“While evolutionary psychology suggests that women pass on casual sex due to an inherent lack of sexual desire, Conley says there’s an entirely different reason. She posits that women say “thanks, but no thanks” for fear of being judged. She also says that women have serious reservations about whether a one-night stand would be enjoyable with a new partner. She tries to explain to men, “The reason women are turning you down for casual sex seems to be that, for one thing, a lot of you are calling them sluts afterward.” Also, “A lot of you aren’t bothering to try to be good in bed.” Preach.”
I was reading about this a few days ago and wasn’t sure where to start. Like, women turn down casual sex with a total stranger and the immediate conclusion is that they just aren’t interested in sex, period??? Really??? I mean, there’s the idea of being judged for having sex with a total stranger, there’s the fact that it might not be very good, and there’s, I don’t know, the fact that this stranger could plan to leave you for dead in a ditch. Nah, it must be because women just don’t want to have sex. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the ticket.
“None of the women I know with long, pretty hair is anything like the “ideal woman” who’s spoken of in breathless terms on Men’s Rights Activism sites, Pickup Artist forums and in great canonical works of literature written and revered by men, because none of them are fictional. The “ideal woman”, who wakes up looking like an underwear model, who is satisfied with her role as housewife and helpmeet but remains passionate enough to hold a man’s interest, who looks “bangable” but never actually bangs, because that would make her a slut, is almost entirely fictional. She exists mainly as a standard against which every real women can be held and found wanting.”
Why patriarchy fears the scissors: for women, short hair is a political statement
”He writes that long hair is “almost universally attractive to men, when they’re actually speaking honestly… Women instinctively know this, which is why every American girl who cuts, and keeps, her hair short often does it for ulterior reasons … Short hair is a political statement. And, invariably, a girl who has gone through with a short cut – and is pleased with the changes in her reception – is damaged in some significant way. Short hair is a near-guarantee that a girl will be more abrasive, more masculine, and more deranged.”
The essential argument is: men like long hair, and what sane woman would ever want to do anything that decreases her capacity to please men? “(via crewdlydrawn)
When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”
When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.
When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”
(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)
When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.
I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.
No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.
I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.
So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:
In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.”
— r.d. (via vonmoire)
this is all true and perfect and awful. and dudes, one of the worst things you can do in a situation where you witness “those guys” is say “not all guys are like that.” the last time a man screamed out his car window that i was a slut, an unknown man walking the other way turned to me and said, “i’m sorry that guy’s an asshole. have a good night, okay?”
if you feel you absolutely must comment on the situation, model yourself on that man. don’t make excuses for yourself or “guys” as a whole or, in fact, anyone. don’t center your concern on what this says about you or about what i might think of you in the face of your fellows’ abusive behavior. if you want to express concern or sympathy, center it around me and then shut up. any concern you have about what this says about you or about “guys” is valid, and you should probably think about it, but that is not my problem. i am not interested in affirming how good it is of you to have noticed that something bad happened or reassuring you that you’re not one of “them.” violence has just been done to me. either stay out of it or worry about me. keep your introspection to your damn self.