The first time I read Ben Stein’s latest article in the NYT, I was fuming. I even felt - in spite of myself - a twinge of understanding for Sarah Palin’s attempt to sever “real Americans” from their less-real compatriots (knowing full well the extent of her hypocrisy, of course, but still).
There it was, the “sweet woman” at her wits’ end because her ex-husband’s dwindling income put her $20,000/month alimony check in jeopardy, her now “worthless” 2.7 million dollar home, and the fact that she was considering sending her credit-card-bill-footing boyfriend packing.
Oh, and she hasn’t been employed in decades (it’s a day job in itself, to spend $20,000 a month, isn’t it?) and she doesn’t have a penny in savings. And now of course, she was worried about her future.
I had to wonder what planet this woman had been living on all these years.
I reread the piece a couple of days later, just to make sure it hadn’t been a satirical jab at the lifestyles of the once rich and wannabe famous (like this one).
Instead of indignant fury, the second reading left me feeling sorry for this “sweet woman” who may or may not be sweet, but is certainly a victim of sorts.
But whose victim? Her good-for-nothing ex-husband? Consumerism? Alan Greenspan’s monetary policies that resulted in the biggest bubble in American history and the ensuing housing market hemorrhage? Disney’s princess propaganda?
It was that last one that struck a chord. In college, I took a humanities class about gender issues and politics. Our (male) teacher exemplified everything on a republican die-hard’s hate list: wimpy and androgynous looking, pro-choice, pro-gay rights, passionate (in a very nice, non-confrontational way) about gender politics, especially the trap so many of today’s middle-aged women find themselves in.
Once upon a time, these were fresh, wide-eyed women with a secret (or perhaps, not-so-secretive) hankering for some of those values we now call traditional. In other words, while they would never call themselves meek or submissive, they harbored fantasies of being looked after by a strong man. They were well-rounded, well-educated, and sometimes even had careers. Career’s that they would sacrifice - some more willingly than others - once their husbands’ and children’s needs, and their homemaker fanatsies outweighed their own independence. And when the husbands left, their worlds crumbled around them.
There isn’t anything wrong with wanting to be taken care of - I harbour fantasies of someone (preferably a hot, male someone who cooks and cleans) looking after me - that’s just how many of us are wired (and if you don’t think men are wired that way too, look closer at how they love to be “mommied” or how so many of them take off when they can’t handle the heat of being the strong one anymore).
The difference between this woman and me is that while we both have similar fantasies, I settle for watching Michael Douglas hack a way through the Colombian jungle for Kathleen Turner while polishing off a glass (or three) of pink wine. The next day, I dust myself off and go to work. I grumble and complain, and sometimes wonder why I hadn’t stayed in the material comfort of a marriage that offered security and companionship, instead of heading out alone into the fog of an unknown future.
Post-feminism is a kind of backlash against the hardcore feminism of the 60s. What’s wrong with being a girly girl? Not only is it fun, but let’s face it, it’s a better deal. Who the heck wants to toil away at a day job for a pittance, only to have to come home to chores (that men still aren’t doing, feminism be damned).
But lest these women forget, being a girly girl in the extreme is not without its price, and rather than tear a page form “sweet woman”’s playbook, they’d fare better by holding her case up as a cautionary tale of pre and post-feminism gone awry.
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