I don’t know that a formal survey’s been done, but I think it’s safe to say that in the eyes of most straight men in America, turbans on a women’s head aren’t hot. Neither are ostrich-feather miniskirts, utility pants, or capes. To many guys, tight, form-fitting, and revealing fashions constitute “sexy.” And isn’t that what fashion is supposed to be all about? Getting us to look at one woman rather than another?
According to Leandra Medine, young designer and creator of The Man Repeller, the answer is no. Her site (which has been the subject of worldwide buzz) celebrates fashion that “proudly obstructs the male gaze” (The New York Times) and acts (in her own words) as “sartorial contraceptives.” (Think creative use of bow ties and harem pants, and you’re just getting started.) The fashion press has embraced Medine’s “man-repelling” aesthetic. Judging from the comments on sites that cover the beauty and clothing industries, The Man Repeller is a hit with many women. Keep reading »
In my office, Amber is telling me a familiar story. She’s come to talk about her autobiography paper for my women’s studies class, and she reads part of her rough draft aloud.
“I was 12, and this car pulled up alongside me as I was walking home from school … the driver looked a little older than my dad, at least 40. He leaned out, and I thought he was going to ask me for directions, but instead he asked me how old I was. When I told him, he laughed. ‘Damn, you got some big titties for such a little girl.’ He made this gross smacking sound with his lips, and sped away. I ran all the way home.”
Amber looks up at me. “I want to know,” she asks, “why do older men hit on younger women?” She’s 20 now, tall and graceful; she tells me that for the last eight years, older men have been approaching her. “It’s not just me,” she adds, “it happens to most of my friends, almost regardless of what they look like or what they’re wearing. It makes me feel like I can’t trust anyone, like all men want just one thing. Why can’t they chase women their own age?” Keep reading »
I read a blog post earlier this month that sounded a familiar refrain: Are single women too independent for their own good? Women’s magazines ask that question, men’s magazines ask that question, and the answer is almost always the same: yes. Keep reading »
If you’ve turned on a TV since 1998, you know how obsessed we are with hard-ons. Since the little blue pill appeared more than a dozen years ago, countless imitators of varying legitimacy and effectiveness have hit the market. Ads for drugs that promise to cure erectile dysfunction run nonstop during sporting events, and the sales of these medications generate hundreds of millions of dollars a year. We watch these ads and pop these pills without ever considering that the periodic inability to get an erection could be the best thing that could happen to our sex lives.
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When I was getting clean and sober in a Twelve Step program many years ago, there was one phrase from the literature that always resonated with me. We addicts have been, the book said, the “architects of our own adversity.” Yes, I thought the first time I read that. It’s time to stop blaming others for my own pain. It’s time to take responsibility.
That same phrase comes to mind when I think about Men’s Rights Activists (MRAs). I’ve been crossing verbal swords with the MRAs for many years, particularly since 2004 when I began to develop a public presence as a male feminist writer and professor. I learned quickly that not all MRAs were the same; some offered thoughtful criticism while others offered only nasty invective. (Look up “Hugo Schwyzer Mangina” if you need evidence of the latter.) Keep reading »
Like countless American children, I grew up hearing the nursery rhyme that claimed that little boys were made of “snips and snails and puppy-dog tails” while girls were “sugar and spice and everything nice.” Attached as I was as a small boy to our pet dachshund, I thought puppy-dog tails were a fine thing indeed, but the point of the rhyme wasn’t lost on me. Boys were dirty, girls were clean and pure. Keep reading »
When you think of American women, what do you think of? If you said an incredibly diverse group of people with varying interests, shades of hair, skin colors, religions, and creeds, then you’re right. But one guy feels otherwise and has dedicated an entire blog to bashing us American women, claiming we are all the same.
Read more … Keep reading »
I have a fair number of female friends, and sometimes dating is hard as a result. I’m not Casanova — I write on the internet for a living, for Christ’s sake — but my girlfriends often get jealous of my girl-gendered friends. They think that if I’m hanging out with a female friend, I’m probably having sex with them. If I were having sex on the side, this article would be titled something like “How To Tell If Your Ugly Boyfriend Has Somehow Figured Out How To Sleep With More Than One Person.” Unfortunately, my motives are as pure as they come. I’m trying to get my girlfriend to stop bothering me. Keep reading »
Newsflash! Ladies, your man doesn’t always want to hang out with your vagina. Sometimes the most erotic and exciting thing in the bedroom is your hand. No way, this can’t be true, you’re thinking. Aren’t handjobs for sleepaway camp and when I’m on antibiotics? Aren’t they passé like beepers and hotmail accounts? The short answer is NO. But lucky for you, I’m going to give you the long answer. Finally, someone will stand up to the powerful vagina lobbyists in Washington and explain how our nation got hoodwinked into thinking handjobs are lame. My theory is simple and, naturally, revolves around baseball and Benicio Del Toro. Keep reading »
The clever lyric goes: “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” But an even greater lyric might go: “Life is what happens while you’re feeling about 11 years old.” I’m often told by my shrink that the greatest challenge for men is reconciling that they are in fact adults, while the majority of women he sees are in therapy to stave off turning into their own mother.
So let’s see: that would mean my wife and I (and most other couples) are quite the fetching pair: An adolescent boy strolling down the street with his lady’s mother.
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