Pornulation empowerfulizes us, say humorous ironic hotties

Gawd, remember that hipster burlesque crap from the 90’s? I thought it was over, but no, it lives on. An article in today’s Kansas City Star about a “neo-burlesque” show in town is headlined thusly: “Burlesque’s practitioners find humor, art and feminism in their risqué shows”.

Fun feminism, that is.”Neo” burlesque is funny and ironic, see. So it’s rebellious and iconoclastic and artsy. The Star runs a photo to illustrate the pertinent bits of the story. The photo is of neo-burlesque practitioner Honey Valentine’s headless, enbustiered torso.

Burlesque practitioner and funfeminist Lola Van Ella says “[What’s happening now is a feminist movement in burlesque] because it’s women saying, ‘I can be ultra feminine and I can shave and wear makeup and red lipstick and G-strings and pasties. Men may or may not enjoy it, but I’m doing it for myself.’”

How is fun-feminism different from regular feminism? Not at all, except that it’s antifeminist. It’s when you capitulate to, participate in, embrace, and openly promote rape culture in exchange for approval, claiming that it empowerfulizes you.

Van Ella said that contemporary burlesque appeals to both genders and that she has as many female fans as guys. And there’s a reason: Modern burlesque performers are clearly in charge of their own destiny.

“I have nothing against commercial stripping as a business, but it is that,” she said. “It’s a sales job. But burlesque is a tease, and that is the big difference. The woman doing it is completely in control of her own sexuality. She decides. And she says, ‘I’m gonna give you this much but not any more and if you want more you’ll have to beg.’”

Are you fucking kidding me?

It sorely chaps the Twisty hide when women get all cutesy with pornulation, misconstruing irony for agency.

The idea that women’s public sexuality can so precisely mirror traditional male fantasy while simultaneously existing in a kind of pro-woman, I-do-it-for-myself alternate universe is the cornerstone of funfeminist “thought.” The flaw in this reasoning is that all women must participate in patriarchy regardless of what they say motivates their participation; patriarchy is the dominant culture, and there is no opting out. Which means there is no opting in, either. Do it for me, do it for you, whatever; the primary beneficiaries of women’s participation — willing or unwilling, ironic or sincere — in patriarchy, are men.

Musical interlude with Nellie McKay

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I was sitting around in my interior designer Ed’s studio yesterday. In willing compliance with my request to help me “funny up” the new Spinster HQ at El Rancho Deluxe, he was showing me pictures of some offbeat lamps for my office. One of these was a white plastic Venus de Milo bust that glows from within.

“I dunno, man,” I said. “There are feminist implications.”

Ed’s response was to whip out the laptop and play me this video.

Egypt’s national pastime

In case you were wondering, two-thirds of Egyptian men cop to sexually harassing women. Naturally it’s the women’s fault. So sayeth a Reuters report on a survey conducted by an Egyptian women’s rights group. The group has noted that street harassment is epidemic in their country. Like it is everywhere.

“The vast majority of women did nothing when confronted with sexual harassment,” the survey said, adding that most Egyptian women believed the victim should “remain silent”.

Some 53 percent of men blamed women for bringing on sexual harassment, saying they enjoyed it or were dressed in a way deemed indecent. Some women agreed.

“Out of Egyptian women and men interviewed, most believe that women who wear tight clothes deserve to be harassed,” the survey said. It added most agreed women should be home by 8 p.m.

Although a sexxxy lady walking down the street is clearly asking for it, piling on pious yards of cloth doesn’t appear to protect Egyptian women from jeering, ogling, and weener-wagging; the study says most of the women reported being “dressed conservatively“ when their harassment ocurred.

Egypt, the US, wherever; a woman in public, the world over, is either a prostituted woman, or is trespassing on traditional male territory, and is fair game either way. Street harassment is a convenient method by which men can enjoy participating in rape culture, whenever the urge strikes, without going to too much trouble.

Now baby can wear heels in bed, just like Mommy

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I haven’t looked, but I suppose tidings of baby’s first high heels have already made the rounds of the feminist blogs. No matter; this ain’t no news blog.

Anyway, what I allude to are these grotesque novelty shoes for infants. Sexy animal prints with spike heels. Thirty-five bucks a pair. Celebrity-endorsed. Blamer Melissa, who rang my clue phone about this icky development, says “the whole ‘seven-year-olds in thongs’ thing is so last season and hawtness must now begin at birth.”

A glance at the website reveals a link to an Entertainment Tonight article describing the crib shoes (wait, crib shoes? Why does a bedridden infant need shoes?) as “made from soft, flexible fabrics with a collapsible heel and are not intended for walking.”

The pair of women sexopreneurs who invented the infant fuckme pumps chap the Twisty hide in many ways. Forget about the obvious antifeminist implications of infant pornulation for a second; what’s with the repellent adult pastime of casting children in the role of joke-butts? Warning, says the website, these Heelarious shoes “May cause extreme smiling and hysterical laughter when in use (this is completely normal).”

Normal! Man, what is wrong with people? Why does everybody think it’s okay to openly jeer and laugh at kids? Do they think the tots just don’t notice that they are perennial objects of mockery? Last Halloween, at the neighborhood cul-de-sac trick-or-treat party (or what I like to call the Barton Creek Toddler Burlesque), my 4-year-old niece Rotel flat-out refused to wear her elaborately cute costume. It was obvious that she just didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself for the amusement of the drunk adults. Much consternation ensued. Rotel was seriously in violation of some primal code of childhood conduct when she dared to expect that she could collect candy without putting on Hilarious Kid Drag. She was robustly critiqued for having had the temerity to assert personal bodily sovereignty in the face of patriarchal tradition. I am happy to report that she prevailed in the end, but it was clear from the reaction of the neighbors that they considered her strange, and I don’t believe for a second that the kid won’t carry deep emotional scars for life. Probably she will turn to a life of crime.

According to the rules of the culture of domination, kids, particularly female kids, suffer the lowest status possible for creatures with human DNA.

But I digress.

The purveyors of the tiny hooker-wear are a perfect example of the ingenious and pernicious manner in which patriarchy replicates itself through eager complicity of the oppressed class itself. While fathers hang around in strip clubs not paying child support, mothers are charged with providing the next generation’s primary indoctrination into the social order. Why not get a jump on your daughter’s pornulation training by strapping on some infant sex appeal? These asinine accouterments bear a striking resemblance to those Japanese fetish torture shoes; they aren’t intended for walking, either.

College junior purports to grasp something

Not to come off as one of those “busy” bloggers who doesn’t have time to write a proper post — that I suck profoundly as a blogger has already been established — but here’s a curious little item from the University of Texas student paper with which I am going to leave you before biffing off for the day on pressing spinster auntly business.

Before you jump my shit for persisting in my cruel campaign against helpless undergraduate journalists, let me reiterate that yes, I know we all have to start somewhere, and no, I don’t expect feminists to spring fully formed from the womb. But. I can’t ignore that collegiate America so consistently publishes the creeping antifeminist delusions gurgling within the nascent citizens of tomorrow.

Anyway, here’s a weird piece in which college junior and “proponent of ordered liberty” Brianna Becker, inspired by the Latter-Day Saints slaves who’ve been riding the tide of controversy to market their turn-of-the-century Christian burkas, advises young women on the subject of sartorial modesty. Of course she invokes, as teenagers will do, this priceless gem:

Decades ago, equity feminists iconically sacrificed their undergarments through public bra burnings. This excessive act, in which women removed and reverted their restrictive clothing to ashes, was the manifestation of radical philosophy. Their theory was a degenerate form of classical feminism.

Somebody, please, tell young Brianna Becker what time it is.

He’d hit that

In a recent post I described an antifeminist magazine columnist as a “porn apologist” for suggesting that women should be all gung-ho to sex up in porn drag to make their men happy in the sack. A commenter then used the term “fucking rape apologist” to describe this columnist. Which prompted yet another commenter to take exception to this seeming escalation in rhetoric, fearful that it further demeans “real” rape victims to lump all victims of coercive sex, regardless of the degree of violence, into the same category.

“Maybe” she says, “I just don’t want a bunch of women showing up to rape survivors’ meetings saying, ‘I wore lingerie and heels for my husband, even though deep down I really didn’t want to.’”

Certainly the English language, which is chock full-o many excellent words, can accommodate, for the amelioration of poetry or politics or pornography, differing degrees of abomination in describing the sexual oppression of women. That’s because the English language is the language of men, a proud culture of domination that glorifies its lust for oppression with infinite variations. A woman can be violated, fucked, nailed, hit on (or just hit), ogled, degraded, fallen, debased, put on a pedestal, married, prostituted, impregnated, pronged, boinked, ravished, seduced, cajoled, beaten, videotaped, courted, sold, assaulted, wolf-whistled, harassed, enslaved, dominated and killed. O the pageantry.

On one end of the spectrum in this splendid tableau of violent misogyny is the Nigel who cajoles ‘consent’ with guilt and low-level duress (“come on, just a little longer, I’m almost there.”). On the other, the jewel in the crown of patriarchal dominion: physical assault under threat of injury or death, or what is popularly thought of as rape.

There are 578,843 different little hate crimes in between. I’ve written about a few of them. High heels, blow jobs, street harassment, feminist dudes, the normalization of porn culture. If you are a woman, you have experienced nearly all of them. If you are a straight woman, you have experienced nearly all of them a million times. When experienced incrementally, in small doses over the course of a lifetime, many women are Stockholm-syndromed into viewing these “lesser” violations as tolerable (or even desirable). Taken all at once, in the single violent outburst known as rape, it is a devastating, debilitating trauma.

But for the level of intensity, these are all points on the same continuum. What continuum is that, Twisty? Why, the continuum of rape culture, which is porn culture, which is male culture, which is the dominant culture. Duh, of course victims of violent assault have had a different experience than women who reluctantly pornulate themselves for their boyfriends. Rape survivors have been slammed with maximum hatred all at once in its most unambiguous form, whereas the lingerie girlfriend, ostensibly of her own volition, is merely putting on a cheap polyester teddy made in China. Different experience? Hell yeah. Different concept? Hell no.

It is of dire importance is to recognize that, within the profoundly misogynist climate of our social order, it is considered consistent with women’s essential nature that we are dudesex, and only dudesex. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: this condition of oppression absolutely precludes the contingency of a woman’s genuine consent to anything. Therefore it does a disservice to all women if we reserve the concept of coerced sex for its most sensationally violent incarnation.

Get up offa that thing, girls, and see this sex class shit for what it is: a humanitarian crisis.

Women’s essential receptacleness affirmed independently by separate jagoffs

Blamer Monika informs me that this ‘male feminist’ Kyle Payne dude links to I Blame the Patriarchy on his male feminist anti-rape blog.

Eeww. I need a hot shower.

Who is Kyle Payne?

An Iowa blogger who claimed to use activism and education to promote “a more just and life-affirming culture of sexuality” for women, especially those women who have been victims of sexual violence, has pleaded guilty to photographing and filming a college student’s breasts without her consent. [cite: Iowa Independent]

While she was unconscious.

Oh those zany dude “feminists” and their heartfelt concern for women’s “culture of sexuality.” Culture of sexuality my ass. They’re blind, bloodless, oozy invertebrates who live in soggy logs. Girls in alcoholic comas make the little fellers sick with excitement. Unconscious receptacle? Plenty of time to whip out the video equipment before writing an anti-rape blog post.

Sexploitation — on a semi-related note — is also irresistible to Oprah. It will gross you out to learn that a current (August 2008) issue of Oprah Magazine fell into my possession this afternoon. On the cover it says “YOU are an EXCELLENT WOMAN! How to finally let that message seep into your bones”. I opened the magazine and read the following letter to the sex advice columnist:

My husband is an affectionate man but only interested in sex if I dress up in lingerie and heels. I was a confident woman, but this is taking a toll on my self-esteem. He says he can’t help it — he’s visually stimulated. Any advice? — Joy in Utah

Twisty’s advice to Joy in Utah: “Great Scott, you excellent woman. Dump the misogynist porn addict with all speed.”

Oprah’s sex advice columnist, a chump named Cindy Chupak, appears to believe that being an Excellent Woman means defining your sexual self exclusively in terms of your service to male fantasy. She tells Joy in Utah to suck it up. “The man wants his sexy wife in some sexy clothes. Is that too much to ask?” Chupak counsels poor pornified Joy in Utah to be “thrilled” that her exploiter only wants lingerie and heels. Having to wear the minor sexbot drag he requires is apparently way less “offensive” than dating a “plushophile” or someone who is “sexually aroused by insects crawling on parts of the body.” Joy in Utah, concludes old Cindy (after titillating her readers with a few more examples of dudely kinkiness from Wikipedia’s perv list), should “work with [the pornulating asshole’s] limitations and celebrate her power to turn him on.”

When porn apologists “celebrate” women’s “power,” it’s like saying “war is love” or “Cool Whip is real.” The power to get men off. Yo, quaver before its terrible compulsory awesomeness.

Jesus Huckleberry Christ.

Canada anoints dude

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Unrelated bucolic photo of the day: my boyfriend Stanley on horse-shoeing day. He doesn’t grow any heel on his left fore. It’s so problematic!

Great Scott! Canada has handed out a big gold loving cup to a dude abortion rights activist! That’s right. Dr Henry Morgentaler, pioneer abortion provider, gallops home with an Order of Canada, the government’s top civilian award. As the Guardian’s Heather McRobie points out, this is a big deal; imagine the extent to which your mind would be blown if either the US or the UK even dreamed of officially admitting that women’s abortion rights is a human rights issue, much less publicly announced that a dude who provides abortions ought to be regarded as a national hero.

McRobie does not neglect to mention what we’re all thinking, which is that although Morgentaler has no doubt done his bit for the cause, it’s funky that, you know, a dude should win such a big prize for feminist pursuits. But it turns out that this little hitch isn’t problematic for McRobie, who opines that it is “courageous to commend a man for fighting for women’s rights,” because doing so somehow demonstrates that women’s rights are human rights.

You know, because if they gave the big award to a woman, nobody would notice.

I dunno, man. I think it demonstrates that women’s rights are still officially the purview of men. I mean, sure, yay for dudes who provide abortions in the face of antifeminist terrorism, and yay for governments that acknowledge the legitimacy of pro-choiceism, but come on. Bestowing the Order of Canada on a pro-choice man isn’t “courageous,” it’s patronizing, paternalistic, and predictable. The human status of women will always be in question as long as it remains a foregone conclusion that dudes will mete it out, take the bows, or take it away.

Incidentally, if I read any comments containing the words “baby steps” I’m gonna blow a wheel.

Stanley

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Stanley eating hay: my Number 1 Jam.

Nobody asked, but this is what I spend 9 hours a day looking at these days. Even if you don’t give a corn tortilla for hot bay horses with four white socks, you can see how looking at Stanley is more excellent than watching Dude TV, or reading blogs that say “Barack Obama thinks it’s perfectly reasonable to cede control of women’s internal organs to the state”.

Fuck Obama, fetus brown-noser

Shall I rip my own mentally distressed head off now, or wait until after the election?

Barack Obama waxed not-so-poetic about late term abortion, the federal abortion ban and the validity of mental health exceptions in said ban to the Christian magazine Relevant last week, telling the interviewer that states should have the right to restrict or ban late term abortions. And Obama made no bones about the fact that, as he sees it, “mental distress” should not qualify as a threat to “the health of the mother”. [cite: Huffington Post].

Human rights abuses will continue unchecked until people, including trendy, with-it people, quit sentimentalizing, religiousizing, and politicizing reprofuckingduction. What’s it gonna take? A woman is a human being, whether her body has been colonized by a parasitic human growth or not. I mean, fuck.




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You are reading I Blame The Patriarchy, the patriarchy-blaming blog that advances the radical feminist views of Twisty Faster, a gentleman farmer and spinster aunt eating dinner in Austin, Texas.

I Blame The Patriarchy is intended for advanced patriarchy-blamers. It is not a feminist primer. See Patriarchy-Blaming the Twisty Way for details.

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