Tag Archives: mars/venus/nonsense

Disney, for once, brings you the best relationship advice you will ever receive

There are, obviously, ways to tell the truth that are more empathetic or more kind or more effective. But in the end, if you want emotional intimacy and genuine friendship with a partner, it all comes down to that.



Gunwitch and the adversarial relationship model: Sondheim knows what’s up

This is a crosspost from the tumblr, and I have no doubt that it’s going to be the first of many posts on this subject. As the name of the blog (inspired by the Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus book series) suggests, I have a special interest in relationship advice, good, bad and ugly. The advice I refer to in this post is definitely ugly.

There is a lot of conversation going on right now in relation to the Arizona shooting and the use of violent, inciting rhetoric in politics. There’s been discussion of the need both for a less combative, violent, adversarial language in politics and for resources to help the mentally ill. This dovetails really well with something I have wanted to talk about for a long time.

When people talk about dating and relationships as a battle, as a game of pursuer and pursued, when they talk about the “battle of the sexes” and “getting the upper hand”, of being endlessly persistent in the face of rejection and of women as “targets”, as both the enemy and the spoils won by the victors, I wonder if they realise how seriously some people are taking that ideology.

Basically, this:

One of the pickup artist “gurus” cited in Neil Strauss’ bestselling memoir The Game has just been arrested, allegedly for shooting a woman in the face. (She has, thankfully, survived the incident.)

His nickname, the name by which he marketed his materials online, was Gunwitch, and he advocated a method which could be accurately summarised, and has been summarised by him, as “make the ho say no”, where a man is meant to pursue a woman basically until she tells you in no uncertain terms to fuck off. This was the logo on one of his audiotapes, “The Way of Gun”:

That was his image of aspiration, of success.

Even if it transpires that the shooting was a result of mere poor gun safety and impaired judgment due to drug/alcohol use, I still think this is a good opportunity for reflection.

I began this post with a link to a song by Stephen Sondheim because it provides such a perfect image of what is essentially an adversarial, rather than co-operative, relationship model, in which it is both “terrible” and “glorious” to be a woman, in which there is a constant struggle over control of one’s partner, a constant paranoia over having the upper hand.

Maybe it’s the woman who “plays hard to get”, fearing that admitting genuine attraction will make her look weak, will allow the man to stomp all over her. Maybe it’s the man who pretends aloofness, believing that no woman is attracted to a man who shows genuine affection, that women only want “bad boys” and niceness is the enemy, so he’d better treat her mean.

The worst members of the pickup artist community – and I recognise that there are people who call themselves pickup artists and do not advocate this tripe – know all too well how to “win” this “game”, through vicious emotional manipulation [trigger warnings for more than a passing resemblance to emotional abuse at the link], and they think this is what women secretly crave, what they believe to be right. This is in no way a new attitude, the idea that women only want a man who can control them; it’s been passed down reverently through the generations like some sort of genuine pearl of wisdom.

It’s easy to say that Gunwitch was a “lone crazy”, but he exists on a continuum; he both perpetuated and was influenced by a culture that promotes the model of adversarial relationships, where someone must always dominate, where a partner’s independence is seen as a threat and control is the ideal, where it is better to be a harasser or an emotional manipulator than a decent human being. We need to be presenting an alternate narrative of relationship success, a co-operative model in which mutual respect and desire win the day, in which there is no “upper hand” to be won, in which we recognise that niceness genuinely is a virtue and thuggishness, assholishness and amorality are not desirable traits in a human, that partners are not faceless targets to be hit, games to be won and mastered.

And, in addition to making mental health resources more generally accessible, we need to be looking out for people within our communities who are struggling with interpersonal relationships, and trying to give them help, access to good resources and good advice, so that they don’t sink into the mire of the adversarial relationship model and end up hating or resenting the objects of their affections. We can’t let these things slide. There are lives riding on this.

What’s the difference between a ten-year-old and the Australian media?

Today I was talking to my half-brother about his class elections. He and two other kids were running for a spot on the school’s environmental issues committee, and he won the spot. He’s ten years old, and the elections aren’t very serious, as you can imagine.

Him: I was actually surprised I won. There was only one girl running and two boys, so I thought all the girls would vote for the girl.

Me: …would you automatically vote for a boy just because he was a boy?

Him: No… but it’s different with girls.

Me: Why do you say that?

Him: …dunno.

Me: We vote for the people we think are best, just like you.

At his age, the way voting works, he could have had a point. His class friendship groups are, to a great extent, segregated into boys and girls; all his best friends are boys. And since kids’ elections are often popularity contests, sometimes friends will just vote for friends, and if all the girls were closer to the girl candidate and none of them are close to either of the boy candidates, well, the election could have been a shoe-in for her.

Perhaps she was unpopular, or the classes aren’t as segregated as they seem to be; either’s pretty plausible. I would, just quietly, be surprised if my half-brother were the most popular kid in the category, though he has plenty of friends, but it’s possible. Or perhaps the kids listened to the speeches and voted for the best speech or the kid they consider smartest or most responsible. I don’t think we give kids enough credit that way; I know that’s what my class tended to do when I was at school, but I have no idea whether we were unusual in that respect, because we were unusual in plenty of other ways.

It scared me, though, that he’d just sort of accepted this – girls vote for girls, full stop, no idea why, they just do, even though he’s never really seen any evidence of it. It also reminded me a great deal of the coverage of our last federal election, where every battle of the sexes cliche was trotted out and whipped long past demise by the Australian media. Maybe that’s where he got the idea?

There are some excellent reasons, in the real world, for women to want women representing them in government and advisory bodies – women are more likely to understand the pressures and needs of women, having been more likely to live in the world as a woman, in the same way that in Australia it makes sense to have rural residents representing the needs of rural residents, or people who have experienced poverty, or people from an Indigenous background. Government is meant to represent the needs of the people, and therefore it must contain people who understand those needs intimately – and since we have an abundance of straight white men from a wealthy background in every branch of government, many people feel the need to vote for someone who doesn’t fit that description, just to ensure that diverse needs are being represented.

However, it also needs people who are intelligent, skilled, empathetic and generally suited to the job, and I think most clever voters of both genders recognise this. If you’re a thinking voter, every election is about weighing what you know about each candidate, deciding which is going to be a better representative for the things you feel need representing in your local area, or state, or country. Sometimes – often – people will weigh their options and decide that the candidate who is most similar to them is not the most equipped to do the job and represent the things they want represented. Sometimes – often – people will vote for other reasons, like finding one candidate charming or repugnant on the basis of appearance (I heard someone announce that they’d vote Abbott because they didn’t much care for politics but thought he looked cute in a Speedo) or mannerism, or because they always vote according to a particular party with policies that most appeal to them. It seems that a lot of reporters thought that when women voted, their thought process stopped short of considering any factor other than gender if there was a woman on the ballot ticket.

If women always voted for women, every free election with one male and one female candidate would go to the woman, presuming a roughly equal population of voting men and women (not necessarily a fair assumption, and this does get more complex as the matter of electorates is examined – topic for another post, hopefully), and presuming that not every man voted for the male candidate (and given the number of my male friends who would rather have polkaed with Pauline Hanson than give Tony Abbott their vote just recently, I know that some men do vote for women when they consider the woman to be the better option). I know that at least one woman in Australia didn’t vote for Gillard, because I heard her call up a talk-back radio show to announce that women just weren’t suited to leadership, and her vote would be going to Abbott accordingly. I know that when the American Democrats were selecting a presidential candidate, plenty of women publicly announced their intention to support Obama rather than Clinton. And I would be very surprised if every woman in Thatcher-era England thought Maggie was the right choice just because she happened to be female.

My half-brother, being ten and inexperienced and raised in a culture that supports the statement he made, has an excellent excuse for not knowing any better than to presume that girls vote for girls. What excuse do the experienced, adult reporters who covered the Australian 2010 Federal Election have?

Make up

Boys Can Wear Make-up by *humon on deviantART found via sexisnottheenemy (a brilliant, but very NSFW, tumblr)

The young lad here reminds me a little, with his dark skin, chubby face, tentatively hopeful look, and the glee with which he takes to lipstick, of Clarence Bell and his alter-ego Clarisse from Boston Legal. For the unfamiliar, Clarence (played by Gary Anthony Williams) is a timid paralegal who feels bravest when he assumes the persona of loud, brash, stereotypically sassy, take-no-shit “Clarisse”.

By the series’ end, he’s working toward integrating himself with the character, harnessing the confidence that he gains when wearing the Clarisse mask so that he can be just as brave when in his own skin.

The two characters, placed side by side, make me wonder about makeup and masks, both restrictive and empowering.

My grandfather is wont to declare that makeup’s purpose is advertised clearly in its name – it’s designed to “make up” for one’s flaws, a thin film of powder and cream to hide behind. He’s not a fan, in principle; he thinks when I wear it, I’m declaring that I need to be improved somehow, that I am not enough.

We’ve hit that point now, where people are so very used to seeing women in media, advertising, and all around them wearing makeup all the time, just a little here and there to brighten the lips and cheeks, enhance the eyes – it’s almost the default state. We probably don’t really think that much about the fact that an actress playing the ingenue girl-next-door in a big-budget romantic comedy is wearing a thick layer of makeup to make her eyes look bright and captivating, her lips look soft and rouged and inviting, her skin look flawless. She looks normal. But you certainly notice when she appears on screen without enhancing makeup, because in the language of cinema that signals a problem – grief or ill health. The only women who can get away with looking like they’re wearing none (apart from the base layer of stage makeup we use just to make all actors look human on camera) are the aged and the populations of indie films.

In many professional circles, a woman isn’t considered neat and ‘put together’ unless she’s wearing ‘natural-looking’ makeup; where, for a man, a scrubbed face is quite sufficient, a scrubbed woman is perceived as being a little washed out, a little unhealthy looking. So, for women whose eyes don’t naturally pop and whose lips don’t naturally look the right shade of blushing nude, makeup is often expected, in office-based professional contexts at the very least, and often in the after hours. But god forbid that you get it wrong – there’s an elaborate subconscious dress and makeup code and it is not to be broken, as certain professionals have discovered. You must be wearing precisely the right mask if you’re going to perform the role of professional competency well.

Amica Lane, on The Professional Masquerade

When I started, I was treated by my manager to an introductory lecture about dress code. She presumed this would be sufficient to educate me in ‘professional’ and ‘non-professional’ work attire.

“Look glamorous, with immaculate hair and makeup and plenty of flirty smiles! But don’t come to work dressed as if you’re going to a club. Look sexy, but not slutty. Professional.”


I wore a black dress the next day with flats, as I figured that was pretty unassuming. How wrong I was.

Hauled into her office, I was told I looked like a whore and that my dress had caused complaints from male co-workers who insisted that I was ‘distracting’ them from work and they couldn’t focus with such an outfit in the office.


So the next day, I went into work wearing no makeup, trousers and a suit jacket.

Once again, I was called into my manager’s office.

“You can’t dress like this. You have no makeup on. You’re supposed to be the face of the company.”

“If the face of a multi-billion dollar hedge fund is a 21-year-old blonde from Hounslow, then the company has a bigger problem than the Lehman situation,” I replied, and was served promptly with a written warning.

“Sexy, not slutty,” became the mantra. “Sexy enough for the men to feel happy, but not too sexy as so to intimidate the other women.”

Things get even more complicated if you’re working in law, it seems.

The chorus of female attorneys added some caveats: make sure your suit is not too fitted, wear flats, wear minimal jewelry, wear minimal makeup, do not wear hair in a pony-tail, do not wear hair down in a distracting way, wear pantyhose, do not wear open-toe shoes (especially in front of a jury says Justice Goldgar), do not wear peep-toe shoes, and do not wear dark nail polish (avoid burgundy, cautioned Professor Collins). Wear a shirt under your suit that is not too tight, not low-cut, not bright colored, not patterned, not ruffle-y, and not too feminine. Finally, when going on a job interview, do not carry a recognizable brand-name handbag because you are trying to project the image that you need money. Oh, and do not wear your engagement ring if it is large because it may anger your women interviewers and cause jealousy (and perhaps rage).

There’s not much of a men’s dress code in comparison – shave, probably; wear a clean, neat, well-fitted shirt and pants, maybe a matching suit jacket and a tie with no cartoon characters on it (suited to the fashion of the times as far as breadth and pattern goes, never made of leather); non-scuffed formal shoes, and you’re set. It’s expensive, not strictly necessary for the purposes of doing your job, but it’s fairly comfortable and easy to put together if you have the funds.

Or, at least, you think there’s not much of a men’s dress code, until Clarisse walks into your office in a blonde wig and a plum suit with lip gloss to match, and you  (well, some of you; there are of course those who are all too painfully aware of the cultural taboos here) realise that it hasn’t even occurred to you that a man could ever want to wear makeup or other ‘feminine’ things – much less in the workplace. It just never entered your head. It’s weird, it’s … it’s inappropriate, isn’t it?

Why, though?

Expectation, mainly. Looking corporate is about looking ‘right’, reassuring, sensible and capable, conforming to the mask of competence. Turns out there are different masks of competence for men and women. (Have fun navigating that code if you’re transgendered and on the border of ‘passing’, or genderqueer, by the way. No nuance here, kids, we only deal in stark categorisations.)

There are women, though, who defy the expectation, who come in to work makeup-free in a masculinely cut suit, and still get the promotion, still get the respect.

Oh hey there, Prime Minister

As a woman, you can stretch that dress code much further in both directions than a man can. You can’t ignore it entirely; you can’t necessarily go so far as a cropped, practical men’s haircut, no makeup, a loose suit, men’s cut shirt, men’s shoes and a tie, but you can pull quite far on that leash (and so much further in less corporate white-collar professions, like academia or general cube work).

As a man, though, you have nearly no room to pull in the feminine direction. People are only just beginning to decide that it’s acceptable for men to pluck their monobrows or wear a pink shirt. You can’t come into your high powered corporate office as Clarisse and be respected; you’ve forfeited the mask of competence and become ridiculous. And whenever it looks like we might let men look more feminine, even outside that rarefied corporate environment – whenever there’s a move toward more skincare products for men, or an actor pops up on a red carpet wearing long, highlighted hair or eyeliner – people start yowling in the media about how there are no! more! real! men! It’s characterised as a crisis, a loss, instead of a broadening of freedom.

Harbringer of the downfall of masculinity, obviously

“Our men are turning into primping, mincing shadows of their former selves!” they cry. “They’re … pussies!”

And there it is.

At the heart of this tendency toward a short leash for men is the idea that a man should not, under any circumstances, be like a woman, should not want to do woman things. On a woman, makeup and a suit looks normal; on a man, makeup and a suit is unacceptable frippery and silliness.

Partly, I think, this is because power and competence are still subconsciously coded as masculine. When a woman puts on a suit and a starched collar, a uniform more traditionally worn by men, she’s read as saying, “Take me seriously. I know what I’m doing.” A woman who dresses masculinely is practicing upward mobility by clothing, and the less makeup and jewellery a woman wears as a female political candidate, the less likely people are to say she’s too frivolous for the job. That’s because feminine clothing and ornamentation is, in contrast, coded as weak, light, full of artifice. (Which, after all, made sense when upper class women wore impractical garments and elaborate coiffures to advertise their husbands’ wealth and their ability to sit idly all day. A woman who can wear a corset and a bustle clearly doesn’t need to pull her weight; a woman wearing fine fabrics isn’t doing housework in them. The finery was there to show off the ability to abandon hard work and luxuriate in leisure.) The less makeup a woman wears, the more serious and industrious she is, the more like a man she is. The more feminine a man looks, therefore, the more like a woman he is. And looking like a woman means you’re weakening yourself, and who wants to be weaker than they are, right?

Feminism has given women permission to become as powerful as men, should they so desire. But we still read signs of femininity as signs of weakness, even as we often demand that women perform femininity to some extent (Gillard got a new dye job in preparation for the election; Amica Lane was berated as much for her more masculine look as she was for her too-womanly dress). And we still haven’t liberated men to the extent that they can decide they’d like to be more feminine, that they’re allowed to look as ‘weak’ or as ‘superficial’ as women are allowed to look.

Makeup is, to some extent, about making yourself into an ornament, admitting that beauty, art and aesthetics are of interest to you, that you want people to look at your face and be captivated in some way. (That is, when makeup is a choice, rather than an obligation.) There is immense scope for variety when you basically have permission to change your face – or just to cover it up a little when you’re feeling imperfect and afraid (in a world that asks for perfection from you, especially if you’re a woman) and you want the armour of a flawless mask and a persona to match.

Perhaps giving men permission to wear makeup would stick them with many of the disadvantages of it – the obligation to look perfect, the challenge of trying to get it just right and being ridiculed for failing – but it would also give them the opportunity to experiment more with identity, to subvert expectations, to be their own canvas, to change faces as women can. The freedom to admit that one is concerned about one’s appearance, to want to play with femininity and masculinity, to revel in the wonder of being able to change one’s face just a little or transform it entirely, t0 want more everyday opportunities for art and play in your life, is a freedom worth desiring.

You know what I really love about that picture? There is a pure playful delight in it, a complete lack of self consciousness. It’s kids playing dress ups, just because they want to, just because they can. The boy is excited by his transformation, and the girl is cheerfully absorbed in the task of helping to effect it. So often, when a woman’s putting on makeup, it’s because she believes she has to; as my grandfather says, it’s “making up for something” – she believes she’s not enough without it (a problem, initially, shared by Clarence), or she must wear it because some dress code demands it. This picture has nothing to do with compensation or obligation. The person wearing makeup is doing it without all the cultural baggage women are carrying when they paint their faces, and without feeling lesser because he’s not conforming to a masculine ideal.

It’s about play, and exploration, and the wonderment of changing your face, for no real reason, for the beauty of transformation.


Modeling and makeup by Sammi Jones, cosmetic genius

Image source: here.

I’ll trade you a name for an explanation

Here are some things you may wish to know about this blog, now that you’re here.

1. The title is the mission statement/philosophy

You know that book series by John Gray, PhD? The pop-psych empire built around the phrase “men are from Mars, women are from Venus”? Yeah, that comes up a lot. In fact, you yourself probably hear it a lot. It’s, uh, not that useful, as a principle.

Thinking about anyone as a strange, ineffable being who may as well be from another world is, I think, generally not the most conducive approach for understanding, empathy or societal progress. We do it a lot, though. Anyone you don’t understand, anyone whose choices or actions or opinions are repugnant or even just confusing to you… well, it’s easy to cordon them off somewhere in a safe little box in your head marked “may as well be from somewhere near Alpha Centauri”. But accepting that you can never understand someone and may as well not try is how societal divisions, baseless fears and mindless prejudices grow and flourish.

When my mother was little, her parents bought her a sailor suit (and, improbably, she loved it), starched white, with two shiny gold buttons. She hung it up on her cupboard door. One night, she woke up and, looking up drowsily from her bed, saw two menacing yellow eyes staring out at her from what appeared to be the depths of her wardrobe, gleaming in the sparse moonlight. Near-paralysed with fear, she slowly, cautiously, crouched and tiptoed her way to the lightswitch beside her bedroom door, and flipped it, expecting a monster to leer back at her with its eyes glowing and its mouth slavering with anticipation. She saw nothing untoward, switched the light back off, and watched those eyes reappear. It took her several tries before she connected the bright irises with the two shiny buttons of her new sailor suit.

You can see where this is going. The best antidote to blind, panicked terror is light.

The aim of this blog is to have a bit of a ramble about the idea that, while we may be different from one another, we are essentially, at least partially, comprehensible, and it’s worth the effort to try to understand. You don’t need to agree with someone to understand them, though you might find yourself deciding that perhaps their opinion isn’t so awful after all. You don’t need to want to do what they do, or have the same priorities as them. All you need to do is think, and ask, and try.

2. Orders of business

Of course, not every post is going to be a straightforward treatise on How To Understand Your Fellow Human, or at least not explicitly. Stuff I might write about may include Ways People Do Not Try (sexism, racism, queerphobia, general prejudice, douchiness), Ways People Do (friendship and relationship ethics, activism, general awesomeness) and Things That Help Me Understand (life anecdotes, art, science, literature, theatre and film, other people’s internet writings). Sometimes I might just go off on a little ramble about something only tangentially connected to the theme. Bear with me?

3. You-Know-Who, but without the Death Eaters

I’m attaching neither my name nor my most common internet handle to this – yet. This decision may be revised at a later date. If you know either of these names, I’d love it if you could hold off on referring to me by them here just yet, because I’m still having some trouble deciding how I want to do this whole internet anonymity thing.

See, I have friends I only know from the internet, and I’d love it if they read this. I also have friends from, er, real life (“meatlife”), and I’d love it if they read this too. Troublingly, though, I don’t want everyone I know from the internet to have access to my real name, nor do I want everyone I know from interacting in the physical world to know about everything I put online. The internet age is weird in this way – I have two different social circles, and they know quite different things about me. And that’s without the issue of scary internet strangers and harrassment; I may be writing a little about contentious things, and it’s amazing the lengths that creepy people have gone to when they want to upset total strangers writing something they find objectionable.

Someday, maybe, I’ll attach my real name. For now, I’d best come up with some sort of nom de plume. All suggestions welcome. It can’t be worse than my high school nickname.

4. Comment is free

It’s also really easy. A lot of blogs moderate their comment sections. I’ll see how I feel about that if I ever start getting real nasties. (You don’t even need to be a big famous blogger of any sort for that to happen, the eleventh person in a readership of eleven could be the one who decides they hate you and want to tell you why in barbed all caps.)

One thing I’d be especially pleased to hear about is what kinds of things you’d like to see written about in the theme of ‘we’re all earthlings here’. Suggest away!