In other words, never.
I admit that I’ve never been quite the feminist’s dream. I bought into certain outdated sexist notions like “chivalry” and “never hit a woman.” Still, on those rare occasions that a woman allowed me to have a more intimate “connection,” I always respected her as a fellow human being.
As a matter of fact, I respected almost all women as fellow human beings, including the anonymous ones who would pass out drunk half-naked on our frathouse living room floor.
Yes, it was a fraternity, but it wasn’t one of those fraternities. Sure, we had a few cads, but for the most part we didn’t have a lot of women hanging around (at least not amazingly attractive ones. I know, I was a lookist).
I accepted this, albeit somewhat confusedly. After all, we were doing everything we were supposed to do. When we found random women in their underwear in some hall closet unable to speak, if nobody recognized her, we drove her home.
And then I started noticing things.
There was one house on campus that was always in some sort of trouble. Property damage at a hotel during a formal, alcohol violations, noise complaints. Once, they were even in trouble for a suspected rape. The only reason they weren’t kicked off campus was that their national fraternity was housed on the same campus.
Of course, I would never commit rape, I would never even commit a suspected rape—I was far too respectful to let any woman feel uncomfortable around me.
So, my fraternity was what it was supposed to be (aside from the French guy who liked to brag about giving women The Shocker), and that other house WASN’T. Makes sense. Therefore, we should have had all sorts of beautiful women (or at least average women) doing everything they could to be respected by us, and they should avoid that other place like the plague.
However, whenever I walked by that other house, I would see gorgeous women entering it, leaving it, or partying in skimpy clothing in its front yard. They never seemed to get enough of the place. That house always had better parties than us, even when they were on Social Probation and weren’t allowed to have parties at all.
Somebody eventually explained to me that the problem wasn’t that we were doing anything wrong or that the other house was doing anything particularly right. The issue was that the girls who hung out over there had low self-esteem. The ones who partied with us respected themselves. Unfortunately, they just happened not to be as pretty.
And my dumb ass bought it.
It took me years (yes, years) before I started question why the women that made every guy’s jaw drop were always the ones with low self-esteem and the women who respected themselves were more likely to have bad skin, a little bit of a tummy, or a big nose.
The eternal quest: to find a woman who respects herself despite being more physically attractive than the women who do respect themselves. (I will admit that a women’s worth is not entirely physical. I won’t admit that beautiful yet intelligent women are somehow less worthy than average yet intelligent women.)
I wanted to do right by women, I really did. Even though I found her devastatingly beautiful, when Becky ran up to me on that porch one night in tears because of a family problem, I cared. I hugged her as a friend, not as some creep trying to take advantage of a pretty girl during a vulnerable moment. At more appropriate times I pined over her despite dickhead boyfriend, but her eyes looked so sweet and vulnerable through those tears that my only thought was to ease her pain (really, and I did).
Two weeks later she broke up with her dickhead boyfriend! Before I could talk to her alone she was making out in the bar with another dickhead.
You see, Becky was conditioned by society to devalue herself before men, to see herself as an object; she was being oppressed. She needed to find a dickhead to treat her badly so that she could act out the internal self-loathing society had imposed on her for being so pretty. (Just don’t be too dorky when you approach her or she’ll cut you in half. I’ve seen it.)
Isn’t it obvious that women like Halle Berry, Sandra Bullock, and Rihanna would all have a horribly low sense of self-worth, whereas Joy Behar would have every reason to value herself in a liberated society such as our own?
Actually, it doesn’t make any fucking sense at all.
I’ll start taking feminism seriously when it takes reality seriously.
Let’s assume for the sake of argument that women are conditioned to want dickheads. Fine. You win, bitches!
When feminism really got its mojo on in the 1960’s, women liked dickheads up through college because supposedly that’s how they were conditioned. As they left college and married, they got over it. Some of them married dickheads, but a lot of them instead opted to marry a decent guy with decent earning potential who refrained from smacking them upside the head.
It’s now fifty years later. We’ve had sensitivity classes in high school and during college orientations. We’ve prosecuted elementary school children for sexual harassment. Aretha’s song is our anthem! Obviously, women shouldn’t want dickheads nearly as much as they used to, now that we’ve had a chance to condition them for a half century, right?
Not exactly. Whereas under the era of oppression dickheads were something to lust over in high school but get over in college, now in our more liberated times, women routinely boink dickheads all the way until they hit thirty, or beyond (if her looks hold up).
I’m aware that feminism hasn’t infiltrated every crevice of our culture (yet), but it’s impossible to argue that it has less influence on our society than it did fifty years ago. Perhaps women are more objectified on television, but they’re also far more prominent in government, management, college, etc. I no longer have the option to take my pick from the secretary pool.
Yet, somehow, these evil dickheads somehow manage to get the best women, consistently. The type of guy the feminists hate the most are the ones who seem to be benefitting from feminism the most. The caring guy dying to treat Her as an equal has even less worth than his equivalent had in the past.
You mean a lefty program having the opposite of its intended effect?
To any feminist reading this, not only do I accuse you of not taking reality seriously, I accuse you of not taking feminism seriously.
You’ll kick and scream and spit at me denying it, but you also like to boink the guy who isn’t quite as respectful as you think he should be. You’ll completely forget about half the men you’ve had sex with while you’re arguing with me (that doesn’t count because I was drunk, lonely, etc.), you’ll give yourself credit for sleeping with that one nice guy who you dumped once he started being nice, you’ll insist that your politics and your pussy are on the same page, but when push comes to shove, you’ll push and shove with the guy who treats you like he doesn’t take you seriously.
And yes, even me, a guy who’s just learning this shit. Next time I talk to one of you, I’m not mincing words. If you say something stupid, you’ll hear about it. No more placating, prevaricating, “let’s look at this from all sides” bullshit.
You’ll hem. You’ll haw. You’ll fidget and want to rip my throat out.
And you’ll love me for it.
So, it looks to me like your politics and your pussy aren’t exactly in line with each other. In fact, they contradict.
That means I can take one or the other.
You’re a smart chick. Which one you think I’ll choose?