Especially on what this means?
I got into a conversation the other day with a coworker. I’ve talked about this guy before. Very proud, chest-thumping liberal. He’s behind every progressive, cause and likes to talk to me about the latest thing on John Stewart, Keith Olbermann, and Rachel Maddow. I’m not nearly as passionate about these things as he is, though I do consider myself politically liberal. I think he’s drawn to me because there are many conservatives–secret and “out”–on our floor and he’s the type that has to talk politics every day or his brain explodes.
I let him borrow the book “Positive Thinking” by Barbara Ehrenreich, who essentially blames the focus on the “think it and it shall come” meme for a host of societal ills. He said he read every chapter except the one on breast cancer (for reasons unknown to me) and asked me to summarize it. Ehrenreich talks about her own diagnosis and how the cult of “positive thinking” among fellow sufferers and others tried to pressure her to swallow her well-justified feelings of anger, sadness, and frustration. She also mentions the infantalization and hyper-feminization of breast cancer patients, who are practically smothered in pink teddy bears, coloring books, pamplets on beauty tips (so you don’t look ugly as you die), and other crazy distractions so that no one actually pays attention to their own medical treatment. Then she talks about how the focus is always on the survivors, as if they did something special and heroic that the “non-survivors” didn’t do.
My coworker thought Ehrenreich was completely wrong about all of this. Of course women would get cuddly teddy bears. They LOVE those things. Of course they would appreciate beauty tips. They LOVE looking beautiful. And it’s not weird that breast cancer fundraising is so ubiquitous, overshadowing practically all the other cancers that people get and die from every day. Men like breasts and are more comfortable talking about them than ovaries or uteri or other reproductive parts–including their own. We, apparently, all like breasts. And then he said the Live Strong campaign probably makes just as much money. I dunno. I know about the Live Strong bracelet thing that was trendy a few years ago. But I would be shocked if Live Strong was as well known, or as well-funded as the Susan J. Komen Foundation.
I tried to explain to him my discomfort with the whole teddy bear thing, forgetting the other mess (just so everyone knows, if I’m dying and someone tries to put mascara on me, I’m coming back to haunt their ass). Women aren’t children. Sure, there may be lots of women who like stuffed animals, and would like the comfort they might provide in a sick bed. I have no strong disliking of teddy bears myself, but I wouldn’t want people giving them to me, especially in a strange ploy to fight my disease. I would want comforting items in addition to information. Like, what kind of drugs are flowing through my bloodstream? What might be the side-effects? What’s my prognosis really? I wouldn’t want to be coddled and protected, like I’m frail and helpless. I’d want to be treated like a grown-ass adult.
He laughed in my face and said that I didn’t understand women. Consider that for a moment. A woman, myself, does not understand women. How patronizing.
But that’s besides the point. His point was that women will always be treated differently (i.e., like they’re frail and helpless) because “that’s just how it is”. Women, he said, are the fairer sex. They like when their man wins them a big ole teddy bear at the state fair. They like having the door held for them, the chair pulled out for them, and they like silly things. I told him that I don’t like these things and he again said I just don’t understand women.
It seemed like we might have been talking past one another, so I offered him a scenario based on a real incident. My sister’s in-laws had a conniption fit when my sister allowed her oldest daughter (who was 14 at the time) to walk less than a mile up the street to the 7-11. Now my siblings and I grew up walking miles all over Atlanta, in bad and good neighborhoods, always completely unafraid. But my sister’s quiet, suburban subdivision was deemed too dangerous by her in-laws. I asked my coworker was this reasonable or not, and he wasted no time saying that it was reasonable. Don’t I know how many women get raped? Wouldn’t I feel horrible if my neice had been kidnapped on her way to the 7-11?
Previous to this conversation, I thought this guy was intelligent, but I suddenly felt like I was talking to a complete idiot.
So I asked him if he’d have a problem sending his 14-year old son to the 7-11. Of course he said wouldn’t. I didn’t ask him this, but I’m guessing he is not aware that there are predators out there looking for 14-year-old boys too. And it’s not like a 14-year-old boy is a muscle-bound superman. If someone’s going to “get” him, they will get him.
But no, he wouldn’t have a problem with his son roaming the neighborhood. Because women, he reminded me in his patronizing yet confident-he was-not-being-sexist way, are the fairer sex.
Then there’s another coworker who likes to compliment me on how “frail and delicate” I am. The other day he did this and I abruptedly corrected him with, “I am NOT frail.” How in the hell would that be a compliment? Maybe some women eat that kind of shit up, but I ain’t the one.
So I guess I’m curious. What is your definition of “fairer sex?” I always thought this referred to looks, but this guy seemed to think it meant everything from being helpless babies to liking pretty things Do you see sexist implications in believing women are the “fairer sex”, or do you think it’s pretty innocuous? Also, would you have a problem with your teenaged daughter (or whomever) walking down the street? I’m not talking miles, but less than a mile. Not in a “bad” neighborhood, but just a regular neighborhood. Because it is my opinion (and I told this guy so) that the more we inculcate girls with the idea that they are constantly under threat of attack because they are “frail and delicate”, then we shouldn’t be surprised when they develop anxiety disorders, don’t move out of their hometowns or go traveling by themselves, or take on other advantageous risks that many men do without thinking twice. I told this guy that I’m no more risk-averse than an average single guy my age. I walk the city streets at night, go traveling alone, go to the public bathroom ALONE, and although I’m conscientious the whole time, I refuse to live in fear. I thought he would be impressed, but instead he just shook his head. Like I just didn’t get it.
Maybe he’s right. I want to find out.