Age is a cardinal sin. Once committed by a woman, she may as well pack it in and die. No one escapes the humiliation of it, the constant march toward the end but women, we suffer it worse than anyone. Society gives us ten years. Before that, we’re indecent. Afterward, matronly. Expectations breed results.
The social contract says we’re open for business at the age of eighteen. By twenty-two, we’re conditioned to start worrying about twenty-seven. At thirty, it’s lights out. Everything’s over. Not even half of a natural lifespan gone and we’re building doubts about what we can do for the rest of our lives.
The can’t dos:
Can’t wear specific clothes. Previous words used: cute, hot, sexy. New words: inappropriate, tacky, immature.
Can’t participate in some events. Partying makes us seem desperate. Cosplay? Jesus Christ. The loudest people make it sound like we belong in a home before thirty-one. Those women just starting out look at us like we’re elders. People who defy these social notions become cute, brave, and awesome.
Can’t be ambitious. The words that describe us when we attempt to be successful, when we compete with men, border on criminally prejudiced. Expressing the exact same traits as a man, what’s admirable in him becomes reprehensible in us. Bitch, bossy, cunt, cow, dyke...name it. If we dare to climb, we become the enemy.
That list goes on and on. With every additional word, it becomes more depressing, a profound spotlight on a world so fucked up, so destitute, it’s drowning in its own hypocrisy. We live in a clearing surrounded by a shadow of slavery, always assaulting the bright light that is our will.
But it gets tiring.
The can dos:
We can get married. Find a successful man. If he’s nice, we won the lottery. If he’s a piece of shit, that’s probably our fault. If he hits us, steps out, acts like a douche bag, again, obviously our fault. As people go, we’re tools. Constructs with a socially engineered purpose and if we don’t fulfill it, we become the enemy.
We can save ourselves for marriage. Sort of. If we have fun, if we sleep around because we enjoy the same pleasure as men, then our purpose changes. We’re a hole for men to lose themselves, creatures with the express purpose of letting them unwind. We’re in person pornography. Disposable as hookers in the eyes of those around us.
We can have a family. Holy God in heaven, you’d think our genetic makeup was specifically coded to produce children. To calm our brothers, to nurture those around us with some sort of inherent sweetness or temperance. If we don’t have something growing inside of us by the time we’re thirty, we might as well be dead.
The way people look at us when we say things like I don’t want kids or I have a career is comical. Worse, if you have the misfortune of being an American woman, you have to find a balance of being a mother and holding down a job because we’re not in the fifties anymore. Every man doesn’t have the incoming salary to support us all.
And the catch twenty-two continues. The oppression that we should be destitute house wives, frazzled but always visually pleasing. Depressed but wearing a smile. Enraged but the voice of reason. Why should we be anything positive in a world that actively tries to kill us? Society itself is an emotional terrorist.
And all the people who create that group are its cells looking to eradicate whatever peace of mind, ambition, or dreams we might have. In fact, if we’re not in the market for producing offspring, why should we have any of the others? Our sanctity exists only when we give up ourselves to live in the rut of other people’s wills.
What happens if you don’t like men? Simple. We become the enemy.
What happens if we have a strong opinion about politics? We become the enemy.
What happens if we fight for our rights? We become the enemy.
None of this shit has gone away. Every fucking day we wake up at war. If we’re with a man, he complains about his lot in life. He’s playing the game with cheat codes. We’re on impossible difficulty with nearly every odd stacked against us. And then there’s the concept that we have it easy. Let’s just talk about that, shall we?
Define misogyny: the thought that women are inferior but have natural advantages that grant them things they want.
Here are terms used by men: Women can get laid any time they want, even if they’re ugly. See above as to why this is a bad idea. Sure, there’s always some sap who will fuck someone. And they’re not hard to find. That doesn’t make it a good idea, not if we give a shit about our reputations...disease...random abuse...you know. The horrors of sleeping with relative strangers.
Does it garner us some advantage? That really depends. What do you want in life? Do you want to use a genetic accident to seduce a man into caring for you? And if so, how high can you climb? Is this a romantic comedy from the Marylin Monroe era? Get the best, most wealthy male you can and hold on tight.
How long will it last? Well, that doesn’t matter much does it? Take one day at a time. Gold dig if necessary because with all our disadvantages, at least the vagina can keep us in a lifestyle to which we feel we deserve. Isn’t it funny that prostitutes go to jail but women who enter loveless marriages for financial security are good wives?
Women do not get by on talent. It’s always their looks. Willingness to show some cleavage, to put on some makeup, to pretend we’re interested in some male driven pass time or fandom somehow means we must be terrible at whatever we’re doing. The going theory, the general thought is we’re only good at ‘girl things’.
Define those by the way. The ridiculous outdated ideals of being good with children, capable in the kitchen, maids. Servants. Slaves. News flash. Anyone can be good at those things, especially if they’ve been conditioned to believe it. Preach this shit to a man as he grows up and see how well he does with an iron.
Male dominated creative pursuits, games or even movies triggers something in the male psyche. The competitiveness in their heads pushes them to shit on our success by devaluing it. Saying it was her tits, the low cut shirt, the tight pants, the excessive makeup, the high heels, the slut attire...whatever it takes to make their own failure less damaging to their egos.
Never mind the fact that there are fewer women who are willing to even try to get into many male dominated arenas for fear of being treated like shit. Gamersgate anyone? Or how about the reviews based solely on gender for film and TV? Men are weak assholes with enough complexes to make a rabid dog look sane.
And that’s where the misconception comes from. It’s not a lack of talented women. It’s the men who see them as competitors rather than equals. Men who look at women as things to conquer rather than partner with. Or worse, champion. I’ll be your knight. Fuck you. Just do your thing and shut the fuck up about mine. Enjoy it or not.
Contrary to the constant conflict, we are not competing with you. We’ve got our own fucked up internal gender conflicts to deal with. Oscar Wilde said women only call each other sister when they have called each other a lot of other things first. So trust me, we need male whining like we need our spines removed.
Women have it easier in the work force. I don’t even want to address this naive fuckery. Sincerely, if someone thinks that? Just fuck off. There’s no point in talking. This is pretty much like supporting an initiative to take away our right to an abortion. You’re a piece of shit, I don’t have time for you, go away. Because this is just false and I won’t say anything else.
Let me boil this down to a TLDR. Our lives are a constant challenge because men have fragile egos and they’re terrified we’ll prove we can do anything without them. Not just to them or society at large but to ourselves. Because while we are oppressed, the worst enemy we have resides in ourselves.
Anxiety and fear rule our lives. Will I be attacked because I walked home alone? Will I receive justice if something happens to me? Can I let myself go at this party or do I not know the people well enough? We’re cagey, we’re twitchy, and we’re scared. Telling us to lighten up is naive. It’s stupid. You lack empathy by doing it.
And just because one guy has a ‘good’ reputation doesn’t mean he might not have a ‘bad’ moment. Does it suck to say that? Sure. So does being raped. Victimized. Terrorized. Brutalized. Told we have no value after a certain age. Forced to question our purpose when we defy expectation.
The Count of Monte Cristo movie as a quote that’s accurate. Life is a storm my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. Unfortunately for us, the storm continues to assault us, day in…day out…the rocks are always there.