Does size matter?
I could make a joke about how yes, as a 38C I need a lot of support, or something like that, but y'all know what I'm talking about. Penis size is one of the concerns that makes me glad I'm a girl, because it seems to be so pernicious with so many guys--it might be the hardest insecurity to shake, and society is CONSTANTLY reinforcing it. Of course, I tell this to female friends and they give me a variant of, "Oh poor babies that they're given ONE physical insecurity, BOO HOO." But I digress. Probably I'll get a lot of comments on this post, so good! I'd love you to weigh in, as always. But for me there is only one answer:
Of course size matters. It's just not the only thing that matters. Not by a long shot.
It's only rational--how could it not matter? As in, obviously it has an effect. But it's just one of the many things that might or might not have an effect. I don't usually notice, unless we're talking extremes--I'm about as likely to notice size as I am to notice, say, vocality(?) or roughness, things for which everyone has their own taste. My feeling, in general, is that bigger is NOT better. Too wide is painful one way, too long painful another way. (As in, Ouch, that's my cervix.) And perhaps most importantly, a larger size makes oral sex much less pleasurable--or even feasible! If I have trouble getting the condom on, I'm probably not going down as eagerly. And let's not forget about anal, either. So, I like my men how I like my tops from H&M--medium. We all like to feel full, but not like we're being force-fed Thanksgiving dinner*.
If you're on the smaller side? Do not despair. Almost every woman has a story about that small-in-the-game guy who was the best lay she'd ever had. The street wisdom is that men who aren't that "cocky" go the extra mile. A LOT of women can't climax just from penetration, and are hugely grateful for a guy who spends time on foreplay and oral sex, and develops those techniques instead of resting on his laurels.
Granted, some women (and gay men) disagree. But when it comes to nuts and bolts, I'd say that most people are less picky than you'd expect.
*Not sure how I feel about this metaphor but we'll give it a whirl.
Mythbusters is now officially a Friday regular. We'll see if I can keep it up. So to speak.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Mythbuster #2: The Big Question
New York = New Amsterdam ≠ Dutch
Interesting post on Jezebel about how the average woman is still horrified if a guy wants to "go Dutch" on a date--especially the first date. I am theoretically unopposed to splitting the cost. I HATE girls who get miffed if a guy doesn't pay her way most of the time--there's just no justification for that attitude. My preferred method is for the guy and girl to alternate picking up the check... but yeah, I confess, my prejudice is that the guy go first*. This is in small part because of my gender issues/insecurities due to which I feel like guys don't actually view me as female, and a nod to stifling and traditional norms pats my little ego on the head.
But primarily, non-Dutch on the first date is nice because it removes the sordidness of money. Everyone hates sitting there doing the math of who-ordered-what. Alternating is definitely the ideal, because on top of the aforementioned, it creates a cheerful, if false, sense that that someone's getting treated--it's like when you're at a bar with a friend, and you buy the first round and ze** buys the second but everyone's secretly keeping track.
Really thinking about it, and going over my past, going Dutch definitely does not bother me. (It absolutely SHOULDN'T bother me, but sometimes our gender training pokes holes in our morals and intellect.) I can definitively say that I would NEVER assume the guy's footing the bill.
And I hope we're all aware: if you are like me and in your almost-impoverished 20's, ordering brand-name alcohol or the most expensive entree/an appetizer when your date does not means that you are DEFINITELY chipping in.
*This makes me a bad person.
**Gender-neutral pronoun, in case you didn't know. I use "ze" and "hir" (pronounced "here.")
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Time of the Season?
I love my neighborhood. It's a great mix of age groups and ethnicities, and everyone is very friendly. Furthermore, I rarely get catcalls. Which is why this was so weird:
I went home for lunch today (not my usual custom), and during the 10-minute walk back to the subway I got FIVE SEPARATE CATCALLS. (Possibly six, I couldn't quite hear the last guy.) WTF? I'm not even dressed well today. Why is 2 pm game time in Manhattan Valley?
Experiential Feminism
As you all know, this is a new blog. So it was only the other day that I realized exactly what it was that this blog is "about." In trying to explain this to two of my friends last night, the best words I could come up with were, "Experiential Feminism."
(Or maybe "experiential feminism." Capitalization might be a little much here.)
Here's what I mean: this is not a blog like the wonderful Feministing, which brings you regular news of what's going on with feminist issues around the world, forming and informing feminist theory. Nor is it a dating blog, or even as personal a blog as Diary of a Mad Blacktress. What I really aim to do here is chronicle what it's like, on a day-to-day basis, being a young feminist in New York and in "today's world"--reconciling and melding the feminist ideals I grew up on with the realities of being a woman, making my way, etc etc.
What are these ideals, you may ask? And what these contradictions? That's fodder for a longer post (or several). But here are some of the basics: both my parents are self-avowed feminists, who had the habit of giving adult answers to any question I asked, supporting me in all my endeavors, and banning from the house anything bearing the word "diet. " It was good. Then puberty hit, and life got harder. Being smart and strong and vocal, and not obsessively counting calories, suddenly seemed totally at odds with getting boys, who were suddenly interesting to me. The older I got (get), the more I struggled (struggle) with the double-whammy that girls don't get as much respect as guys, but if they DO get respect then no one wants to sleep with them. (Or so it seemed.) And when I'm bombarded with negative messages about guys, how do I even get it up* to want one? Putting aside those kind of identity issues--how do I change the injustices? How do I cope with the fury that they, and my powerlessness, cause me?
I want to write about all this and more. I want to write about my life in part to figure it out as I go, but also to demonstrate (to myself and others) that feminism is a growing, malleable thing. I want to write about the myriad different ways in which we all make it a part of our everyday lives.
Also, The Pickup Artist.
*So to speak.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Potent nomenclature
Something I only just discovered through reading posts on Feministing: being in favor of "forced pregancy" is the new term for being "anti-choice."
I have to say, I am in favor of this term. It might seem over-the-top to some of you, but anti-abortionists are often over-the-top, and this is honestly an over-the-top issue. If you're a fan of this term you can buy a button from NOW.
So, are you a fan of this term? Or is it too much? Please discuss in the comments.
Here is an article on the new verbiage. Also, a search on Feministing for "forced pregancy" brings up lots of good results, if you've fallen behind on reproductive news.
UPDATE: "S" in the comments has mostly changed my mind on this. I still believe that the term isn't inaccurate linguistically, though it is obviously not the same as its common (perhaps more precise) usage. And I do think that, applied appropriately, it could potentially reframe the argument in a way that has always appealed to me. (That being the "making women have babies" thing.) However, S is correct that it's not really going to make the cause more sympathetic or change anyone's mind, it's aggressive in a non-productive way, and it is a slight to the form of forced pregnancy that S cites. So again, what do y'all think?
REQUIEM for a Muppet Hat
Sigh. Last night was the finale of The (aforementioned) Pickup Artist. Kosmo won: 
Ladies, this man is a sweet, shy boxer with washboard abs and top-notch kissing skills. This is not exactly empirical proof that Mystery can transform any AFC (Average Frustrated Chump).
That's the main flaw in this show; they had to cast people who were particularly bad at picking up ladies, and then make them particularly good. I can't think of any other shows like that. (My roommate suggested The Biggest Loser...which is a title that could be applied to TPA in several ways, actually.) It's really hard, in 8 short lessons, to turn dorks into chick magnets, and the show was disappointing because no one made enough progress from episode to episode--Mystery would send them out for challenges, and one person would succeed TOPS. It should be that a bunch of them succeed, and he'd have to choose the best. The only suspense each episode was as to who got booted, not as to who got the first runic medallion. (No joke. Runic medallions.) The two hottest guys ended up as finalists. It was anticlimactic, and you left most episodes wondering how good a teacher Mystery actually is. I liked to imagine him going home after a miserably executed challenge and punching a wall.
And let's be honest--they're more in love with Mystery than with any of the "targets" they "isolate."
Monday, September 24, 2007
Ode to a Muppet Hat
As promised, it is time for a discourse on my current favoritest show: The Pickup Artist. Most of you probably know the premise--a bizarrely dressed (yet conceivably sexy) guru named Mystery teaches a bunch of losers how to score chicks, eliminating the loseriest losers along the way. The main draws of the show: the oddness of the lingo (IOI, gambit, bounce, kiss-close), the thrilling horror of realizing the techniques work, and Mystery's ridiculous outfits:
And, my personal favorite:
But here's the question: why do I really like this show? The truth is, I was interested in Mystery and the underground "seduction community" before the show aired. I've never actually read The Game (Neil Strauss's book on the seduction community, with Mystery as a prominent figure) or The Mystery Method (what it sounds like), but I confess I've read as many online excerpts as Amazon would let me. Do I wish I were a pickup artist? I suppose, in a way...maybe I just want to be picked up? Or perhaps, less embarrassingly, it's my general interest in psychology, especially the psychology of sex? Especially before the show started, the party line was always, "ew, these guys are gross, the techniques could only work on morons." But I always believed they worked. It made a certain sense to me.
[Of course, the method is targeted at phenomenally hot women--for women like me who have normal insecurities, all those negs might get a guy in trouble. But while I'm not particularly attracted to Mystery, I assume he could pick me up if he wanted to--I am a human, with human psychology, and I'm sure he could successfully manipulate me into wanting to bone him.]
The only comparable Method for women is, of course, The Rules. Those concepts never appealed to me. Maybe it's because they seemed passive (or rather, passive-aggressive), whereas Mystery's method is a balance of active and passive. (The Rules says never to approach first; Mystery teaches how to approach first without seeming like you're approaching.) And while the Rules are colorless and mundane, Mystery makes life and love seem like an adventure, in which you dress like a swashbuckler, have a cool name, and control your destiny. And since Mystery himself started as a hopeless nerd*, he represents that tenacious dream of transformation.
Two of my good friends--a couple--are obsessed along with me. The guy of the duo recently procured a Mystery-esque fuzzy hat and sported it on his birthday; I will try to get him to go full-out for Halloween. But will I just be living vicariously through him?
*And let's be honest, he still is one--but he's co-opted his own nerdiness and channeled it towards getting laid.
Damned if you do, damned if you don't
Speaking (recently) of being a "sexy feminist," let's talk about the phrase. I, of course, do not use the word "sexy" to contrast with or qualify the word "feminist," but rather in reference to the fact that you all already know--feminism is way sexy.
However, let's talk about an area where I frequently feel conflicted: weight loss.
I know you're all thinking, "Where's the conflict? Up with positive body image!" Well, of course. But there's this trend, particularly among young, liberal, well-educated people, to sneer at women who have a negative body image. I often feel that, in certain circles, there is a bigger stigma against dieting than there is against being fat. A conscious stigma, that is--we've all still internalized cultural ideals, so the message seems to be: "Be skinny...but don't try to be skinny." Deviating from either dictum invites a lot of shame. The fact is, most of us have it drilled into our heads that we need to be skinnier, and it is really hard to get totally free of that. This new stigma is well-intentioned, as it attempts to counter all those negative messages, but it often feels that diet-dissers doth protest too much. Smart people have fat prejudices, know they shouldn't, and get haughty about weight loss in compensation. I, personally, am tired of feeling guilty for eating a doughnut, and tired of feeling guilty for feeling guilty.
America, that schizophrenic country of ours, obsesses over thinness while breeding obesity. We're puritanical and hypersexed, extremely diverse and extremely egocentric, and we hurtle towards extremes like negatively charged ions. How do we reconcile? Where's the spectrum? I want to love myself, and fuck the patriarchy...but I also want to lose 10 pounds. Preferably 15. Okay, 20. So Sleater-Kinney's "#1 Must Have" has been going through my head in a loop, and I listen to Lily Allen just for that lyric that goes "I want to be able to eat spaghetti bolognese/And not feel bad about it for days and days and days." I WANT to be attractive to the opposite sex, and I KNOW I shouldn't want that.
We're all guilty of blaming the victim. We even ridicule overly skinny celebrities--ok, mostly the vapid ones, but often we view them as vapid BECAUSE they're so skinny. Why can't we work on removing the fat-shame in the first place? The people who look down their noses at calorie-counters are usually the same ones who casually insult fat people behind their backs. So how 'bout instead of scoffing at that Diet Coke your friend ordered, tell her she's beautiful? (And just so she believes you, maybe tell her so when she's NOT stressing about her dress size.) I've long had an unofficial policy, and as of now I'm making it official: if a friend of mine ever calls anyone fat--strangers, celebs, whatever--I'm calling them out on it. I don't want to hear it. It's destructive, unattractive, and WORST of all not particularly funny*.
Hate the unrealistic standard, y'all, not the people feeling oppressed by it.
*Which is, of course, the greatest sin of all.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Mythbusters: Sexual Edition
[Possibly a recurring series?]
This is not really apropos of anything in my life right this second, but I've dealt with it in the past and some of my friends are dealing with it right now, so I've been annoyed about it lately:
Myth #1: Men like to have sex more than women.
WTF, boys? Could this PLEASE be true? I'm not a big dater, but in all of my relationships, I want to have sex more often than the guy. Why do boys diagnose you with nymphomania* if you want to have sex more than once a week? (Seriously. More than ONCE A WEEK is often a problem.) Here are some possible explanations for this phenomenon:
-Men think that sex needs to take forever. But this, of course, depends on the girl. Some of us (ahem) have orgasms more easily than others, and will beat you to the finish line. Some of us don't even necessarily need the orgasm every time. The word "quickie" seems a little too Cosmo for my taste, but you get the idea.
-Women need to be on top more. All that thrusting and kneeling and the missionary push-ups probably take a toll, but guys--you can let us do the work now and then! Other things to consider: fingers and tongues. I mean come on, you learned this in middle school.
-Boredom? Must find new bear to kill?
-We're fat.
Of course, a myth is a myth--maybe guys don't have a particular reason and some just aren't wired to have sex more than once a week. Also, I know that this does not remotely apply to all men out there. My point: coital laziness leads to frustration and self-doubt. Do what you gotta do, but please don't make us feel like freaks for having healthy sex drives.
*Especially since nymphomania was eliminated as a valid diagnosis in 1994, when the DSM-IV came out. Psych major in the house!
Suffragette City
Welcome, attractive reader.
As a modern sexy feminist living in that Man's World I keep hearing about, I believe in sisterhood. So I am proud to introduce this blog as kind of a sister site to that of the young, talented and black blogger, Sojourner "You Can't Handle the" Truth. So never again doubt, my friends, that sisters are doing it for themselves. After all, I have had it up to here [please imagine my hand at the top of my forehead, like Gwen Stefani in the "Just a Girl" video] with the ubiquitous meme of women hating each other, competing over men, and scratching each other with their retractable claws. (I, for one, reserve my claws for carpeted posts and people's feet moving under blankets.) I love women, even if I don't want to date them*!
[Now you guys know that I am a serious, respectable blogger because I just used the phrase "ubiquitous meme," perhaps even correctly.]
So please tune in for any and all of the following: female factoids, political ruminations, rants on men/boys, links to more experienced bloggers, philosophizing on The Pickup Artist, and tales of sex in and involving a certain city (but with more self-respect and less expensive shoes). Also occasionally some angst, cuz you can't spell 'suffragette' without "suffer." You have to rearrange the letters, though. A woman's work is never done.
*But if you'd like to fool around, we can talk.
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