BITCHfest: Ten Years of Cultural Criticism from the Pages of Bitch Magazine (21 page)
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Unmasking Male Lust
Lisa Jervis / FALL 1997
SEX, SEX, SEX—THAT’S ALL MEN EVER THINK ABOUT. RIGHT? If you’re a girl, you’ve always gotta be ready to fend off an unwanted advance, and if you’re a boy, you’ve always gotta be plotting a move. I mean, isn’t that what we’ve all been told since the moment we emerged from the womb and were identified as having one set of genitalia or another? We hear it from other people, we see it in the movies and on TV, we read it in glossy magazines and pop psychology books. Men always want sex, and women rarely do. Women become sexually attracted to the men they love; men fall in love with the women they find sexually attractive. Women want commitment; men run screaming from it. Women are naturally monogamous; men not only crave variety but are evolutionarily programmed to seek it out.
Recent feminist thought has given much attention to destroying the stereotype of women as sexually passive and emotionally needy. Get down: I’ll be first in line to take a whack at the image of the marriage-minded, no-sex-’til-I-get-what-someone-told-me-I’m-supposed-to-want,
Rules-
readin’
,
John Gray-worshippin’ gal. The thing is, though, that this dichotomous gender construction also makes men out to be nothing more than lying, cheating, uncaring, sex-obsessed louts—and that side of the coin hasn’t gotten a whole lot of attention. Traditional heterosexual masculinity—and let me make it very clear that by this I do not mean actual men; I mean the perception of what it means to be a straight man in our current cultural/
popular imagination—has not yet been examined with an eye toward dismantling stale notions of unceasingly high libido and disregard for emotion.
Rules-
readin’
,
John Gray-worshippin’ gal. The thing is, though, that this dichotomous gender construction also makes men out to be nothing more than lying, cheating, uncaring, sex-obsessed louts—and that side of the coin hasn’t gotten a whole lot of attention. Traditional heterosexual masculinity—and let me make it very clear that by this I do not mean actual men; I mean the perception of what it means to be a straight man in our current cultural/
popular imagination—has not yet been examined with an eye toward dismantling stale notions of unceasingly high libido and disregard for emotion.
Superhet men’s lifestyle magazines, with their instruction-manual tone and we-have-the-secrets-of-the-good-life manner, quite literally teach masculinity: They tell men how to act, what to look like, and what to buy in order to be men. And their focus on sex is uncomplicated and unstinting. Any guy who is any less—or more to the point, any
more
—than a rote sex machine will feel like less of a man after reading one of these things. According to
Esquire
, men are “unfeeling brutes” because of their serotonin levels; GQ proclaims, “Sex. That’s what [men] want and we’ll do anything we have to do to get it,” and advises a guy with a lower libido than his girlfriend to see a shrink.
more
—than a rote sex machine will feel like less of a man after reading one of these things. According to
Esquire
, men are “unfeeling brutes” because of their serotonin levels; GQ proclaims, “Sex. That’s what [men] want and we’ll do anything we have to do to get it,” and advises a guy with a lower libido than his girlfriend to see a shrink.
And then there are the implications of cluelessness and infantility. That’s what we get in
Men’s Health’
s “Tonight’s the Night: A moment-by-moment guide to getting it right the first time.” Do men really need to be told, “8:05: Offer snacks. Finger food is good,” or “9:24: Close ranks. Move your chair closer to hers”? The fact that some magazine editor thinks—even in an oh-look-how-self-deprecating-we-are-doesn’t-that-make-us-charmingly-funny way—that men can’t figure out for themselves to “be nice” and “not ask her to wash up while you catch the fourth quarter” (those are at 7:33 and 9:22, by the way) is pretty insulting.
Men’s Health’
s “Tonight’s the Night: A moment-by-moment guide to getting it right the first time.” Do men really need to be told, “8:05: Offer snacks. Finger food is good,” or “9:24: Close ranks. Move your chair closer to hers”? The fact that some magazine editor thinks—even in an oh-look-how-self-deprecating-we-are-doesn’t-that-make-us-charmingly-funny way—that men can’t figure out for themselves to “be nice” and “not ask her to wash up while you catch the fourth quarter” (those are at 7:33 and 9:22, by the way) is pretty insulting.
What else have popular narratives given us lately? The neo-morality tale
Fatal Attraction
featured a man who couldn’t keep it in his pants no matter how much he loved his wife and kid. And just look where indulging his “natural” compulsion got him—the terrorized owner of a boiled bunny. (Not coincidentally, the strong, sexual woman in this film is not cool and independent, as she first seems, but rather incredibly needy and, it turns out, psychotic.) The television show
Men Behaving Badly
(well, the name says it all) features commitment-terrified men with sex drives that override even such basic human qualities as tact and coherent speech. Jokes circulate on e-mail painting men as perpetual children with only one thing on their minds (“Age and favorite sport—17: sex; 25: sex; 35: sex; 48: sex; 66: napping. Age and ideal age to get married—17: 25; 25: 35; 35: 48; 48: 66; 66: 17”). Oh, excuse me, I guess that would be two things: mindless pursuit of sex and blind refusal of commitment. The proliferation of brutal and gratuitous
rape scenes on film paints male sexuality as rapacious and violent. That we’re often meant to see the rapists in, say,
Showgirls
and
Leaving Las Vegas
as disgusting, amoral, and corrupt doesn’t really matter. There’s a sense of plodding inevitability about these scenes: This is the way men are, they suggest, and this is just what happens.
Fatal Attraction
featured a man who couldn’t keep it in his pants no matter how much he loved his wife and kid. And just look where indulging his “natural” compulsion got him—the terrorized owner of a boiled bunny. (Not coincidentally, the strong, sexual woman in this film is not cool and independent, as she first seems, but rather incredibly needy and, it turns out, psychotic.) The television show
Men Behaving Badly
(well, the name says it all) features commitment-terrified men with sex drives that override even such basic human qualities as tact and coherent speech. Jokes circulate on e-mail painting men as perpetual children with only one thing on their minds (“Age and favorite sport—17: sex; 25: sex; 35: sex; 48: sex; 66: napping. Age and ideal age to get married—17: 25; 25: 35; 35: 48; 48: 66; 66: 17”). Oh, excuse me, I guess that would be two things: mindless pursuit of sex and blind refusal of commitment. The proliferation of brutal and gratuitous
rape scenes on film paints male sexuality as rapacious and violent. That we’re often meant to see the rapists in, say,
Showgirls
and
Leaving Las Vegas
as disgusting, amoral, and corrupt doesn’t really matter. There’s a sense of plodding inevitability about these scenes: This is the way men are, they suggest, and this is just what happens.
And then there’s mainstream pornography—soft-core airbrushed fluff such as
Penthouse
and
Playboy.
The folks makin’ this stuff do men and their range of desires a disservice; their implication is that anything outside the “big hair, fake tits, tiny waist, no pores, limited body hair” aesthetic is deviant, weird, not normal—and not something that a red-blooded American man would be interested in. The common boys-will-be-boys explanation for porn—that men get turned on visually (in contrast to a “feminine” mode of arousal, which is mental and emotional)—is nothing more than an insult, making men out to be Pavlovian dogs who salivate uncontrollably and strain at their trousers upon contact with nudie pictures.
Penthouse
and
Playboy.
The folks makin’ this stuff do men and their range of desires a disservice; their implication is that anything outside the “big hair, fake tits, tiny waist, no pores, limited body hair” aesthetic is deviant, weird, not normal—and not something that a red-blooded American man would be interested in. The common boys-will-be-boys explanation for porn—that men get turned on visually (in contrast to a “feminine” mode of arousal, which is mental and emotional)—is nothing more than an insult, making men out to be Pavlovian dogs who salivate uncontrollably and strain at their trousers upon contact with nudie pictures.
Antiporn arguments, however well-meaning, are no better. Folks like Catharine MacKinnon also believe that men are inherently drawn to porn. And to them, porn is by definition violent, suggesting that it’s somehow in men’s nature to be aroused by hurting others. Furthermore, antipornography activists think that porn leads men to commit violence—as if men have no self-control or capacity to separate fantasy from reality, as if an erection is a driving force that can’t be stopped once it’s started. (I’m not gonna bother pointing out that most porn is about mutual pleasure and not violence, and suggesting that sexual representation is inherently harmful to women is infantilizing and wrongheaded … Oh, I guess I just did.) Actually, the antiporn conception of the rabidly sexual man is suspiciously close to the hormonal overdrive lionized in magazines like
Esquire
and GQ. The only difference is one of perspective: Antiporn folk believe that male sexuality is always threatening, while men’s-magazine editors think it’s always fabulous.
Esquire
and GQ. The only difference is one of perspective: Antiporn folk believe that male sexuality is always threatening, while men’s-magazine editors think it’s always fabulous.
What all these examples have in common is the severing of male sexuality from any sort of reflection at all: To be a man who is emotional about sex or even one with thoughts more complex than “Yeah! More!” on the subject is not to be a man at all; that’s female territory.
My friends and I have seen the havoc this wreaks in our sex lives. Let’s
see, there was the guy who thought I was needy and unstable because I wanted to have sex with him as often as possible and was kinda disappointed when he turned me down (which would be a perfectly acceptable male reaction to being rebuffed by a woman). Because of this guy’s commitment to rigidly gendered sexual behavior, he didn’t believe me when I assured him that my desire wasn’t tied to some big emotional thang. And, adding even more trouble, if he could’ve gotten past his disbelief, he would’ve had to come to terms with the fact that there are women with higher sex drives than his—thus threatening his manly-man status as an all-sex-all-the-time kind of guy.
see, there was the guy who thought I was needy and unstable because I wanted to have sex with him as often as possible and was kinda disappointed when he turned me down (which would be a perfectly acceptable male reaction to being rebuffed by a woman). Because of this guy’s commitment to rigidly gendered sexual behavior, he didn’t believe me when I assured him that my desire wasn’t tied to some big emotional thang. And, adding even more trouble, if he could’ve gotten past his disbelief, he would’ve had to come to terms with the fact that there are women with higher sex drives than his—thus threatening his manly-man status as an all-sex-all-the-time kind of guy.
Then there was the one who was disturbed by my simple request. One morning after—ahem—my needs had not been met, I tried to initiate sex. “I can’t,” he kept saying. “I have to study.” When pressed, he admitted that it wasn’t lack of time that was the issue. “I’m not used to women being so aggressive,” he told me. When I forced him to be honest, instead of letting him make excuses, I ruined the nice little arrangement we had going: him as someone who wanted sex, me as someone who graciously accommodated him. He was angry that I expected to be forthright about my desire; I left and never went back.
After being told (one way or another) all their lives that they will always be the aggressor in a sexual situation, and they will always want more sex than their partners (assuming, as always, that their partners are female), it’s no surprise that men freak out when they are confronted with a woman who wants sex as much as or more than they do. They’ve been taught that female sexuality is weak—so if a woman’s desire matches their own, that must mean that they’re (oh, no!) weak, too.
We need to open up definitions of masculinity to acknowledge the reality that we are all sexual, some of us are more sexual than others, and just how sexual we are has about as much to do with gender as it does with breakfast cereal. Instead of being taught that boys have only one thing on their minds, men need to learn that their sex drives, whether raging or trickling, are just fine the way they are—and that they’re still men, regardless. This is certainly a feminist project: In order to achieve both gender
and
sexual equality, we need to acknowledge the ways men are stifled by the equation of masculinity with constant desire for and pursuit of sex. Men
are no more hyperactive skirt chasers always looking for a quick roll in the hay than women are passive, sexually resistant creatures who use their genitals only as sticky traps in which to catch wedding rings. Until we turn as critical an eye toward stereotypical voracious masculine sexuality as we have toward sanitized, emotional female sexuality, no one of any gender will be truly free to act on genuine desires—in or out of the bedroom.
and
sexual equality, we need to acknowledge the ways men are stifled by the equation of masculinity with constant desire for and pursuit of sex. Men
are no more hyperactive skirt chasers always looking for a quick roll in the hay than women are passive, sexually resistant creatures who use their genitals only as sticky traps in which to catch wedding rings. Until we turn as critical an eye toward stereotypical voracious masculine sexuality as we have toward sanitized, emotional female sexuality, no one of any gender will be truly free to act on genuine desires—in or out of the bedroom.
And Misinformation Just Might Make Me Lose My Mind
Heather Seggel / SPRING 1998
CHANNEL SURFERS AND THOSE CRAVING SOUND SEXUAL INFORMATION alike, beware: There’s a sexually repressive, ignorant, irresponsible advice show in town, and
Loveline
is its name. The televised offspring of a call-in show on the Los Angeles radio station KROQ,
Loveline
appears nightly on MTV with the warning that only “mature audiences” should be watching. Too bad they don’t ask the same maturity of their hosts.
Loveline
is its name. The televised offspring of a call-in show on the Los Angeles radio station KROQ,
Loveline
appears nightly on MTV with the warning that only “mature audiences” should be watching. Too bad they don’t ask the same maturity of their hosts.
Said hosts, twentysomething dude Adam Carolla and “Dr. Drew” Pinsky (identified as “a board-certified physician and addiction medicine specialist”), display all the sexual maturity of a horny third-grader and a neighborhood priest, respectively. Adam’s credentials are in stand-up comedy, so he provides the clunky one-liners and penis jokes, and also talks to the celebrity guests (one person or band per show, there to plug a new movie, CD, fragrance, hairdo … oh, and to help dish out advice). He’s a man of the people, that Adam. The male people, anyway, whom he encourages to be as manly as possible every chance he gets. All this crotch scratching and talking to famous people leaves Drew with the real work of the show—listening to callers and answering their questions about love, sex, relationships, and sometimes drugs. To be fair, he handles the illegal substance stuff quite well. It’s those darn sex questions, which are the whole point of the program and make up its bulk, that show him to be a judgmental dimwit who cares more about appearing smart than dispensing accurate
information. Want to call in? It’s like a trip back in time to the ’50s. Just check your brain at the door and come with me.
information. Want to call in? It’s like a trip back in time to the ’50s. Just check your brain at the door and come with me.
The show fails us all—female, male, queer, het—but some failures are worse than others. In the spirit of chivalry, let’s let the men go first. Straight male callers seem to know better than to risk their sexual self-esteem by calling in with anything serious or seriously embarrassing. If they do, Adam gets first crack at them, squeezing their experience for any jokes that might shake loose before Drew sums them up in a tidy parcel of medical jargon. Woe betide the young man with one testicle larger than the other who calls this show for reassurance that he’s normal. Even if the hosts eventually allow that abnormality isn’t cause for alarm, the information is couched in so much condescension and teasing that the message gets buried. Carolla’s humor is sometimes aimed at male stereotypes (he tells a woman whose boyfriend loses his voice after cunnilingus, “This is just another excuse for not talking after sex”), but there’s not enough useful information imparted—or thought involved—to justify all this jiving. Then there’s the case of a young man who was concerned that his (male) partner was sleepwalking and might be endangering himself. Not a sexual or a relationship question per se—a medical question, and an interesting one. Our hosts were initially confused as to how the caller was related to his “friend.” When they realized it was his boyfriend he was concerned about, an embarrassing silence followed. Drew then dealt out some recommendations, such as going to a sleep disorder specialist. Adam speculated on the types of harm that could befall a sleepwalker (the caller lived near train tracks) and appeared nervous when the idea of tying the sleepwalker to the bed was mentioned. More inappropriate jokes followed; the hosts’ obvious discomfort with the caller’s sexuality gave the whole episode a mean feel.
Moving on to the distaff side, a recent episode found a twenty-five-year-old woman in the audience, let’s call her Betty, standing to ask her question. Betty was in a stable relationship with a man, but she was confused about fantasies she’d been having about making love to a woman. She and her boyfriend elected to explore this further by pursuing a foursome with two other women. Her question: What steps should she take to prevent the spread of STDs between partners and any toys they might use? A reasonable and responsible question for a grown woman to ask, or so I thought. The boys at the helm took a different view.
The most glaring problem was this: Neither Adam nor Drew ever answered Betty’s question. (A simple formula for safe-sex success in this situation: Use condoms/dental dams and lube on all toys and partners. Anytime you change partners or orifices, exchange the old latex for a new wrap.) Drew’s immediate comment, “Yes, sharing those devices can spread disease,” had nothing to do with anything but putting Betty in her place—that special lower deck in hell reserved for device users. He continued by telling Betty, who made it clear that she and her beau were serious about each other and equally excited about the foursome idea, that she wasn’t ready for a committed relationship. All the more reason to get that safe sex information out on the table, right? Well, maybe not, because they went to a commercial right after that and never mentioned it again.
In addition to consigning entire activities to the “not for regular, normal folks” pile, Dr. Drew misuses medical jargon to avoid discussing sexual realities—which is a genuine loss for the viewing audience. A caller who sounded excited, confused, and curious about what I instantly recognized as her first G-spot orgasm could have used some reassurance, some cheering on, perhaps an FTD bouquet, and her very own crystal wand so she could explore further. The
Loveline
prescription? Size her up with a diagnosis of “female orgasmic incontinence” and move on. Now, let’s leave aside the dubious medical accuracy of that language—what’s important is that it’s demeaning and certainly not useful to the caller. And funny how Drew and Adam are willing to throw medical science to the wind when it comes to things they do understand, but when faced with something as mysterious as the G-spot, even their senses of humor fail them. Just label it and back away quickly, before anyone notices.
Loveline
prescription? Size her up with a diagnosis of “female orgasmic incontinence” and move on. Now, let’s leave aside the dubious medical accuracy of that language—what’s important is that it’s demeaning and certainly not useful to the caller. And funny how Drew and Adam are willing to throw medical science to the wind when it comes to things they do understand, but when faced with something as mysterious as the G-spot, even their senses of humor fail them. Just label it and back away quickly, before anyone notices.
Another area ripe for some honest exploration and discussion, but fumbled on
Loveline
, is the much-maligned rape fantasy. A young female caller, worried because she was having rape fantasies, was brusquely advised to “get counseling.” End of discussion. Here’s what Adam and Drew forgot to say: Rape fantasies are unsettling but common. If they interfere with your daily life, counseling might help. If they turn you on and don’t upset you otherwise … hey, go with it. No harm in that. Most important, they’re fantasies—not real. Just as thinking about clowns doesn’t automatically qualify you to fit in those tiny cars, rape fantasies don’t make you a rapist or a victim. It would take about forty-five seconds to tell someone this, but just labeling
the caller a nut job and moving on frees up more advertising time (Oh look, a condom ad! What are those for again?) and saves us viewers from actually having to think about our own sexuality, fantasies, orientation, beliefs, or bodies.
Loveline
, is the much-maligned rape fantasy. A young female caller, worried because she was having rape fantasies, was brusquely advised to “get counseling.” End of discussion. Here’s what Adam and Drew forgot to say: Rape fantasies are unsettling but common. If they interfere with your daily life, counseling might help. If they turn you on and don’t upset you otherwise … hey, go with it. No harm in that. Most important, they’re fantasies—not real. Just as thinking about clowns doesn’t automatically qualify you to fit in those tiny cars, rape fantasies don’t make you a rapist or a victim. It would take about forty-five seconds to tell someone this, but just labeling
the caller a nut job and moving on frees up more advertising time (Oh look, a condom ad! What are those for again?) and saves us viewers from actually having to think about our own sexuality, fantasies, orientation, beliefs, or bodies.
Drew and Adam are terribly irresponsible in their work, but it’s MTV that really deserves criticism for airing this show. They love to play up sex at every opportunity—I know more about Jenny McCarthy’s breasts than my own, at this point—and then turn around and chastise us for enjoying it. MTV is a network with real reach and power where younger viewers are concerned. And not everyone has the luxury of alternate sources with which to discover that, in spite of
Loveline’
s supposed function of providing information, you could get a more accurate sex education from the Pope. My advice to the real mature audience out there—those who are taking charge of their sexuality with research and some trial and error, and taking careful notes—is to skip
Loveline
and start your own show. Don’t wait for friends to ask—start conversations about sex and listen to them as you would want to be listened to. Then expand the dialogue. Rather than adopting the locker-room tone of
Loveline
, create a slumber party where everyone tells the truth and learns from each other. And look for me—I’ll be handing out the s’mores.
Loveline’
s supposed function of providing information, you could get a more accurate sex education from the Pope. My advice to the real mature audience out there—those who are taking charge of their sexuality with research and some trial and error, and taking careful notes—is to skip
Loveline
and start your own show. Don’t wait for friends to ask—start conversations about sex and listen to them as you would want to be listened to. Then expand the dialogue. Rather than adopting the locker-room tone of
Loveline
, create a slumber party where everyone tells the truth and learns from each other. And look for me—I’ll be handing out the s’mores.
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