“It’s very difficult for people to wrap their minds around the concept of a man actually balling up his fist and hitting a woman…The video forces you to take it in. There’s no escaping. You can’t dance around it, you have to deal with it. That’s why video really becomes crucial for this cause, the fight against domestic violence… People say: ‘That guy is so nice when he’s with me. What did you do? What did you say to him? He’s cool. I play golf with him. I can’t imagine him doing this.’ Women are simply not believed.” — Robin Givens
A woman with a famous and/or wealthy man is suspect.
I was a kid growing up in Canada when Wayne Gretzky announced that he was leaving the Edmonton Oilers for the L.A. Kings.
Let’s think about this: man decides to leave Edmonton, Alberta, to go live in one of the most exciting cities in one of the most charismatic states, and is paid an insane amount of money to do so. But rather than admitting that Gretzky might have been making a sensible decision, many people blamed –
his blonde, nubile, American-actress wife. I remember conversations on the playground in which kids denounced her as a slut and a whore. She was stealing Gretzky away from us! Never mind that Gretzky was a fully functioning, intelligent human being with a will and reason all his own. She was – say it with me, boys and girls – a golddigger, forcing him into the, uh, coal mines and general brutality of Beverly Hills.
I remember when Robin Givens admitted, on-air, that her husband, Mike Tyson, physically abused her. She was reviled and denounced as a – wait for it – golddigger. I remember thinking about Robin when a very pregnant Denise Richards left Charlie Sheen, practically fleeing in the middle of the night with a toddler in tow. Sheen had a well-documented history suggesting that he was, shall we say, a difficult personality. But in online forums and tabloid magazines, Denise Richards was the one at fault. Never mind his addictive tendencies: the gambling, the hookers, the cocaine. She was a golddigger.
Since the day that Eve manipulated Adam into eating the apple (no doubt by flashing her breasts and promising him a blowjob afterwards), women have been regarded as rather shady characters. If she’s not a virgin in white, she can’t be trusted. If she cries rape, she’s out for money or attention or revenge. If her sexuality is not safely contained within a monogamous relationship, she’s a homewreck waiting to happen. The combination of female sexuality, intelligence and autonomy especially unsettles us. There’s a name for those kinds of women: femme fatale. Whether it’s Jezebel or Glenn Close in the movie FATAL ATTRACTION, she will lure an innocent man to his doom (unless she’s thrown out of a tower window or stabbed and shot, respectively.)
Granted, Jezebel and the Glenn Close character are extreme examples – and fictional. Janay Rice is neither. She is a woman in an elevator who got cold-cocked by her famous boyfriend. Then he dragged her unconscious body out into the hall.
True seduction is meeting the person where they already are, then leading them to a place where they didn’t know they wanted to go.
True seduction doesn’t involve pick-up lines. It is not one-size-fits-all.
True seduction involves the ability to see things from another person’s perspective, get inside their head, find points of genuine connection.
True seduction is about creating an experience for the other person that surprises and ultimately satisfies. Exploitation is about taking something from them, and ends in lack and regret.
Great storytelling is the best seduction of all.
Voltaire once said that the difference between conquest and seduction is that everybody wants, on some level, to be seduced.
True seduction involves the gift of artful and focused attention. We become what we see in others. We become what others see and call forth from deep in us. click here
“If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be part of your revolution.” — Emma Goldman
I got a kick out of this short and punchy post by online maverick Ashley Ambirge.
As she explains:
The internet popularized the concept of “finding your tribe,” and while Seth Godin’s book by the same name is right on the money, the term itself has become cliché, stale, trite, boiler plate, and fucking offensive…
I’m tired of seeing my Twitter feed, my blog reader, and every single “newsletter” that comes into my inbox be another vomit party of #sameshitdifferentday. I’m tired of seeing yet another call to, “live your best life!” (give me a break), or “Join the tribe!”
I’ve also noticed all those calls to join someone’s “free community!” so I can self-identify as a [insert cute tribe name here] and buy their products and services. As with most of the clutter that fills up Internet airspace, I’ve made a habit of tuning them out.
Blame, if you wish, Lady Gaga, who rose to stardom partly on the brilliance of her social media savvy, galvanizing a deep online community of hardcore fans known as “Little Monsters”. Books on branding and marketing have done a deep-dive into the success stories of Gaga and other tattoo brands* —
*(By tattoo brands I mean: brands that people love and self-identify with so intensely that they tattoo the brand logo on a chosen body part. That is when you know you’ve truly made it: when someone immortalizes your symbol on their ass.) click here
A young woman takes naked pictures of herself and texts or emails them to a lover, or keeps them for her own amusement. There is nothing wrong with this.
There is, however, something very wrong with anyone who seeks to exploit or humiliate that woman by violating her trust and/or basic right to privacy by splashing those images online.
Equality begins with a woman’s ability to have control over her own body (….including naked representations thereof).
I mean, I’m all for desire, and the things we do and the games we play when we’re caught in the zesty back-and-forth of mutual lust.
It’s human nature to find each other attractive.
It’s human nature to want other people to find you attractive.
But a person’s sexuality cannot be divorced from the person herself (or himself): that hot body comes complete with an inner life, a personality, hopes and dreams, a range of emotions, family and friends, an intellect, and the will to consent. Or not.
When you deny a person all that rich interiority – when you deny a specific group of people that, and you do it thoroughly and consistently – you strip them of their humanity. You flatten them out. You reduce them to a two-dimensional existence.
That’s when it becomes oppression. click here
“It’s not what you’ve got. It’s about how brave you’re prepared to be.” — Seth Godin
It’s time for you to go on an adventure.
with the knowing
that ‘here’ is a place you can’t stay.
The journey owns you.
It’s time to go deep
and take back the gold in the dark.
The power and the light.
The power is your birthright. click here
The word makes you think, maybe, of a damsel in distress: flinging hand to forehead, getting tied to a railroad track somewhere by a villain with impressive facial hair.
Heroines provide opportunities for the hero to prove his heroism. They serve and support by acting as the hero’s moral conscience, or by serving as his muse, or by dying prematurely so that he can go after the bad guys and avenge her in manly ways.
“In the whole mythological tradition,” Joseph Campbell is quoted as saying, “the woman is there. All she has to do is to realize that she’s the place that people are trying to get to. When a woman realizes what her wonderful character is, she’s not going to get messed up with the notion of being pseudo-male.”
I don’t buy it. click here
Last year I spent most of five months travelling through the US, Canada and Europe talking about my book, ZEN UNDER FIRE. At almost every book talk I gave, someone would ask me, ‘Weren’t you afraid to be in Afghanistan, such a dangerous country for women?’
My standard answer was that all countries are dangerous for women.
In Afghanistan I helped document more than 400 case reports of violence against women. They made me sad, mad and sometimes scared. But I also saw that they were not so different from the cases of violence against women I’ve documented or read in New Zealand, or in the US, or Canada, or Australia.
Why make the point about his happening everywhere? Why not just talk about violence against women in Afghanistan?
Because I wanted to own it.
I wanted to avoid the human tendency to want to believe the really ugly shit belongs to some place and someone else. I was saying, ‘This doesn’t only happen over there, it happens here too. It doesn’t only happen to someone else. It happens to us too.’
As my book tour continued, stories kept appearing across the US and Canada. Stories of girls who had been raped, blamed, shamed and shunned. Stories of boys who believed they had done nothing wrong. Stories of entire towns that stood in support of their ‘decent boys’ who had just made a stupid mistake. Stories that were as painful, to me, as anything I’d seen in Afghanistan.
Then I returned to New Zealand to more stories of girls and women being shamed and blamed for being raped. Stories of boys boasting on Facebook about the girls they had raped, and those girls being asked by police officers what they had been wearing at the time, or whether they had been drinking.
At a more subtle level, I saw women being judged for their dress sense, their looks, their figure, who they had or hadn’t slept with. I saw mothers judged for their choices to work, or not to work. When’s the last time any of us heard a man asked why he bothered having children if he was just going to keep on working?
Over and over again I saw that I was living in a world that was often hostile to women.
I asked myself: Where does this come from? How is it allowed to carry on? What can I do about it? click here
I am soon to turn 42.
I’ve been following the backlash to the recent Esquire piece In Praise of 42 Year Old Women, which is pissing off the very women it wants to celebrate .
In 1999 Esquire came out with In Praise of 27 Year Old Women, which didn’t seem to arouse so much ire. I remember a friend of mine – brilliant and culture-savvy – mentioning the piece over the phone with a pleased expression in her voice. She had just turned 27, and as we began to stare down 30 I think we might have been looking for some kind of reassurance that the universe as we knew it wasn’t about to suddenly end.
But somewhere between 27 and 42 you stop looking for that kind of reassurance.
You have a level of self-knowledge that wasn’t possible in your twenties, and along with self-discovery comes greater self-esteem.
A marker of self-esteem, as Gloria Steinem notes in her book REVOLUTION FROM WITHIN, is learning to see yourself from the inside-out instead of filtered through the perspective of a hot-or-not culture. It’s the difference between wanting to be wanted, and knowing what you want (and feeling comfortable in your right to go and get it).
It’s the difference between perceiving power as sourced outside of yourself – which primes you to seek external validation – and trusting your natural, inner authority. click here
“I suppose some of my lyrics owe a debt to those naughty books.” — Cole Porter
My son loves Tintin. He can’t get enough of Tintin. He’s been working his way through all the Tintin books, reading them as fast as I can buy them (I told my boys a long time ago that they could have any book they wanted, as many books as they wanted).
“Tintin is kind of my role model,” he told me.
A friend of mine happened to be in the house during the boys’ daily reading time, and she wondered aloud if my intellectually gifted child shouldn’t be reading “something more challenging than those Tintin books. They’re, like, comic books –“
“Graphic novels,” I said.
“ – whatever. Shouldn’t he be reading real books? I bet he could handle To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“Look,” I said, opening up a box and lifting out the contents, “I got him a Tintin action figure.”
(This same friend would later see me holding the toy figure of a character from Game of Thrones, and ask, “Is that also for your kid?” “Uh, no,” I would admit. “It’s for my desk.”)
I’m perfectly confident that my son can handle ‘real’ books, and that he will come to Mockingbird in his own sweet time – probably for a school assignment – and enjoy it as much as I did (and he and I can then discuss the problematic ‘white redeemer’ trope). And I can’t deny that, hell, I would love to see him enthusiastically waving around a copy of The Stranger or Crime and Punishment, mostly so I could brag about it on Twitter.
But the soul wants what it wants. click here
“I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.”
― Augusten Burroughs
“I am not an angel,” I asserted; “and I will not be one till I die: I will be myself.”
― Charlotte Brontë, JANE EYRE
“This thing about you that you think is your flaw – it’s the reason I’m falling in love with you.”
― Colleen Hoover, SLAMMED
I’ve always been struck by the phrase ‘to find your voice’, as if it’s waiting for you behind the refrigerator or between the couch cushions.
According to psychologist Carol Gilligan, there’s some truth to it. Boys and girls bury their real voice in a personal underground as they learn to adapt and survive in a culture that praises certain behaviors and disdains others.
As kids, we are powerless, and so we construct the False Self, the social mask, that wins us the love – or at least the attention – we desperately need.
One of life’s ironies is that when we’ve pretty much perfected the mask, it becomes just as necessary to our wellbeing not to maintain it, but to smash it.
We need genuine and authentic connection with others. We need to see and be seen.
It’s how we express ourselves – our voice, our style, our creativity – that reveals our inner lives and shows us to others; that makes deep connection possible.
Or not. click here