Girly Men
Daze found an amusing article in Salon concerning the feminization of modern men. “Sensitive, feminized and resentful, today’s young men no longer have the sexual authority to please a woman—no matter how much oral sex they perform.” It’s not pretty.Younger people have bought into the idea that your lover or spouse is a friend of the opposite sex—although one who will exhibit bad manners you wouldn’t expect from your friends’ pets, much less your friends. The bad manners and androgyny go hand in hand; along with the erotic aura, tenderness and respect have disappeared. These young guys feel free to admit to physical fears, grooming preoccupations and social anxieties their fathers had the good sense to conceal, if they had them. They dress like overgrown toddlers, in oversize T-shirts and baggy pants, clothing that begs you not to take them seriously as grown-ups. They’re pussy-whipped and tamed by 30, but just below the surface they seethe with hostility and resentment at women, because they’re quite aware that their girlfriends or wives treat sex as a commodity to be doled out in return for something better. Neither the young men nor the young women enjoy it as much as they were told they would. Maybe the situation is worse for the women because, after all, it’s the men who are more like women, not the women who are more like men.
In New York, of course, we have wimpy, passive-aggressive, metrosexual hipster wanna-bes. But, plumage aside, it’s all the same. Look no further for an explanation of why so many otherwise-heterosexual chicks are jumping into bed with women, and why the alpha male can corral a harem of babes if he chooses. The latter point is perhaps the plus-side. While these fussy boys are out coloring their hair, buying makeup, or getting their designer undies in a twist trying to yoga their way to sensitivity, I’ll be chatting up their women.
On the flip-side we have a new breed of predatory harpies who give the zipless fuck a bad name. Carrie Hill Wilner writes in Nerve about her sexual escapades, evidently the first installment of a regular series. Note the introduction: “About Last Night chronicles the adventures of a girl and her neighborhood. The girl is Carrie, the neighborhood is Manhattan’s Lower East Side…” Imitation, they say, is the sincerest form of flattery. Anyway, getting on with it, the author describes her pathology, one shared by many neurotic New York women:
[R]ight now I have the capacity for commitment of a tweaked-out eight-year-old. This is why the casual physical relationship is ideal. No weighty obligations or behavioral restrictions, no birthdays to remember or best friends not to flirt with. But still, when the unease associated with sex becomes too much, I want to be able to call The Boy. He’ll say come over, and when I do he’ll make me chamomile tea or we’ll watch tapes of Are You Being Served? until I’m feeling better. Then we might fuck again, or I’ll give him a hug in the doorway, pick up a bag of Gummi Worms for dinner and go home to read Jane Eyre for something like the eighteenth time.
Boys are the new feminine accessory, every bit as disposable as last season’s knockoff handbag. The female predator luxuriates in her newfound sexual freedom, but secretly loathes herself and the obsequious castrati she attracts. She is driven not by the anxious pleasures of her unfulfilling sexual encounters, but by the principle that she deserves to have it all. And then she wonders why she is so miserable. At least the cads and playas of old seemed to enjoy the company of women, if only for a fleeting moment.
There are still good women out there who enjoy sex and don’t treat it like some shameless power-play. DeeGee seems to have it right:
What I look for is a guy who seems comfortable in his own skin. Who looks you in the eyes. Who challenges you, even in small ways. Who loves to watch you laugh and who listens to what you say. I like guys who openly talk about sex. Who swear occasionally. Who like to drink, maybe smoke. I like funny men who don’t mind turning the humour onto themselves. I like strong men who are not indecisive.
Girly men, take note.
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