{"id":54709,"date":"2022-03-18T09:29:45","date_gmt":"2022-03-18T09:29:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/revistaidees.cat\/?p=54709"},"modified":"2022-03-18T16:23:25","modified_gmt":"2022-03-18T16:23:25","slug":"quarrel-between-citizen-lad-and-rude-girl","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/revistaidees.cat\/en\/quarrel-between-citizen-lad-and-rude-girl\/","title":{"rendered":"Quarrel Between Citizen Lad and Rude Girl"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

A verbal dispute between a man and a woman on the subject of gender is a form of oral-based literature that, far from being a genre as such, is found\u2014inserted or diluted\u2014in various expressive manifestations. It can be spotted in dialogue novels such as Un peso en el mundo<\/em> by Jos\u00e9 Mar\u00eda Guelbenzu; it is a constant theme in the autobiographical comics created by Robert Crumb and Aline Kominsky as a duo; it is also implicit in David Foster Wallace\u2019s Brief Interviews with Hideous Men<\/em>, throughout which the reading process involves imagining the interventions of one or more interlocutors. This text is presented as a parodic inflection point in that code, and at the same time as a false state of the question of some of the issues that permeate contemporary Masculinity Studies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014If it weren\u2019t for women, we men would still live in caves. If it weren\u2019t for the gay men who painted on cave walls, nobody would\u2019ve ever painted a bison. As for straight men\u2026 we weren\u2019t into the idea of our beloved, warm caves transforming into art galleries dedicated to honouring bison and execrating hunters, and we didn\u2019t regret leaving our homes, seeing as they\u2019d become inhospitable due to their new decor and unfit purpose. And anyway, most of us never even managed to hunt down a bison. But we tried. And when we failed, we didn\u2019t blame women, or gay men. We blamed ourselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014You come out on top in that story. It almost makes me want to become one of you. For the losses you suffered, in your opinion undeserved; for the nobility with which you think you accepted them; for the efforts you say you\u2019ve made; for the primitive yet beautiful lost cause you supposedly engaged in; for the defeat you dressed in a Klein blue suit of melancholy, which fits you like a glove. For being victims of History, isn\u2019t that it? Oh, what handsome losers you\u2019ve all been, how zealous your fall\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014There seems to be something beautiful about it, yes. I wouldn\u2019t have said it myself\u2026 until I started seeing women fall in love with losers. And I\u2019ve been watching it happen for years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014There are certainly some foolish women around, as there are also those who are into raw fish or long-distance running. The popularity of Japanese cuisine doesn\u2019t make it a universal culinary standard, and you\u2019ve never dedicated ten minutes of your time to watching a women\u2019s 3,000 metre hurdle race. You think that every time a female runner reaches a fence, she stops to decorate it with garlands and white roses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014I\u2019m not an expert in that matter, really. But I don\u2019t recommend anyone to be competitive. Neither men nor women. And it would never occur to me to deny that floral art is an applied art, and in the long run applied arts end up being considered proper Art. Let\u2019s hope this doesn\u2019t happen sooner than we think, and I catch you talking shit about an art form of which the main creators are all women.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Floral art will find its way into the Prado, without a doubt. Gender parity won\u2019t. But seeing as there\u2019ll be some real flowers on display, and not painted by men, many visitors will return home convinced that parity has arrived, and that, from now on, it\u2019s all glory and yellow bricks. It\u2019s an optical illusion, like the impression that equality day is approaching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Well, being a man, floral art\u2026 I wouldn\u2019t say it\u2019s my favourite thing, but it does seem interesting to me, because it\u2019s a tradition that\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Well, to me, and I only resemble men in the way they shit, floral art seems incredibly tacky, and even if it didn\u2019t seem that way to me, it would still be tacky. You don\u2019t understand what a tradition is. If a creator can choose, from a repertoire of possibilities, the one they feel most capable of carrying out, then they join a tradition. On the other hand, those women who found themselves trapped at home, without the possibility of going to university or living their lives, and had no other choice but to play around with honeysuckles, weren\u2019t choosing a tradition, they were killing time in the prison yard. To lessen their sentence. And, of course, when someone takes away the time you need to live and gives you, as spare change, a few hours for your work, during those hours you\u2019ll end up making something beautiful, understanding beauty <\/em>as something men think women should create. Don\u2019t be fooled: in the main hall of the Prado, at the opening of the flower exhibition, there\u2019ll be more men taking selfies to look sensitive than women who are art lovers. It\u2019s been more than a century since Duchamp hung what needed to be hung on a wall, it\u2019s already a bit late to come and tell us that a bouquet of carnations will lead us to the Pantheon. That\u2019s not feminism\u2014it\u2019s neo-housewifeism. You guys couldn\u2019t get enough of the cupcake craze, so the next time someone tries to convince me that if I transform into a 20th-century housewife I\u2019ll feel like Future Eve\u2026 I\u2019ll answer back with something that won\u2019t sound girly or flowery at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Damn\u2026 well then we must conclude that the curators, artists and art historians who propose this idea are wrong, right?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014It\u2019s worse than that. I make mistakes every day, without fail, from the moment I wake up, but at least my mistakes aren\u2019t tacky and I don\u2019t dedicate myself to selling illusions of emancipation with fragrant petals and no thorns. There\u2019s little more than thorns on that path, and whoever decides to take it without knowing this has failed even before they start walking, and will end up falling onto one of those huge thorns, like the ones Proust was obsessed with.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Mock us all you want, but you wouldn\u2019t know what failure and falling are if you hadn\u2019t watched us. When have you ever seen, broadcast on every TV, a woman failing woman, or the blow of her fall?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Very few times, actually. As few as the opportunities we\u2019ve had to triumph and rise above you. He who invents triumph, and reserves it for himself, also reserves disaster exclusively.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014If it\u2019s as you say it was, then isn\u2019t there a certain greatness in disaster? Does the unknown soldier not deserve a monument?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014The first of them deserved it, without a doubt. But they ceased to deserve it when the second of these monuments was erected, and it became clear that bronze and marble would never be used to commemorate the widow of the unknown soldier, who raised three children alone, on a meagre pension, and never had the opportunity to leave the house in search of glory or death, which, in your books, are worth the same. The war she waged, to create the men of the future, was secret, without cheers or medals, it was raw and exhausting, and she won it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014We knew about that other war, in the letters sent to the camps, stationed next to the battlefield. Not being able to fight in it caused us more sorrow than the certainty that this field would become our grave. We didn\u2019t run from that other war. Nor did we declare ours. No chamberlain gave us the document, the inkwell and the quill. You may not be aware that to sign a Declaration of War you need to know how to read and write. At home, we didn\u2019t have cannons, helmets or submarines, we never came up with a battle plan, and we didn\u2019t even know how to locate the country we were ordered to invade on the map. All of this was imposed on us. They took us away from our jobs, our families, our lives. Call it a disaster, but don\u2019t say that war was created by \u201cmen\u201d. War was orchestrated by a chosen few, so superior in the military hierarchy that they seemed more like demigods. A demigod is not a man, and he who is recruited by force is not responsible for carrying out orders from above.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014I see. And the orders to show no mercy, to steal from the dead, to pillage, to rape the widows of the soldiers you killed, I suppose they also came from above?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Sometimes, yes. Sometimes it was revenge for our own women who\u2019d been raped, for our friends who agonised for days, their bellies cut open and mutilated. Sometimes it was pure psychopathy. The fact that among psychopaths there are more men than women doesn\u2019t mean a thing in terms of masculinity; it\u2019s simply a neurological fact that has nothing to do with the lives of most men. As for the rest, I see that you\u2019ve also preferred to believe that in wars women were the only victims of rape, and that torture is less painful. Or perhaps you think we deserved it. The monument you ask for, which is so necessary, is no less so than the monument to the gang-raped prisoner of war. The veil of censorship that\u2019s been draped over these atrocities has led to the belief that a man\u2019s death on the battlefield is the result of his delusions of power, and that a woman\u2019s death in an airstrike is the result of sexism.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014And that veil of censorship, did female historians impose it? Female novelists? Female journalists? Female filmmakers? All their powers united, against a minority of defenceless men?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014We\u2019ll never know what veils they would\u2019ve imposed if they\u2019d been able to, and I usually hear suspiciously optimistic speculations in this respect. Though we do know that you accept these veils with open arms, whenever they\u2019re convenient for you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014You guys were brutal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014We were ordered. The brutality came as an added extra. Given the choice, we would\u2019ve preferred to be forcibly recruited into the Diplomacy Academy, but we weren\u2019t so lucky. And, if we\u2019d had the opportunity to attend that Academy, we would\u2019ve forgotten the lessons after two weeks anyway, without sleeping a wink in the trenches, between the whistle of bullets and the stench of the latrines, each day seeing\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014\u2026 your comrades die, I know. I\u2019ve no doubt it was terrible. But at least your dead have that radiant history, that morbid poetry that has never failed to inspire other atrocities. The victims of the other war don\u2019t, the women who died during at-home abortions, during incompetent labour, in medical massacres in search of the origin of hysteria, of nymphomania, of all those superstitions that the clinical establishment used just as Mengele used his prisoners.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014I\u2019d believe that the words hysteria<\/em> and nymphomania <\/em>are the product of male domination if I didn\u2019t hear so many women insulting their kind using those same terms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Male domination includes creating situations in which internalising a sexist idea, even when it\u2019s directed towards one\u2019s own gender, even when it could be used against oneself, is a far less terrible option than giving up that idea and ending up alone, speaking in an alternative language others refuse to understand. Regarding the use of language, many friends call each other \u201chysterical\u201d or \u201cbitches\u201d with affection, humour, tenderness, while going out for drinks and at birthday parties. No social problem has ever been gestated at those parties.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Also, with that same attitude, many men who aren\u2019t part of the problem use terms like fag <\/em>or poof<\/em>. If I\u2019d never heard a gay guy call another \u201cfag\u201d, and not with complicity or tenderness, I\u2019d believe that the term is simply heterophobic; the more I hear it, the more I\u2019m convinced that it\u2019s a question of polysemy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014No. It\u2019s not the same to appropriate a term that was coined to insult you, and redefine it, than to continue using, with supposed irony, a term that was invented to marginalise others. Orthotypography is a great invention, but putting an insulting word in quotation marks or substituting roman type for italic type won\u2019t demolish the foundations of male dominance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014It was a woman, not a man, who proposed to correct that term and speak of inter-masculine domination<\/em>. It takes place in warfare, both on the battlefield and on the streets, and it\u2019s not exclusive to straight men. The gay leather man who spends hours in the gym and nights in the sauna among neoclassical bodies, while Winckelmann looks down on him approvingly from the heavens, feels far superior than skinny transvestites and, naturally, calls them \u201csissies\u201d. In the same way female athletes also have their own vocabulary to refer to flabby women who\u2019ve never played sports. It isn\u2019t sexism that creates these vocabularies, it\u2019s effort. All these words can actually be summed up in a single phrase: \u201cI exert more physical strength in a day than you do in a month.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014That phrase isn\u2019t on point, and I don\u2019t think you\u2019re sufficiently informed about what gets said in women\u2019s locker rooms, which weren\u2019t invented by women, by the way. In any case, even if what you say is true, that doesn\u2019t represent a social problem either, or certainly not a serious one. No newspaper is interested in what football players say at the end of a match. In fact, they don\u2019t even give an account of what happens during the match. None of those phrases have the ability to hurt anyone, because, once they\u2019re pronounced, they get lost the moment they\u2019re said: they\u2019ve been confined to the same airtight space in which everything that\u2019s not convenient about femininity has always been locked away. Football players inhabit a more comfortable space, yes, inside a larger prison. And of course they let them play: you have <\/em>to play in the prison yard, it\u2019s mandatory. If the warden sees you leaning against a wall and talking to a fellow inmate for too long, he\u2019ll automatically assume you\u2019re planning an escape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Would you really wish for soccer players to suffer the public overexposure, scrutiny and male hysteria of the sports press? Would you like it if, when stepping out to play on their opponents pitch, instead of hearing the whistling and booing of two thousand people, it was forty thousand? Would you want that to happen to you?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Perhaps you\u2019ve heard of Kant\u2019s categorical imperative. It\u2019s really nice and it sometimes works, but sometimes it doesn\u2019t: I don\u2019t propose what I think is good for me, not always, as a universal principle. The football player has her body; I have mine. I wouldn\u2019t be able to expose myself to two thousand people whistling and booing and, as for you, I know that a sidelong glance at an official reception leaves you half depressed for three days in a row. The football player\u2019s vocation includes exposing herself to forty thousand boos, without the slightest doubt. The thing is that if you men were to see a woman take them head on without batting an eyelid, you\u2019d faint on the spot. That\u2019s why nobody\u2019s interested in the Women\u2019s League being broadcast during prime time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014When you say \u201cnobody\u201d, I\u2019m afraid this includes the majority of women, who, as a matter of fact, don\u2019t spend Sunday afternoons going to the stadium where those matches are played.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014You wouldn\u2019t have seen a penalty kick in your life either, just as you haven\u2019t seen a field hockey penalty, if it weren\u2019t for the fact that the most masculinised press of all presses convinced you, even before you knew how to count, that it was necessary to watch the guy shoot the ball. As for the whistles, boos, insults and media pressure, I\u2019ve never heard Iniesta ask to be protected from it. What makes you think that a player would want to be protected? And by whom? By a group of bodyguards and a book show host? You always have to imagine there\u2019s a male authority that makes sure they don\u2019t fall. You always invent imaginary problems to try to prove there\u2019s no gender asymmetry, but only different ways of expressing aggression.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014I have a few dioptres, but I\u2019m not quite blind. Of course there is gender asymmetry, and it\u2019s certainly not me who has suffered the worst consequences of it, and neither have you, but I\u2019ve been aware of it from as early as you have. Or do you think I didn\u2019t have a mother? Do you think my grandmother was the only housewife in the country who wasn\u2019t addicted to optalidon, to tranquillisers, to some anti-pregnancy pills that if taken by a millennial, she\u2019d have to go straight to A&E? My grandmother got transformed into a junkie, just like so many woman of her generation, and she didn\u2019t even know it\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Of course she knew. She knew perfectly well. Your grandmother always knew that the optalidons weren\u2019t sweets of Our Lady of the Pillar. But she had no choice: all her friends were doing it. And besides, how many children did she raise alone?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Five.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Well, there you go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Well, that, like the Cointreau thing, was one of those things that you half know, half don\u2019t\u2026 It\u2019s like the scene in What Have I Done to Deserve This?<\/em> in which the addict housewife enters the pharmacy for the umpteenth time\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014\u2026 and she finds that the rules of the game have changed, yes, and that she now needs a prescription.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Oh! \u201cWhat? And on top of that you insult me! You just called me a drug addic<\/em>t!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014The housewife in that film knew<\/em> she was a drug addict, even though she pretended to believe that the only person who\u2019s a real junkie is the one with a needle in their arm. She had to fake it, just like the journalist who writes an article on the increase in alcohol consumption among teenagers for the umpteenth time, \u201cOh, what a scandal, I can\u2019t believe it,\u201d as he pretends to ignore that he lives in an alcoholic country, and ends the article by saying: \u201cWell, now that I\u2019ve told you, friends, I\u2019m going to drink a few gin and tonics, seeing as it\u2019s already past eleven in the morning.\u201d You\u2019ll always need to believe they were naive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Perhaps you\u2019re the one who\u2019s naive. In that film, the one who says, \u201cIt\u2019s no longer possible\u201d, is a woman. It was the pharmacists, her lifelong friends, the ones who gave my grandmother that shit, without a prescription or intervention from a doctor. I know you\u2019ll tell me that the pharmacists didn\u2019t run pharmaceutical companies nor were they the Minister of Health, who turned a blind eye, but as far as collaborating goes, they definitely collaborated. And you\u2019re right there: they knew damn well what they were selling, and the effects it had.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014That\u2019s right. They were women who were helping each other out, lending each other a hand so as to suffer the least. That was one of the forms of complicity that\u2019d been arranged for them: I\u2019m your friend, I\u2019m your drug dealer, and seeing as you\u2019re my friend, I\u2019ll turn you into a junkie for life. Female pharmacists were a pawn in a very complex game. And, anyway, I don\u2019t see you acting so shocked when your friends pass you the phone number of a trusted dealer, or when they pull out their credit cards when there\u2019s no ATM or cash machine in sight. It\u2019s hilarious: when men do it, it\u2019s okay, but a woman taking drugs? Oh, what a scandal!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Well, yes, it was a fucking scandal because she had no choice, and her use of drugs wasn\u2019t recreational: she took them to endure\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014\u2026 the housework, like nowadays everyone and their dog takes cocaine to keep up with the pace of work. The only difference is that raising five children and doing the shopping, housework and laundry was called \u201cher chores\u201d, and she didn\u2019t get paid for them. She didn\u2019t take drugs to celebrate she\u2019d closed a huge deal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014That doesn\u2019t stop it from being a scandal though, and if the pharmacists had been men you wouldn\u2019t say they were pawns: you\u2019d say it was their fault. When my grandmother reached the age of fifty, her body was so used to pharmaceuticals that, to relieve a cold, she had to take three paracetamols at once. I saw my grandfather take half a paracetamol, which left him groggy, and my grandmother swallowed all three, one after the other. I saw the gender asymmetry clearly, even though I had no idea what it was called. And I kept on seeing it, because she took all the pills, a well-to-do woman, a bourgeois lady, with Agua del Carmen, which she could drink quietly, chatting with her friends, because it\u2019d been decided that sweet liqueurs aren\u2019t for men, and since they aren\u2019t for men then they aren\u2019t really alcohol, and if they\u2019re drunk out of small shot glasses, which aren\u2019t snifters and aren\u2019t lifted by a hairy hand, then it\u2019s clear that they\u2019re nothing more than liquid sweets. So the friends who spent the afternoon drinking Agua del Carmen, Marie Brizard, Cointreau, Aromes de Montserrat and An\u00eds del Mono had never tried alcohol, they were just girls drinking sweets. And you tell me I haven\u2019t seen gender asymmetry! Yes, there is asymmetry, yes. Those who say the characters in Mad Men<\/em> drink a lot didn\u2019t know my grandmother. If they\u2019d put her face to face with Don Draper at a table full of bottles, to see who could stay standing the longest, that poor ad man would\u2019ve ended up on the floor in an alcohol-induced coma while my grandmother calmly sipped on another glass of Cointreau.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Cheers to that!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A verbal dispute between a man and a woman on the subject of gender is a form of oral-based literature that, far from being a genre as such, is found\u2014inserted or diluted\u2014in various expressive manifestations. It can be spotted in dialogue novels such as Un peso en el mundo by Jos\u00e9 Mar\u00eda Guelbenzu; it is a constant theme in the autobiographical comics created by Robert Crumb and Aline Kominsky as a duo; it is also implicit in David Foster Wallace\u2019s Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, throughout which the reading process involves imagining the interventions of one or more interlocutors. This\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":55333,"parent":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"inline_featured_image":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[384],"tags":[],"segment":[],"subject":[],"class_list":["post-54709","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-masculinity-cultural-imaginary"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nQuarrel Between Citizen Lad and Rude Girl – IDEES<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/revistaidees.cat\/en\/quarrel-between-citizen-lad-and-rude-girl\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Quarrel Between Citizen Lad and Rude Girl – IDEES\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"A verbal dispute between a man and a woman on the subject of gender is a form of oral-based literature that, far from being a genre as such, is found\u2014inserted or diluted\u2014in various expressive manifestations. 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