Stories We Tell
A friend alerted me to this charming story the other day:
What I like about this story is that it is a good way to test whether, deep down, you are a feminist. When I read this story, I found myself sympathizing with the husband—the husband! The one character in the story who behaved immorally. (Admittedly the slut-shaming he put his wife through was relatively minor, but it is still hard to believe she had to put up with his patriarchal bullshit in this day and age. "I bought you a ring, so now I have the right to comment on your sexual choices." Jesus Christ, what is this, the 1950s?)
But as I said, almost despite myself, I find that my reaction to the wife is more negative than my reaction to the husband. I assure you, this is all happening on an emotional level. Rationally I know that the woman's behavior was above reproach. But I can't shake the (deeply misogynistic) feeling that something is distasteful here, something is not as it ought to be. And that is how I know I am not really a feminist at heart.
I once went to a billiards bar with another client, the NBA player. The place doubled as a night club, and because my guy had just won a title, heads turned the moment we walked in.
An attractive married woman—she had a huge rock on her finger—came over and started hitting on my client immediately and relentlessly. After a while, her husband came out from the dance club area, clearly upset. He never threatened anything physical. He barely even raised his voice. He just wanted to know what she was doing. His wife played dumb. So my client spoke up: "Your girl is trying to fuck me."
The husband got into it a little with his wife. He wanted to leave. My client called over one of the bouncers and told him to get rid of the couple. The wife decided to stay. The husband got booted. He was irate. She didn't care. Five minutes later, my client was having sex with her in the back office of the club. She left, and he never talked to her again. Obviously, we have no idea what happened with the marriage.
What I like about this story is that it is a good way to test whether, deep down, you are a feminist. When I read this story, I found myself sympathizing with the husband—the husband! The one character in the story who behaved immorally. (Admittedly the slut-shaming he put his wife through was relatively minor, but it is still hard to believe she had to put up with his patriarchal bullshit in this day and age. "I bought you a ring, so now I have the right to comment on your sexual choices." Jesus Christ, what is this, the 1950s?)
But as I said, almost despite myself, I find that my reaction to the wife is more negative than my reaction to the husband. I assure you, this is all happening on an emotional level. Rationally I know that the woman's behavior was above reproach. But I can't shake the (deeply misogynistic) feeling that something is distasteful here, something is not as it ought to be. And that is how I know I am not really a feminist at heart.
posted by James | 10:26 PM
1 Comments:
Not sure anyone really espouses this view.
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