Here’s the reason why your “POOR MEN!” comments on my “men don’t know how to do emotional labor and rely solely on their wives to do it for them,” post are GARBAGE. Like, shut upppppp.
Do we live in a society that socializes a lot of young men to not have the foundational tools they need for their personal and emotional wellbeing? YES. Does that suck? YES. Is everyone in society responsible for recreating, over and over again, toxic masculinity? YES.
But what all those comments completely ignore are the BENEFITS of men not being expected to do emotional labor. Men benefit GREATLY from this shit. ALL THE TIME.
They benefit from not having to do the incredibly exhausting legwork of emotionally caring for their children. Dad is the “fun one” and mom is who you go to talk through all your life shit with. Doing emotional labor for your children is beautiful work but it is honestly a 24/7 job and it is exhausting and intensive and requires a great deal of patience. I know a shit-ton of people my age (myself included) who had little to no emotional labor support growing up from their dads. That means their moms (and grandmas. And sisters. And aunts.) were doing the bulk of this labor.
(Also it’s pretty sad when a girl child in the family is expected to do the emotional labor of her siblings cause dad can’t get his head out of his ass to show up and listen for 5 minutes)
Men benefit from not having any expectations on them that they do any other kind of kinship work too. Like calling their moms on their mom’s birthday. Like writing christmas cards, inviting friends to dinner, scheduling healthcare visits for their kids (and sometimes even for themselves!), making sure dinner is on the table for a family dinner, getting presents for family birthdays, etc etc. Many men are completely oblivious of how their family actually functions, because they’ve never had to do kinship work like this in any real, substantive way.
When men are exempt from kinship work and emotional labor, they have a shitton of free time and energy on their hands to explore other activities, activities that their busy, emotionally taxed wives cannot explore. This is a huge benefit for men and it has a huge cost for women.
I honestly think that this is the cause of many straight relationship breakups/divorces, because men have all this time to pursue personal projects and women are fucking E X H A U S T E D and busy doing all the emotional labor, and men end up looking at their wives and being like “You’re boring now. All you think about/talk about is being a mom. I need a ~partner~. Someone with more interests.”
So before you’re like POOR MEN fucking recognize that POOR MEN benefit from not being expected to do emotional labor and that these POOR MEN are GROWNASS MEN who are capable of changing that up and learning but DON’T. They’re not children anymore. They can actually do this shit if they want to.
A few other points:
— Women are biologically disinclined to have sex with their caretake-ees
so, you know…if you act like a toddler don’t be surprised if you get
the sex life of one.
— Women “stepping up” to get things done is not just expected and
unappreciated, it’s called “teamwork”; but when men do it, it’s called
“leadership.” Think about why that’s the case.
— It’s hilarious when you realize that men actually do worry about emotional labor and consider it work—once you frame it in traditional male terms: NETWORKING.
Networking is emotional labor. And women have to do it ALL OUR LIVES, at
work and at home, 24/7, and women don’t get a shiny job offer out of
it, because we’re supposed to just give with no expectation of return,
out of the fucking generosity of our female hearts.
—
So, let’s take sending out Christmas or birthday cards as an example of emotional labor. Generally women ending up doing it even if they don’t want to. So you might ask, ‘why do it if you don’t want to?’ Women are culturally seen as caring and empathetic. Asking “why don’t
you just not care” is ignoring the fact that to society, a woman who
doesn’t care is defective.
We DON’T CARE. We don’t fucking care about your mom’s birthday or little
sally the 14th cousin 37 times removed’s fucking piano recital. But
we’re the ones who have to deal with the emotional and social fallout of
no one caring, always. ALWAYS.
Women are not naturally more caring or nurturing than men, or ‘just better at that sort of thing.’
Women are not naturally more caring or nurturing than men, or ‘just better at that sort of thing.’
Women are not naturally more caring or nurturing than men, or ‘just better at that sort of thing.’
It’s called socialization, motherfuckers.
— Widowers are notably more socially disconnected that widows,
because when men don’t do the work of social connection (of which
birthday cards are merely a subset) and don’t have a wife to do it for
them, those social connections wither and die, with statistically
notable ill effects on the health of older widowed men.
And last but not least, since there’s so many younger girls/women on tumblr:
– A phrase that is terrible? ‘Teenage girls are so dramatic.’
Teenage girls go through ‘drama’ because they are literally learning how to perform emotional and social labor. They’re not being silly nor dramatic – they’re simply going through the process of how to interact with other humans, typically other girls learning the same skillsets. How to navigate the social cesspool, if you will. How to give and take. How to manage expectations with the needs of those around them. Teenage boys tend to be more socialized to shut down during this time, and the same interpersonal coping skills are not learned.
So what happens down the road is you have these young women, in college or beyond, dealing with what is often called the ‘man-child.’ In a very real way they are, because although these women now have years and years of skill at performing social and emotional labor, often these young men are stunted in their own neglected growth. So now, these young women have to perform the additional emotional labor of trying to teach their young men how to interact emotionally and socially not only with them in terms of a relationship, but often with friends and family as well.
And what happens is that very very often, the woman steps up and takes over all emotional and social labor, because women are taught from a young age this is what it means to be a woman. Women are just better at this sort of thing.
And men let them, because they’ve been taught the same thing. And whether they are conscious of it or not, this status quo benefits them…and human history shows that those reaping the benefits will fight to keep those systems in place, either actively or passively.
Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.
I have been waiting for this post all my life.
They are indeed purple, But one thing you’ve missed: The concept of “purple” Didn’t always exist.
Some cultures lack names For a color, you see. Hence good old Homer And his “wine-dark sea.”
A usage so quaint, A phrasing so old, For verses of romance Is sheer fucking gold.
So roses are red. Violets once were called blue. I’m hugely pedantic But what else is new?
My friend you’re not wrong
About Homer’s wine-ey sea!
Colours are a matter
Of cultural contingency;
Words are in flux
And meanings they drift
But the word purple
You’ve given short shrift.
The concept of purple,
My friends, is old
And refers to a pigment
once precious as gold.
By crushing up molluscs
From the wine-dark sea
You make a dye:
Imperial decree
Meant that in Rome,
to wear purpura
was a privilege reserved
For only the emperor!
The word ‘purple’,
for clothes so fancy,
Entered English
By the ninth century
.
Why then are voilets
Not purple in song?
The dye from this mollusc,
known for so long
Is almost magenta;
More red than blue.
The concept of purple
is old, and yet new.
The dye is red,
So this might be true:
Roses are purple
And violets are blue
.
While this song makes me merry, Tyrian purple dyes many a hue From magenta to berry And a true purple too.
But fun as it is to watch this poetic race The answer is staring you right in the face: Roses are red and violets are blue Because nothing fucking rhymes with purple.
me @ myself: maybe u should try not to depend so much on validation and attention from others because u really let it dictate your mood and it’s so unhealthy
I wore a Captain America t-shirt the other day, a shirt I got at Gamestop on sale. It features a vintage cover of a Cap comic and it’s one of my favorite shirts. I wore it to work and then needed to go to Micro Center (local computer store) to buy a new video card for my PC.
So I’m walking around Micro Center with my husband, who is infinitely smarter about computers than I am (considering I work in IT) and we’re trying to find a better, but cost effective video card and this guy, who looks like he walked out of King of the Hill and who, I kid you not, somehow smelled of pizza and Mountain Dew, glances over at me and with a stupid smirk on his face says, “Bet you can’t name one Golden Age Captain America title.”
Now, don’t get me wrong. I know the rampant trends of shaming female comic book and video game fans are a real thing but I have been wearing DC and Marvel shirts for a very long time and never had someone actually call me on it, least of all in public. My first reaction was to roll my eyes and ignore him. My husband turned his head and said, “Excuse me?” in a rather loud voice, but I decided to embrace this “teaching moment” and turned to him.
I smiled politely and nodded. “I’ll tell you what,” I told him. “I’ll name five Golden Age titles if you can tell me, in a clear and concise way, how to find a woman’s G-spot.”
The look on his face would have been enough to make me turn around, satisfied that I’d shut him up, but I wanted to drive my point home, because fuck that guy, right?
So I stepped toward him and said, “Can you?”
By now, a store employee had stepped into the aisle to pull something from the shelves and overheard my licentious question. Mr. Mountain Dew gaped silently, like a fish out of water and I waited patiently, the same smile on my face. After a minute of silence, I said, “Nothing?”
Mountain Dew finally found his voice and said, “What the hell does that have to do with Captain America?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute,” I said. “First, I want you to clarify something. Do you like women?”
Once again, he was speechless but eventually said, “Yes,” in a defiant, indignant tone.
“Interesting,” I said. “Now correct me if I’m wrong, but your demand that I name a Captain America title was intended to prove that I was somehow impersonating a comic book fan by daring to wear this shirt in broad daylight, am I right?”
Silence. So I continued.
“But if I apply the same logic to you, it could be said that you’re impersonating a heterosexual male, because after all, why should you be allowed to fuck women if you don’t know how to do it properly?”
I didn’t wait for him to answer. I grabbed my video card, paid, and left and now, I wear that Cap shirt with a sense of victory I didn’t have before.
Moral of the story, kids: Don’t be a dick to people who wear their fandoms or interests on their clothes if you can’t handle the clapback.
Hail to the queen!
You don’t owe anyone an answer but damn was that a great one
Holy. My Queen. I’m always scared to wear my fandom shirts because of this but now…well 👐👐👐
damn
Steve Rogers would SO approve
This is the best response to “fake geek girl” shaming I’ve ever heard, and I’m more than a little in love. OP, you’re the hero we all need.
OP, Goddess Of Smack Downs, you are a f’ing hero! ^5
I just really want to write a book (in fact, I think that I’m going to) where the protagonist is in a wheelchair. And they live in a city where there’s a group of superheroes. And there’s a big, magical, villain because of course there is.
And since they were a young child, this protagonist has wanted nothing more than to join the group of superheroes. Like they’re a huge fan of the group and they just know that it’s their destiny to join.
And one day, when wheeling through the city, they see the group of heroes fighting the villain. And they quickly wheel over and cry, “Let me help!”
But the ‘heroes’ laugh and instead make a whole bunch of ableist remarks.
And so the protagonist has to prove themselves.
And the villain is trying to warn them to stop.
But the protagonist ends up taking their footrest off of their wheelchair and they swing it. And it hits the villain in the side of the face and the villain collapses and groans in pain.
And so the protagonist proudly smiles and turns to the group of heroes.
Because they just proved that they are strong and worthy enough.
But the group of ‘heroes’ still keeps making ableist remarks.
And the protagonist is shocked.
And meanwhile, the ‘villain’ staggers to their feet and is standing next to the protagonist’ wheelchair.
And one of the ‘heroes’ goes too far when calling the protagonist the R word.
And the protagonist and the ‘villain’ just sort of glance at one another.
And the ‘villain’ is just like, “You know…I can zap them for you…if you want.”
And the protagonist hesitates and says, “Yeah, alright!”
One fried group of heroes later, the ‘villain’ says, “Why do you think that I’m always fighting them? They’re all a bunch of assholes.”
And the protagonist sadly nods and starts to wheel away.
Then:
“Hey, do you want a job?”
The protagonist turns at the villain’s remark. And the protagonist mumbles something like, “Oh, come on. I don’t need your pity.”
And the ‘villain’ is like, “Pity!? Do I look like someone who hands out pity!? I don’t pity you! I’m kind of afraid of you, to be honest! I mean…I’m going to have a giant bruise on my face because of you.”
“Yeah…sorry…”
“Water under the bridge! So, what do you say? Do you want a job?”
And the protagonist thinks about it for a minute before shrugging.
And the ‘villain’ is all excited because they’ve wanted someone to work with them for years but no mortal is allowed to ‘step into’ their lair.
And then the ‘villain’ stops and is like, “Hang on…you can’t work with me in that.”
And they gesture to the protagonist’s wheelchair.
And the protagonist is all embarrassed.
And then the villain goes, “Because we can get you a much better wheelchair! It’ll look great! And it’ll be indestructible! And it’ll have all sorts of weapons and gadgets! Hey, how do you feel about flying…?”
And all of that is literally in the first chapter and then the rest of the story follows the two going around the city like BAMFs, forcing people to stop being ableist, one way or another. And maybe it’ll have some commentary on the scale of morality and what it truly means to be a hero and what it truly means to be a villain.
Would anyone be interested in this!?
Because I really want to write it!?
YESSSSS. ALL MY YES PLS WRITE IT
I’D READ THE SHIT OUT OF THAT YES PLEASE
OP HERE!
Man, it’s so surreal to look at this.
BECAUSE I ACTUALLY WROTE IT!
AND IT WAS JUST PUBLISHED TONIGHT!
Of course, there are some differences between the final book and this original idea. The most notable difference is that all of this takes place in the first book (it’s going to be a series!) and the whole ‘superhero’ thing is just going to be a front. There’s a few other differences as well (such as a huge plotline involving Merlin and immortal characters!)
Costuming for Kender, my Tiefling warlock. I really like his original costuming- the second image- but he’s changed a lot recently and I wanted his look to reflect that, so I’ve been playing with some new designs.
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