Valentine’s Day Gifts for Men

Hey, you know what’s gross? Those ads all over TV right now where a guy buys a girl some overpriced rocks on a string or a ring, and she lives happily ever after and cries and stuff because oh my god this is all she ever wanted in life. (And don’t even get us started on the Victoria’s Secret ads implying women are all dying to receive the gift of ludicrous underwear.) Valentine’s Day, at its core, isn’t evil: Great love is hard to find, so we see nothing wrong with celebrating it. We’d rather celebrate it every day without crass commercialism lurking, but whatever … Love is about compromise, so we’re willing to give Valentine’s Day a chance, but only by celebrating love with our partners as equals. Corporations want men to believe women are demanding bitches, and they want women to believe they deserve to be demanding bitches. We say fight the patriarchy by focusing on couplehood — and by giving the good men we love thoughtful tokens of our affection.

A few ideas, which apply equally to heterosexual women wrestling with sexist holiday traditions and queer women who need some inspiration, too:

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Sexy Feminists Read: ‘The Guy’s Guide to Feminism’

We’ve long advocated for including men in feminism, so it’s no surprise that we’re in love with Michael Kaufman and Michael Kimmel’s The Guy’s Guide to Feminism. (In fact, we think it’s the perfect stocking-stuffer for all the men in your life!) The authors — both among the most prominent pro-feminist men — offer their fellow men an A to Z guide for not only understanding the movement, but for appreciating how it benefits dudes as much as it does women. (See entries on: Birth Control, Dads, Friendship, Good Relationships, and, of course, Sex.) We chatted with Kimmel, a sociology professor at SUNY at Stony Brook and the author of Guyland: The Perilous World Where Boys Become Men, about why men should sign up for feminism, how to inject more equality into heterosexual relationships, and why so many men still feel threatened by powerful women.

Why do we need a book about feminism for men?

The thing with men is the question they ask is: What does this have to do with me? They think all feminists are unattractive lesbians who don’t like shaving. But I always thought: Sure, feminism is about protecting women, but it’s also about women claiming their own agency and being unapologetically sexy. Not to be scared of it, to own it. So Michael Kaufman, who is the founder of the White Ribbon Campaign in Canada, and I decided to write a book for guys that holds their hands and says, Don’t be scared. Not only don’t be scared, but there’s a lot here for you.

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Sexy Feminists Read: Pamela Haag’s ‘Marriage Confidential’

Pamela Haag‘s book Marriage Confidential shows — once again — how political the personal really is. She explores the history of marriage, an institution naturally wrought with feminist implications, and in the process reveals why so many are disillusioned with “’til death do us part” these days. We talked with the author about how to build a feminist marriage, avoid the dream-wedding trap, and stop worrying about “having it all.”

What should women, in particular, do to make their relationships the egalitarian partnerships they’ve dreamed of?

The first thing women need to do is to ask for it. We need to be willing—and brave enough—to be clear about what we expect. Sometimes, this might mean putting ourselves at odds with the men in our lives, or acting like an uppity feminist—at a time when “feminism” is a socially reviled term.

And, although this isn’t such a popular thing to say, I think we women need to hold ourselves accountable for our own dreams. It’s easy to fall for premature realism. It’s so easy just to burrow into parenthood, or standards of perfect mothering, and “give up” on the travails and the exhaustion that come with having other dreams and ambitions.

For example, in my book I describe a woman in her 40s who had debated with herself, and her husband, about having children for many years. When we went through the pros and cons, she commented that if she did have children, she felt like she could finally “just relax.” The comment puzzled me at first. But what she meant was that she could just focus entirely on being a mom, and finally give up on worrying about her career and other ambitions.

I think she was articulating a feeling that lots of us have had.  We have to fight against our own urges just to give up in the face of cultural or institutional barriers or judgment.

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Attention NY Sexy Feminists: ‘Guy’s Guide to Feminism’ Launching at a Bookstore Near You

Please join us in celebrating that all-too-rare breed, male feminists, at the Nov. 22 launch of The Guy’s Guide to Feminism by the Michaels Kaufman and Kimmel. It’s at 7 p.m. at Bluestockings Books, 172 Allen St., on the Lower East Side. We’ll have more on the book and its authors later this week, but mark your calendars now …

Feminist Dating Dilemmas

After our “How to Be a Feminist Boyfriend” post sparked its share of debate, we realized how ripe for discussion this intersection of politics and personal life is. Just goes to show that heterosexual dating is an endless minefield in a world that’s otherwise pretty clear-cut when it comes to implementing feminism. (In areas like the workplace and the law, strict equality is the standard; in relationships, where power dynamics constantly switch, some of us like to be tied up in bed, and, in any case, we need men, by definition, it’s a little bit more fraught.) To that end, we offer up some thoughts on more specific situations a feminist can find herself in — and our thoughts about how to approach them, many culled from previous posts on related topics. As always, these are just suggestions — feel free to offer up your own. (We know you will!)

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What's So Great About Happiness?

As we celebrated the 100th anniversary of International Women’s Day this week, there was a lot of retreading over the age-old question: Has feminism made us happier? So, so many people think they’re quite clever by telling us: No! It has not! It has, in fact, ruined everything! Phyllis Schlafly and her niece, Suzanne Venker, wrote The Flipside of Feminism to tell us this in many, many pages, over and over again. Venker states baldly, “Feminism has sabotaged women’s happiness,” while the book goes on to detail the many ways the women’s movement has ruined everything: It gave most families two incomes, thus making us want more money and more stuff. (Definitely feminism’s fault, not mass consumerism or anything.) It emasculates men. (Poor, poor dears.) And most of all, it apparently screws up sex in all kinds of confusing ways.

See, men want marriage and kids more than ever, while we women want to maintain our independence longer, Shlafly and Venker tell us. Except we apparently also don’t want to have enough sex: “Sex is a problem, too. More and more wives today say they’re too tired for sex. …Naturally, this poses a problem for husbands, who are rarely too tired for sex. Sex is a man’s favorite past time, and the wives who are too tired to have it are often resentful of this fact. If change is going to come, it will have to come from women—they are the ones who changed the natural order of things. Moreover, men aren’t the ones who kvetch about their place in the world—not because they have it so great, contrary to feminist dogma, but because it’s not in their nature. Men tend to go along with whatever women say they need.” Except, of course, we also want to have too much sex, because men are getting it somewhere, which is making them not want to get married, which is how feminism is apparently ruining marriage (which is sad because traditional marriage is always such a treat). Except, of course, as we learned earlier in this paragraph, there are men who do want marriage, who are seeking it and begging us for it while we selfishly and stubbornly maintain our independence.

In any case, it seems we’re caught in some kind of vicious (and nonsensical) cycle of unhappiness. That, dear ones, is the point here. We’re unhappy because men won’t commit, and because some of them want to commit; because we want easy sex, and because we’re too tired for sex. Know what’s weirdest of all about this? I agree. With all of it, in all of its nonsensical glory. Here’s why: It’s true, I’ve been frustrated by noncommittal men in my life; I’ve also run away from men who wanted to commit to me. I have wanted easy sex, and I have been too tired for sex, and I have even wanted easy sex sometimes because I was too tired for complicated sex. Oh, life, you vexing vixen, you! And the main reason for all of this complexity in my life is, in fact, feminism.

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Happy Valentine's Day, Men Who Don't Suck!

There is no better evidence that men don’t suck — that is, that all men don’t suck — than all the female bloggers’ online valentines to the amazing men in their lives. As Rita Arens’ sweet BlogHer post about many such public declarations of love attests, not only are there plenty of wonderful examples of the male species out there, but love is actually much simpler — if, perhaps, more challenging — than all the hearts and flowers and endless gag-inducing diamond commercials would have you think. Love, to the modern woman, means loving us just as we are. Remember when Bridget Jones was so flummoxed by Mark Darcy’s “just as you are” admission of like? There’s a reason: Apparently none of us, in all of our overanalyzed, overachieved neurosis, can believe anyone could keep liking us, even during the moments we stop being our self-helped, women’s-magazine-perfect images and start being our actual selves. As Arens says, “Sometimes I think anyone who could spend ten years with me should get some sort of major award, but especially this man, who seems to have a level of patience at times inhuman. I am raw and difficult and flawed.”

I’ve felt — I feel — exactly the same way. I’ve had the surprising fortune to fall for such a man over the past year. Things were so perfect between us for the first ten months or so that we often tried to start fake fights just to ground things a little. (I know, sorry, we’re gross.) But reality eventually hits every couple, even the most grossly well-matched, and our reality came in the form of a late-night visit to the emergency room in October. I was having massive stomach pains and other symptoms best left out of this description; it was 2 a.m. on a Saturday. Jesse offered to come with me; I almost said no, but I knew I wanted him there. We were stuck in that ER for nearly six hours, much of which I spent in random crying bouts. It wasn’t so much the pain as the fact that I felt like I’d dragged my boyfriend through a sleepless night for just my silly little health problem. When I was diagnosed with a likely ulcer — not silly, but not serious enough to assuage my guilt over letting him come with me — and sent on my way, we stopped at a diner for a tired, and, honestly, awkward breakfast. I could tell he was unhappy; I was sure he’d be figuring out some reason to break up with me in a few weeks.  This was it, the end I’d always been anticipating.

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Why 'Men of a Certain Age' Is Sexy — and Feminist

It’s about three middle-aged guys. It stars a guy, Ray Romano, who headlined one of the most mainstream family sitcoms of the last decade — a show I have never seen, even though I write about television for a living. And it’s a dramedy, that noncommittal genre that can mean anything (oftentimes: not that funny, and not that dramatic). Men of a Certain Age has no business appealing to me — the characters are nothing like me, a 36-year-old single woman in New York. And, in fact, I have loathed all previous attempts at men-with-feelings shows — yes, I mean you, Big Shots. And yet, once I gave it a chance, I was hooked: Truly, from the first few minutes of the very first episode, it charmed me, like an unassuming guy you start talking to in a bar just to pass the time and end up slowly, imperceptibly, falling madly in love with him by the end of the night.

As the show hits its midseason finale tonight on TNT, I beg of you, ladies: Please give this one a chance. There have only been 16 episodes so far — watch them online and be caught up by the time the show returns later this year. You will fall for Ray Romano’s doofy divorced dude, Andre Braugher’s struggling family man, Scott Bakula’s man-boy actor who’s finally trying to grow up, and the absolutely believable bonds between them. They talk about their feelings, but in guy terms — no Entourage showboating, no Sex and the City-wannabe salaciousness. You’ll understand men — and, yes, their struggles, which, yes, they do have — more. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll develop a surprising crush on Scott Bakula. I’m not the least bit shocked his character can still date a 25-year-old. I’m only shocked at how accepting I was of this plotline, and it’s once again due to the subtle writing and character development.

And while it may not have an overt feminist message, its progressiveness is built into its DNA: If men are free to be this vulnerable on TV, we’re no longer diminishing such traditionally “female” behavior. Not to mention that the way they treat the women in their lives — well-rounded, interesting, powerful entities in themselves — is nothing short of revolutionary on a male-centric show. Please give this one a watch. You’ll be doing it for mankind — and womankind.

 

Follow Jennifer on Twitter: @jenmarmstrong

The Trials of the 21st Century Wife

It’s not easy being a wife.

Eight years ago, my friend Olivia was planning her wedding. She and her boyfriend Jack had been together for seven years, living together for four. He had proposed on millennium eve, and they’d spent more than a year organizing a lavish party across the country, where most of her large family lives.

However, two months before the big event, with most of the details in place, she called me. “I don’t think I can get married,” she said.

“Well, that’s okay,” I said, snapping into automatic support mode. “You don’t have to. There’s no reason you should marry Jack if you don’t think he’s right for you. Better to realize that now…”

“No, that’s not it,” she cut me off in mid-support. “It’s not Jack. I just don’t want to be married. I don’t want to be a wife. I don’t want to have the kind of marriage my parents have.”

I’ve known Olivia for almost 20 years now, and have met quite a few members of her family. They are from the Mediterranean, and conservative. Girls in the family are expected to become wives and mothers, and make that their priority. Though both Olivia’s mother and grandmother (on Olivia’s father’s side) had advanced college degrees, neither made careers of them. One cousin, Olivia once told me, is a cancer researcher who is making inroads in curing the dreaded disease. But whenever this cousin goes home for a visit, her family won’t stop berating her for being single and childless.

Olivia, a rebel from way back, shocked her parents when she and Jack started living together. Her mother took to calling her long-distance, tearfully quoting Dr. Laura Schlessinger. When Olivia and Jack finally got engaged, she stopped. And it became Olivia’s turn to worry about what she was getting into. “You and Jack are not your parents,” I tried to reassure her during that wrenching phone call. “Your relationship is very different, and your marriage will be very different. It’s what you make of it.”

Olivia wound up marrying Jack, but I don’t think I quite understood the depth of her concern until I got married five years later. That’s when I truly understood what a socially fraught term “wife” is, and how, despite the dynamics of my own relationship — and I find myself happily married to a wonderful man going on three years now — it is often difficult and tiresome to deal with such baggage.

And lately, as the economy quakes and the feminist backlash continues, I worry that the progress wives have made will vanish. True, wifedom has changed in the last century. Just ask Gloria Steinem, who got married at age 63, saying she thought society had made enough strides that an equal partnership between husbands and wives is now possible.

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A Love Letter to Good Men

A week before Valentine’s Day, my husband is driving to see my father just north of Los Angeles. Three thousand miles from home, blown tire on a rainy freeway (“Southern California owes me one”), romance is the last thing on his mind. After an afternoon with my father, he will drive to San Diego, drop the car and head to the kick-off of a convention of sullen mortgage bankers and lawyers (those still employed, for now). I talk with him as he drives, reading directions from an online map as he makes his way back to the airport to exchange the rental car. His afternoon in L.A. is an add on to a work trip—and it’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.

My Dad is in his 80s and I am in my 30s (for a little while longer)—he was in his mid-40s when I was born, not an uncommon age for new fathers in our downtown NYC neighborhood. Pushing strollers, graying hair matching silver Blackberries, seemingly worldly and, from a distance, less nervous than a new parent should be. Stepping out from a Paul Smith ad, they appear well-off, accomplished—as if a baby were phase seven of a long ago written, precisely edited business plan.

What those babies will realize later is that their parents will become old before time has stretched far enough through their own lives to cause them to think seriously (barring tragedy) about aging and mortality. They may be starting families of their own, their careers gaining momentum. Winding down is the last thing on their minds.

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