The humiliation of “real Russian women” – and why conservatives get off on it

The humiliation of “real Russian women” – and why conservatives get off on it

“A woman owes it to everyone to be beautiful!” “You’re not a real woman if you don’t look feminine enough!” “Some guy’s dick didn’t get hard when you walked by? Kill yourself, you ugly piece of shit.” “Too many guys’ dicks got hard when you walked by? Kill yourself, you sad whore.”

As some people get more woke/progressive every day, those who oppose them grow more vicious, angry, and reactionary. This process is particularly evident in Russia, where everyone from lawmakers to celebrities is screaming about women’s “traditional role” and how anyone who doesn’t fit this role should be run out of town.

When it comes to Russian domestic policy, Putin and his people are concerned about demographics. Some of those concerns are legitimate, others downright sinister. On a very basic, cynical level – they need women to produce cannon fodder. They’re also worried about Russia’s future territorial integrity.

What’s interesting is how this all works on the personal level. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: Russia went through mind-boggling violence and deprivation in the 20th century, and hasn’t dealt with it. The trauma goes deep and is a part of daily life.

Compulsory femininity is one way in which the trauma is expressed. If you read Russian, for example, you’ll love this recent sex column at pro-Kremlin Life News, which talks about how fat people are basically not human, and how a woman’s primary duty is to be hot and ready to get fucked at any moment.

The author, a former reality show contestant, says things like, “My man is hard for me all the time, everywhere” (um, poor guy?) and “It’s better if you don’t say anything to your man – just love him and give him blowjobs” (But what if you are in the woods? And there’s a bear? Do you take the cock out of your mouth long enough to shout “Behind you!”??? So many questions). As for fat people, she won’t even consent to swim in the same pool with them – because ew, gross.

Many Russian commenters have already pointed out the painfully obvious – this celebrity is not exactly famous for her happy personal life. Her hatred of other women is the result of her issues with herself – a profound sadness dressed up as bravado, only the dress doesn’t quite fit (and will be stripped away with time).

You would think that this would be obvious: If you feel the need to shame or hurt someone, chances are, you are projecting. People who are able to connect with others in meaningful ways don’t go out of their way to humiliate others.

In light of this, the blueprint for the “traditional Russian woman” is the following: She is not supposed to be happy. Because she cannot belong to herself. She only exists when she is admired/desired by others. And she must fulfill everyone’s expectations all at once. 

“The traditional Russian woman” must please everyone: Men who like big asses and tiny bubble butts. Men who like dramatic make-up and plunging necklines and men who like torn jeans and a hint of lipgloss. Men who like a woman in heels and men who think a woman in heels looks “like she’s trying too hard.” Men who like a hairless pussy and men who say, “This makes me feel like a pedophile.” Men who say that “real women have curves” and men who go wild for a “coltish-looking Lolita-type.”

This woman runs around pleasing everyone and exhausting herself. If she’s “lucky,” she will net a husband who supports her, a.k.a. a “real man.” Then she’ll still turn fifty, her “real man” will be sleeping with sex-workers and 20-year-old assistants at work – because that’s part of his masculine nature, as plenty of Russian “traditionalists” will tell you – and their mutual friends will say, “Guess she should’ve thought about it before becoming old and useless.”

Continue reading “The humiliation of “real Russian women” – and why conservatives get off on it”

I was raped a few years ago

I was raped a few years ago

I was raped a few years ago. I had liked and trusted the guy. It had started out as a completely consensual encounter. But at some point, after he had me alone, he began to hurt me. When I asked him to stop, he continued. He got off on my pain and terror. He was bigger, he was stronger. The humiliation and horror stay with me to this day.

I could not admit what happened. Forget admitting it to others, I could not admit it to myself.  Continue reading “I was raped a few years ago”

Writing round-up, 2016: Six non-horrible things that happened this year

Writing round-up, 2016: Six non-horrible things that happened this year

I’m not really sure what to say about the year 2016. “At least we didn’t all die in a nuclear blast” is one good thing I could mention, I guess.

On a personal level, it was a year of disappointments and setbacks, fears and frustrations, but also the year in which I sat in a taxi coming back to Chelsea from Broadway after a dinner with great talents whom I also simply admire as people, and the very dear friend and great talent sitting next to me turned and said, “You’re doing it right, you know.” I surprised myself by believing her. There are people in my life who burn very brightly, you see, and I’ve learned to let their light in, and for that I am grateful.

In light of that, in light of them, here are the six things I definitely did right this year: Continue reading “Writing round-up, 2016: Six non-horrible things that happened this year”

November, depression, and the illusion of another world

November, depression, and the illusion of another world

“This is so depressing.”

It’s a common expression. I don’t begrudge it to people and frequently use it myself. I don’t like the self-righteous condemnation some people will heap on you if you use “depressing” or “depression” as throw-away words in casual conversation. If you get horribly offended by that, you may need to get over yourself.

Language evolves constantly, and our language has evolved in such a way that we regularly use “depression” without meaning “serious illness that can really fuck up your shit.” There is nothing wrong with that, and I think it has actually gone a long way toward normalizing the illness and people who suffer from it.

Having said that, depression is still very much a serious illness that can really fuck up your shit.

I am most prone to it in the month of November, and, as I have discovered from living in sunny places like Dubai and Greece, lack of sunlight may not be the main culprit. Maybe it’s due to the tilt of the earth. To the days getting shorter. To red leaves framed by a blue sky. To something.

I would love to write a buddy-cop-like parody novella about November and depression. Here they are, on yet another adventure together, barrelling through the mind, fucking it up like regular buddy cops fuck up city blocks. Here they are, making the lights go out behind the eyes while tossing comic insults at each other.

A lot has been written on the dangers of depression, but there is one particular danger I think is seriously overlooked:  Continue reading “November, depression, and the illusion of another world”

NEW: poetry and essays archive

NEW: poetry and essays archive

Dear friends, subscribers, and people who take offense at my Guns n’ Roses references,

I wanted to point out that the new poetry and essays archive is now available on this site. It doesn’t contain all of my poetry and essays. Just the stuff that I like most.

Yeah, yeah, it’s presumptuous to self-publish poetry. With rare exceptions, it’s presumptuous to force one’s poetry on the world at all.

Of course I also sometimes think that all writing, both good and bad, is presumptuous to an extent. In in the meantime, I keep hearing from you about how much you like the stuff I publish here and have made the archive with that in mind.

By the way, a long time ago, when I was still a high school student, I noticed that the Norton Anthology of Poetry we used in English classes included the work of Bob Dylan. Norton was ahead of its time with this one. His inclusion, which forced me hard to think about the definition of poetry, in a way prepared me for his Nobel Prize (a lot of the writers I know seemed very surprised when he won, which in turn surprised me).

It also made me think about how genre and mediums and methods of delivery overlap in this world that we live in. In that sense, poetry isn’t something that has to be born on the page. Sometimes, in fact, a poem has to travel a certain path in order to be recognized as such. I think that’s curious and wonderful.

The world being what it is right now, curiosity and wonder should be multiplied. I’m trying to do my part, in whatever small, confused, confusing way that is available to me. Good luck with doing yours.