsunami of emotional pain on my friend, she labeled him tragic and in need of her guidance and love. He became her project, she became his puppet.
What my friend, and many, many defeated girls, failed to realize was that PEOPLE DO NOT CHANGE. Whatever satisfaction you think you are going to reap by taming he beast will pale in comparison to the angst, despair, and ultimately, defeat that you will feel the whole way through. You cannot change him. He will always be a player, an addict, a bad-boy, despite those glimmers of hope that you cherish and hold on to. Don’t remember the time that he admitted, with your help, that he has a problem and vowed to change. Instead, remember the time he took you out for a romantic dinner one evening and then made out with your roommate in front of your face at the party you both went to later. You want to be his savior, his confidant, his muse, but you will only end up being his punching bag, his sloppy seconds, his mother.
Thankfully, I find the anti-hero to be utterly distasteful. I find nothing less attractive than a man who can’t get his shit together. But I see the appeal. I can understand how tempting it can be to want to help someone get back on his feet. But, heed my words, the destructively symbiotic relationship that results as a consequence of this heroine/dude in distress partnership from hell is not worth the small and inevitably short-lived victory. You’re better off just waiting for prince charming.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Commitment Problem, Shmamitment Problem
So I was watching an episode of my new favorite TV show—Community (which everyone should begin watching immediately because it is, by far, the funniest show on television. God bless Joel Mchale and his witty banter and fabulous arms), and I was caught off guard by a comical, yet socially relevant exchange between two of the characters. The main character had just begun a relationship with one of his teachers; they were sleeping together, watching their favorite TV shows together, and sneaking off into utility closets together—everything you would expect to go on in a normal committed romantic relationship (who hasn’t hooked up in a utility closet?!?). However, it wasn’t until the female partner referred to the main character as her “boyfriend” that the shit began to hit the fan. Despite its comedic overtones, the main character started singing a completely different tune. When the two finally sat down to have the dreaded “talk”, the protagonist admitted that he has a serious commitment problem (how original!). Yet, what really took me by surprise was the simple, yet profound exchange that happened following his confession to having commitment-phobia. When the female partner asked him to explain what the big deal is with labeling their relationship, he exclaimed, “It’s just that, when you say it, later on, you might have to unsay it.” Thank you Community for neatly and concisely distilling the “talk” down to what it’s really all about. Consider my mind sufficiently blown.
Commitment. The terrifying concept that awakens, from their comfortingly dormant slumber, even scarier terms like “boyfriend”, “girlfriend”, “official”, and—heaven forbid—“love”. But, really, what does it mean to have a commitment problem? Why are people so afraid of being honest about the reality of a touchy situation? If we, as a society, are so concerned with categorizing and putting everything into neat little boxes (i.e. gender, sexuality, race etc), why do some of us have difficulty doing just that, when it really counts?
Again, perhaps my ideas would best be illustrated with the help of a real-life example. I was in a relationship a while back that, for innumerable reasons, was doomed to fail from the very beginning. Aside from being completely incompatible on almost every level (with the exception of physicality- we were awesome at that), we were together for almost a year without ever making things official. We had had the “talk” early on, early enough that it wasn’t outrageous for things to remain up in the air. However, when things got more serious—when phone calls became expected, visits back and forth became routine, and the fighting became part of the job description—all communication fell to the wayside. When I finally grew the balls to ask him “what we were”, he said that he didn’t want to make things official because he knew that, eventually, we would break up, and I would get hurt. Ummmm….yeah…your point? Apparently, for him, it made perfect sense not to make things official in order to save the time and heartache that would inevitably come along when we would have to make it unofficial. I really wish that made sense. But, I’m a fool—and he had a six-pack—so I let things carry on the way they were.
I don’t think I need to go into how things ended between us for you to understand my point. Obviously, in an attempt to avoid the awkward and often painful break-up, he chose to skip out on having a real, legitimate, unambiguous relationship. Some may call this a commitment problem, a fear of making things official, a fear of slapping a label on things—I call it being a pussy. It’s not about being afraid to take the plunge. All it’s really about, dare I say it, is being afraid of confrontation. Guys are afraid of getting themselves into a situation where, because of social norms and, in truth, actual laws, punching the person in the face will not solve the problem; as women, guys can’t wrestle us to the ground, put us in a choke hold, and make us say “uncle” until everything is all better. We have to actually—hold on to your nuts, boys—TALK things out! THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A COMMITMENT PROBLEM. If a guy is not willing to make things official then he, plain and simply, does not like you enough. Or he isn’t quite sure if he likes you enough YET. He is only giving you the “it’s not you it’s me” excuse because he is afraid of hurting you with his honesty. Sorry babe, but it is YOU.
Which brings me to my next point. Deep within the unwillingness to “say it” in order to avoid having to eventually “unsay it”, like really deep within it, is, what I believe to be, guys’ inherent sense of false nobility. “I don’t want to hurt you”, “I am doing this for you”, “I am saving you the heartache”…PLEASE! Come up with something original at least! Don’t try and play off your selfish inability to man-up and handle what could potentially, but not definitely, turn into a messy situation on your phony attempts at chivalry. I don’t buy it. It’s self-preservation. I wasn’t born yesterday. Don’t insult my intelligence.
So ladies, and gentlemen who are not spineless tools, next time a guy tells you he doesn’t want to call you his girlfriend because he is afraid of commitment or doesn’t want to hurt you when it comes time to end things, tell him you can see right through his cloud of bullshit and that if he doesn’t want to make things official, then he take his business elsewhere. Amen.
Commitment. The terrifying concept that awakens, from their comfortingly dormant slumber, even scarier terms like “boyfriend”, “girlfriend”, “official”, and—heaven forbid—“love”. But, really, what does it mean to have a commitment problem? Why are people so afraid of being honest about the reality of a touchy situation? If we, as a society, are so concerned with categorizing and putting everything into neat little boxes (i.e. gender, sexuality, race etc), why do some of us have difficulty doing just that, when it really counts?
Again, perhaps my ideas would best be illustrated with the help of a real-life example. I was in a relationship a while back that, for innumerable reasons, was doomed to fail from the very beginning. Aside from being completely incompatible on almost every level (with the exception of physicality- we were awesome at that), we were together for almost a year without ever making things official. We had had the “talk” early on, early enough that it wasn’t outrageous for things to remain up in the air. However, when things got more serious—when phone calls became expected, visits back and forth became routine, and the fighting became part of the job description—all communication fell to the wayside. When I finally grew the balls to ask him “what we were”, he said that he didn’t want to make things official because he knew that, eventually, we would break up, and I would get hurt. Ummmm….yeah…your point? Apparently, for him, it made perfect sense not to make things official in order to save the time and heartache that would inevitably come along when we would have to make it unofficial. I really wish that made sense. But, I’m a fool—and he had a six-pack—so I let things carry on the way they were.
I don’t think I need to go into how things ended between us for you to understand my point. Obviously, in an attempt to avoid the awkward and often painful break-up, he chose to skip out on having a real, legitimate, unambiguous relationship. Some may call this a commitment problem, a fear of making things official, a fear of slapping a label on things—I call it being a pussy. It’s not about being afraid to take the plunge. All it’s really about, dare I say it, is being afraid of confrontation. Guys are afraid of getting themselves into a situation where, because of social norms and, in truth, actual laws, punching the person in the face will not solve the problem; as women, guys can’t wrestle us to the ground, put us in a choke hold, and make us say “uncle” until everything is all better. We have to actually—hold on to your nuts, boys—TALK things out! THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A COMMITMENT PROBLEM. If a guy is not willing to make things official then he, plain and simply, does not like you enough. Or he isn’t quite sure if he likes you enough YET. He is only giving you the “it’s not you it’s me” excuse because he is afraid of hurting you with his honesty. Sorry babe, but it is YOU.
Which brings me to my next point. Deep within the unwillingness to “say it” in order to avoid having to eventually “unsay it”, like really deep within it, is, what I believe to be, guys’ inherent sense of false nobility. “I don’t want to hurt you”, “I am doing this for you”, “I am saving you the heartache”…PLEASE! Come up with something original at least! Don’t try and play off your selfish inability to man-up and handle what could potentially, but not definitely, turn into a messy situation on your phony attempts at chivalry. I don’t buy it. It’s self-preservation. I wasn’t born yesterday. Don’t insult my intelligence.
So ladies, and gentlemen who are not spineless tools, next time a guy tells you he doesn’t want to call you his girlfriend because he is afraid of commitment or doesn’t want to hurt you when it comes time to end things, tell him you can see right through his cloud of bullshit and that if he doesn’t want to make things official, then he take his business elsewhere. Amen.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
All Aboard!
We’ve all heard it before. That nagging voice our mothers use when they want something from us, the deceitfully powerful tone our religious school teachers use when they want to beat the “right” decision to a moral dilemma into our malleable brains, the sound of our conscience, consequently, cracking under pressure. What we are experiencing here, at the hands of our educators, religious or otherwise, are the feelings of guilt. It plagues us, follows us around like a lost puppy, rearing its shaggy, but convincing head when it is most unwanted. It is an unconquerable result of our human penchant to put ourselves in morally questionable situations, or tendency to pursue temptation in the face of what will inevitably end with a moment of intrapersonal disappointment. It is unavoidable, we all feel it, and it sucks—now it’s time to get over it.
Perhaps the most valuable representation of the power of guilt comes in the form of sex. Yeah, I said it. S-E-X. Whatever your definition of sexual activity may be, vaginal penetration to some, French kissing to others (G-d help you), I think we can all agree that sexual activity, more often than not, elicits some element of guilt within us. Maybe we feel guilty that we went home with the frat boy with the obnoxiously loud Jewish star necklace hanging strategically in the middle of the American Apparel v-neck that you know he wore just to show off whatever lame excuse for chest hair he may have, because you had told yourself you were done with random hook-ups. Especially with dudes like this. (I’m sorry, but does this not totally remind you of what your Uncle Saul wore at the beach last week while sipping his mai tai in Boca Raton?) Or, maybe, we feel guilty because we had decided to become more religious and, in our attempt to board the train to self-discovery, had sworn off hooking-up, but then, not-so-surprisingly realized that we are HUMAN, and that that is way more easily said than done. Or, if I may be so bold as to claim that, maybe, we were left feeling guilty because we went against the preaching of some rabbi or priest, whom we respect, (and who, we will ultimately find out, is a latent sexual predator…sorry, I had to) and feel as though we betrayed that individual. Who knows, who cares? All that matters is that these feelings of guilt creep up on us and we don’t know what to do with them. But, let me remind you, that sexual activity (for the most part…yay onanism!) happens between two people. If you are feeling guilty, then you can damn-well assume that the other party, even if he or she is not experiencing their own feelings of remorse, is feeling the brunt of your shame. Fasten your seatbelts everyone, you’re going on a guilt trip!
I think the point I am trying to make here would be best elucidated through a real-life example. Without naming any names, I recently found myself involved in a game of sexual cat and mouse with a young man in my college community. What began as a fun exchange of flirtatious and witty remarks via facebook and/or bbm, quickly morphed, as commonly happens with college-aged “men” and me, into a relationship entirely physical, completely devoid of any romantic feelings whatsoever. I would have been okay with this, given my uncanny ability to separate sex from emotion (do as I say, not as I do!); however, this particular boy had decided, before I strutted into his life wearing my obviously sexy leggings and oversized t-shirt and waving my glorious breasts in face, that he was going to try to become more religious. Don’t get me wrong. I find absolutely nothing wrong with trying to get closer to God and discovering the beauty and salvation that religion has to offer. But, I do have a problem when you try to make this attempt at self-discovery my attempt at self-discovery. If I wanted to walk into my local Jewish support and education center and sign myself up for a couple weeks of brainwashing, topped off with a trip to Israel in which I learn to love the land and hate myself, I would have done so a long time ago. I don’t want to join you on your road to redemption! I want to make out and watch TV! So when you realize that you are a living, breathing human being with carnal desires and you, like everyone else, have a difficult time taming the beast, do NOT come crawling to me. I will not be your Jezebel. Keep your guilt to yourself!
I know what some of you may be thinking: But, Danielle, how come you don’t feel guilty? Where is your sense of religious shame? Didn’t you go to seminary and learn the same things I did? My answer to this is, yes, I did go through the same educational system as you, but I have chosen to recognize that I am a freethinking individual with the ability to make my own decisions despite what has been drilled into my psyche by authority figures. I do not feel guilty because I do not think there is anything wrong with acting upon my sexual desires. As long as I do so with intelligence, preparedness, and safety, I see nothing problematic about engaging in a little hanky panky every now and then. And it should not be my problem if you do.
So please, to all of you guys (and girls) who fall prey to your feelings of guilt, do not project it my way. Wake up and think for yourselves. But, if you are not as strong as me (and some of my other girls) and you can’t get over your mommy issues, at least wipe your feet at the damn door and leave your shame on the guilt train.
Perhaps the most valuable representation of the power of guilt comes in the form of sex. Yeah, I said it. S-E-X. Whatever your definition of sexual activity may be, vaginal penetration to some, French kissing to others (G-d help you), I think we can all agree that sexual activity, more often than not, elicits some element of guilt within us. Maybe we feel guilty that we went home with the frat boy with the obnoxiously loud Jewish star necklace hanging strategically in the middle of the American Apparel v-neck that you know he wore just to show off whatever lame excuse for chest hair he may have, because you had told yourself you were done with random hook-ups. Especially with dudes like this. (I’m sorry, but does this not totally remind you of what your Uncle Saul wore at the beach last week while sipping his mai tai in Boca Raton?) Or, maybe, we feel guilty because we had decided to become more religious and, in our attempt to board the train to self-discovery, had sworn off hooking-up, but then, not-so-surprisingly realized that we are HUMAN, and that that is way more easily said than done. Or, if I may be so bold as to claim that, maybe, we were left feeling guilty because we went against the preaching of some rabbi or priest, whom we respect, (and who, we will ultimately find out, is a latent sexual predator…sorry, I had to) and feel as though we betrayed that individual. Who knows, who cares? All that matters is that these feelings of guilt creep up on us and we don’t know what to do with them. But, let me remind you, that sexual activity (for the most part…yay onanism!) happens between two people. If you are feeling guilty, then you can damn-well assume that the other party, even if he or she is not experiencing their own feelings of remorse, is feeling the brunt of your shame. Fasten your seatbelts everyone, you’re going on a guilt trip!
I think the point I am trying to make here would be best elucidated through a real-life example. Without naming any names, I recently found myself involved in a game of sexual cat and mouse with a young man in my college community. What began as a fun exchange of flirtatious and witty remarks via facebook and/or bbm, quickly morphed, as commonly happens with college-aged “men” and me, into a relationship entirely physical, completely devoid of any romantic feelings whatsoever. I would have been okay with this, given my uncanny ability to separate sex from emotion (do as I say, not as I do!); however, this particular boy had decided, before I strutted into his life wearing my obviously sexy leggings and oversized t-shirt and waving my glorious breasts in face, that he was going to try to become more religious. Don’t get me wrong. I find absolutely nothing wrong with trying to get closer to God and discovering the beauty and salvation that religion has to offer. But, I do have a problem when you try to make this attempt at self-discovery my attempt at self-discovery. If I wanted to walk into my local Jewish support and education center and sign myself up for a couple weeks of brainwashing, topped off with a trip to Israel in which I learn to love the land and hate myself, I would have done so a long time ago. I don’t want to join you on your road to redemption! I want to make out and watch TV! So when you realize that you are a living, breathing human being with carnal desires and you, like everyone else, have a difficult time taming the beast, do NOT come crawling to me. I will not be your Jezebel. Keep your guilt to yourself!
I know what some of you may be thinking: But, Danielle, how come you don’t feel guilty? Where is your sense of religious shame? Didn’t you go to seminary and learn the same things I did? My answer to this is, yes, I did go through the same educational system as you, but I have chosen to recognize that I am a freethinking individual with the ability to make my own decisions despite what has been drilled into my psyche by authority figures. I do not feel guilty because I do not think there is anything wrong with acting upon my sexual desires. As long as I do so with intelligence, preparedness, and safety, I see nothing problematic about engaging in a little hanky panky every now and then. And it should not be my problem if you do.
So please, to all of you guys (and girls) who fall prey to your feelings of guilt, do not project it my way. Wake up and think for yourselves. But, if you are not as strong as me (and some of my other girls) and you can’t get over your mommy issues, at least wipe your feet at the damn door and leave your shame on the guilt train.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Eat Me, Bro
Today I learned an interesting new phrase, a new idiom to add to my repertoire of expressions that I can call upon when speaking to those of lesser intelligence (i.e. frat boys and/or the people in my criminology class). This slang term was featured in an article, for lack of a better word, which a friend of mine had posted on facebook (in what I read as a lame attempt to elicit a few laughs for a few obviously comically stunted individuals). As a consumer of sexual research, I was drawn to the title, “Birth Control not Involving Condoms,” excited about what kind of new form of contraception the
drug companies were marketing now. I was instead directed to a blogging website entitled broslikethis.com, where young, obviously fecund, college-aged men could express themselves in a sort of Tucker Max-esque fashion, in a safe, feminist-free, all male cyber environment. It was at this website, this space of hormonal breathing room, where I was initiated into the world, and word, of “bros”. According to a very enthusiastic, yet clearly deranged reader, a bro is a white young man who typically come from an upper-middle class to upper class upbringing who exhibits alpha male tendencies and is usually found wielding a red cup and talking to an underage girl who he thinks he has a chance to score with. Basically, your average frat boy.
Attached to this message you will find the article to which I am referring, the one that my dear, dear friend posted to his facebook wall. Please take a moment to both read and reflect upon this new blog (which I have never heard of before but will now be following diligently), as I am sure it will provoke some interesting thoughts and opinions to stir within your psyche. Now, as I know you have all been made acutely aware, I am a Women's Studies major; with this in mind, please understand that it has been my duty, for the past 4 years, to fight the misogynistic, patriarchal society in which we live by reading countless pages of literature devoted to such hotly contested topics as the one so famously articulated in this very blog. But, I know what you all are thinking: "Jeez, Danielle, you are just a crazy lesbian feminist who has an ax to grind with men, particularly those with whom you have exchanged bodily fluids. You are only insulted by this blog because you have beef with the boy who posted it, and men in general. Get over yourself and go back to your crime shows!” To this I say: Nay! I am not heated-up by the blog because I am a feminist and/or crazy. I am, instead, affronted by this blog BECAUSE I HAVE A VAGINA. All women, and self-respecting men, should feel insulted by this disgusting attempt at humor!
At this point, I ask you all to go back and give this blog another glance. Do you notice now how the writer, a supposed "bro", has relinquished his responsibility for safe sex, because it "suffocates his joint", and has, instead, placed all of the burden of contraception upon the "bra", or female version of “bro”(do I sense a little irony in that clever nickname? I think so)? Does it now become clear to you that the common "bro" (read: boy you encounter at such locations as Rick's, Skeeps, the entirety of Church Street, the YU library, the Brookdale Lounge, and most Upper West Side Synagogues) is only concerned with finding a strategic, yet comical, patch of skin upon which to blow his load, regardless of the repercussions (i.e. the ultimate "bro-hater"= babies and/or STDs and AIDS)? Are you not, now, concerned with the fitness of our species? The quality of human nature? Your faith in humanity? Because I know I am.
I can only hope that this website was designed to be a joke and that both the writers and readers of this blog discuss these topics out of jest. But I think we all know that this country is not made up of geniuses-- I sincerely doubt that every "bro" who reads this blog does so with a grain of salt. And for that, I worry.
I am not sure if anything can be done about this particular blog entry, or any other one that is featured on broslikethis.com, and I am not sure if doing anything would even help the status of women in this society or those poor boys who take this shit seriously. What do know, however, is that contraception is not only a woman’s responsibility, the morning after pill (I'm sorry- "murder pill") is NOT a form of birth control, and that abortion is not a cure-all. So, to all of you avid readers of and writers for broslikethis.com, I say—eat me. I can’t get pregnant, and steal your “brohood”, from that.
http://www.broslikethissite.com/2009/06/24-birth-control-not-involving-condoms.html
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