The Pervasive Anti-Male Bias
Today, while I was driving from point A. to point B., I swung by the bank to transact some business. As I pulled into the parking lot and headed toward my habitual spot, I noticed something.
I noticed a cool, shiny black, snazzy-looking "ride" parked in the vicinity at a cockeyed, nearly perpendicular angle, directly athwart TWO parking spaces. A small matter you would say, considering the lot was nearly empty. And yet, the sight of this made me a shade irritated.
"Huh!", I thought to myself. "Hotshot dude deliberately parks his hot car in a jackass way! Talk about 'making a statement'!"
You should understand that in my daily behavior, I am . . . well . . . a tad bit correct and stodgy. And somewhat aloof. Not laying it on thick, mind you, but I do have a streak of that in my personality. I am certainly not prone to flamboyant gestures as a general thing, although I do have a touch of respectable eccentricity. What I eschew is vulgar display or swagger of any sort—I am refined and soft-spoken.
So that opens a window upon my default frame of mind, which is the mental filter through which I viewed the scene in the parking lot described above.
I piloted my weatherbeaten but respectable-looking Volvo directly into a parking stall—conscientiously and impeccably I did this! I am a very conscientious and impeccable driver.
I was directly alongside the shiny black car and, unseemly as it may appear, I sat for a few seconds thinking what a blast it would be to take that buggy for a righteous road trip through the Palouse country or the Horse Heaven Hills, or among the winding backroads of the Bitterroot Mountains. None of which diminished my snippy irritation with the vehicle's owner.
I was opening the door to get out of my car, when I saw somebody approaching whom I quickly realized could only be the owner of the sporty wheels in question. This individual was . . . a frail, skinny woman of late middle age.
To judge by her hairstyle and her manner of dress, she was clinging to her youth for as long as she could. Naturally, her car and her adolescent way of parking it lent further weight to that impression. Ahh . . . an old woman with a young car! Yes, and a free spirit, and a forlorn innocence that knew not what it did, or why. My irritation vanished in the air, and I felt sad. I smiled blandly at the woman as I walked by, while inwardly I shrugged my shoulders.
I completed my business at the bank, and as I was driving away certain thoughts occurred to me. I had simply assumed that the owner of that car was a young male, and I had made a harsh assessment on the strength of that assumption. And when I saw who the owner actually was, I dramatically overhauled my opinion. If the owner had in fact been some young dude then, in my own mind, I'd have tasked him with his immaturity. But the old woman; she got my pensive indulgence!
It occurred to me I should take stock of some inventory, so I parked the car and sat thinking for a while. Yes, I hearkened to the sage counsel of the sign in the shop window; I enquired within. Or as people like to say nowadays, I introspected!
If the owner of that shiny black car had been a young male, I'd have judged him harshly. If it had been a man in his prime, I'd have judged him about the same, although for slightly different reasons. If it had been an old man, my more lenient feelings would have been a complex mix that is hard to analyze, but I'd have deemed him something of a fool, possibly a figure of comedy.
Very well. If the owner had been a pert, sexy teenage girl, I would have judged her harshly, but not AS harshly as I would have judged the young male. My feelings toward her would have been tempered by something very like (dare I say it?) chivalry! I am being radically honest about this. And if the owner had been a woman in her prime, I'd have judged her harshly, but still not AS harshly as I'd have judged a man in his prime.
Finally, let's set the cases of the old man and the old woman side by side. Although I'd have judged both of them leniently, the woman STILL would have come off better because I'd be less inclined to see her in a "comical" light.
The thread that runs through all of these cases ought to be clear: for the selfsame trivial transgression, I would consistently, in my honest gut feelings, have come down harder on the male person.
We all know about the pervasive anti-male bias in society. And I, the celebrated Counter-Feminist, stand before you all today, and bow my head, and solemnly confess that I TOO, AM PART OF THE PROBLEM!
Sigh! I can see that I have plenty to learn before I can genuinely call myself a "sensitive male", eh?
It looks like I need to "get real with my work". . . .
I noticed a cool, shiny black, snazzy-looking "ride" parked in the vicinity at a cockeyed, nearly perpendicular angle, directly athwart TWO parking spaces. A small matter you would say, considering the lot was nearly empty. And yet, the sight of this made me a shade irritated.
"Huh!", I thought to myself. "Hotshot dude deliberately parks his hot car in a jackass way! Talk about 'making a statement'!"
You should understand that in my daily behavior, I am . . . well . . . a tad bit correct and stodgy. And somewhat aloof. Not laying it on thick, mind you, but I do have a streak of that in my personality. I am certainly not prone to flamboyant gestures as a general thing, although I do have a touch of respectable eccentricity. What I eschew is vulgar display or swagger of any sort—I am refined and soft-spoken.
So that opens a window upon my default frame of mind, which is the mental filter through which I viewed the scene in the parking lot described above.
I piloted my weatherbeaten but respectable-looking Volvo directly into a parking stall—conscientiously and impeccably I did this! I am a very conscientious and impeccable driver.
I was directly alongside the shiny black car and, unseemly as it may appear, I sat for a few seconds thinking what a blast it would be to take that buggy for a righteous road trip through the Palouse country or the Horse Heaven Hills, or among the winding backroads of the Bitterroot Mountains. None of which diminished my snippy irritation with the vehicle's owner.
I was opening the door to get out of my car, when I saw somebody approaching whom I quickly realized could only be the owner of the sporty wheels in question. This individual was . . . a frail, skinny woman of late middle age.
To judge by her hairstyle and her manner of dress, she was clinging to her youth for as long as she could. Naturally, her car and her adolescent way of parking it lent further weight to that impression. Ahh . . . an old woman with a young car! Yes, and a free spirit, and a forlorn innocence that knew not what it did, or why. My irritation vanished in the air, and I felt sad. I smiled blandly at the woman as I walked by, while inwardly I shrugged my shoulders.
I completed my business at the bank, and as I was driving away certain thoughts occurred to me. I had simply assumed that the owner of that car was a young male, and I had made a harsh assessment on the strength of that assumption. And when I saw who the owner actually was, I dramatically overhauled my opinion. If the owner had in fact been some young dude then, in my own mind, I'd have tasked him with his immaturity. But the old woman; she got my pensive indulgence!
It occurred to me I should take stock of some inventory, so I parked the car and sat thinking for a while. Yes, I hearkened to the sage counsel of the sign in the shop window; I enquired within. Or as people like to say nowadays, I introspected!
If the owner of that shiny black car had been a young male, I'd have judged him harshly. If it had been a man in his prime, I'd have judged him about the same, although for slightly different reasons. If it had been an old man, my more lenient feelings would have been a complex mix that is hard to analyze, but I'd have deemed him something of a fool, possibly a figure of comedy.
Very well. If the owner had been a pert, sexy teenage girl, I would have judged her harshly, but not AS harshly as I would have judged the young male. My feelings toward her would have been tempered by something very like (dare I say it?) chivalry! I am being radically honest about this. And if the owner had been a woman in her prime, I'd have judged her harshly, but still not AS harshly as I'd have judged a man in his prime.
Finally, let's set the cases of the old man and the old woman side by side. Although I'd have judged both of them leniently, the woman STILL would have come off better because I'd be less inclined to see her in a "comical" light.
The thread that runs through all of these cases ought to be clear: for the selfsame trivial transgression, I would consistently, in my honest gut feelings, have come down harder on the male person.
We all know about the pervasive anti-male bias in society. And I, the celebrated Counter-Feminist, stand before you all today, and bow my head, and solemnly confess that I TOO, AM PART OF THE PROBLEM!
Sigh! I can see that I have plenty to learn before I can genuinely call myself a "sensitive male", eh?
It looks like I need to "get real with my work". . . .
posted by Fidelbogen at 4:35 PM
1 Comments:
"Chivalry"?! Oh, no!
But I think you're being too hard on yourself. After all, guys are generally the ones who deviate from the norm, who try new things, who think outside the box and take risks both good and bad. It may be entirely natural to stereotype most conduct outside the norm as the handiwork of a guy -- from the daring subway rescue in New York the other day, to the truck driver who helped slow a driver having a heart attack, to the Ponzi scheme, to the car that purposefully takes up two spaces in the parking lot. On top of that, young guys are into cars a lot more than women. So I see nothing unusual about your thinking, nothing anti-male or chivalrous. I think it's just a recognition of reality.
Put it this way, if I told you that I saw someone rescue a baby trapped under a parked car, wouldn't you also think that was the handiwork of a guy? I would.
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