She asks, What’s a Modern Girl to do?.
She’s been asking this question, in one way or another, in ever-more-bitter tones, for over a year now.
I DID tell answer her, ‘way back in January of this year, when she was sniffing about her life, and licking her wounds after making a harpie-spectacle of herself over Christmas, and I tried to tell her again, in March - but she never listens to me. In fact, I believe I then stopped writing about Mo because she wasn’t listening and I got bored.
Actually, Ms. Dowd is asking a second question. She is now wondering “if the feminist movement was just a cruel hoax?”
Hey, I think she’s catching on!
Yes, Maureen, the feminist movement, which seemed to be all about “celebrating women” and “slamming (or feminizing) men” was in actuality all about devaluing traditional femininity, completely ignoring the peculiar genius of the feminine, and over-valuing male standards to such a degree that some women have recently begun to declare they needed “wives” to help them run their lives sensibly. It was a giant hoax that compelled you and many of your sisters to believe that sex could be casual and abortions could be, too (I don’t know anyone that served except caddish men and abortionists and psychiatrists) - that children didn’t really need their mothers, and hell, women didn’t really need children, either.
The feminism you’ve embraced and still champion has made for lots of lonely women keeping cats and buying very expensive clothing to wear at supper, which they - all too often - eat alone, or with other women who wonder about hoaxes, too.
But hey, you belong to YOU, doncha? Except for all those pieces of yourself you gave away, for nothing that lasted.
And now you’re cringing because some women are entering college with the idea of actually having children and part-time careers, instead of careers with part-time children! What a waste, eh? I bet you’re glad you didn’t do that!
But you sound pret-ty teed off at these gals, all the same, which is surprising, because…I thought the feminist movement was all about “respecting women’s life-choices.” Now if YOU, a leading feminist - I guess - can’t respect women’s choices, how in the world will anyone else?
In the spirit of “sisterhood” I’m going to repost
the what I wrote when you were really pissed-off because all the men seemed to marry women in “woman-y” professions. Just so we all know exactly where so many of us stand in the mind of a leading uber-feminist, who grows increasingly sad and bitter, almost before our eyes.
Modo’s Keep - The Sterile Castle
January 13, 2005
The more I read Maureen Dowd the more I’ve come to believe the woman is staggeringly ill-equipped to deal with life.
In today’s rant - the poor thing can do nothing unless ranting is involved - she is going after men, all men. An entire gender has ticked her off.
They don’t want to date her, or to marry her.
Because she’s a strong woman who wants to be treated as an equal! She actually implies that she is the equivalent of Katharine Hepburn, in my beloved old movies of 50 or 70 years ago, and that modern men cannot deal with the likes of la Dowd, or Carrie Fisher.
In Maureen Dowd’s world, all men want their mommies - or worse…they want women of the “service” class to be their mommies!
Okay, all you secretaries, administrative assistants, nurses, personal assistants, housekeepers, nannies and event planners, listen up, because Dowd is going after you, too: You may have fallen for the pretty idea that there is such a thing as “sisterhood” out there, you may have been naive enough to believe that the career choices you make are YOUR choices, and therefore completely worthy of respect, but don’t be fooled. Maureen and her ilk are the strong women in non-traditional, non-nurturing, masculine-scented professions, and (pay attention to this, because it is very important you understand it) sisterhood be damned, they are your betters!
Got that? If you have chosen some namby-pamby, girly profession - if you are a florist who owns a small business, for example - you’re simply not on the same tier as Dowd and her rarified Miss Lonely Hearts. Oh, you might have a “career” but everyone knows you’d give it up in a heartbeat to (shudder) breed, or to move if your better-employed, more powerful husband’s job decrees relocation. So, you know…your little flower shop, your little bakery, your little assistant’s desk, while very nice, are in the end simply irrelevant. Like you, they exist only as a means to an end.
Oh, I’m sorry, did I call you a “means to an end?” Forgive me, but these are not my sentiments, they are Ms. Dowd’s. She may not have used those exact words, “a means to an end,” but make no mistake, Dowd has reduced you to that cold, pragmatic category in order to make her point that men only want women they can depend upon, look to for support, companionship, advice and yes, nurturing (because healthy and strong relationships require that both partners be able to nurture each other.) You people are a means to an end, you get men what they want and need so they can keep on being…you know…(wrinkle the nose)…men!
That’s the problem, you know. The nurturing. You “little” women are too soft, too willing to nurture.
You’re too interested in looking outside of yourself and actually considering your partnership with a man as something larger than both of you. You’re too willing to believe that in a relationship a man and a woman might actually evolve from being two separate and befuddled entities, melding into a cohesive single unit that sustains itself through selflessness, consideration and - gasp - reciprocal nurturing!
You see what fools you are? You’re too stupidly willing to be giving up some portion of yourself to the man! And the man is only going to exploit that and make you his mommie. You’re not supposed to be giving up anything! If any giving-up-of-oneself is to be done, it had better damned well be the man who is doing it, otherwise the relationship you are in is not a “good” one. It is not politically correct. It is not affirming. It is not the feminist ideal.
Until you get the testicles into the mayonnaise jar and stored properly out of sight in some cobwebby cupboard, your “relationship” is a grand delusion, and you’re just mommying the man.
Listen to Maureen - she knows! She’s been writing about the problem of those rotten men since before Christmas. In Maureen Dowd’s impovished and bitter world, men and women really don’t understand each other, and don’t want to understand each other. They are warring entities who circle around each other but who never quite pierce each other’s core to come to the place of grace.
It’s very sad, really. Terribly sad. Apparently women who are in Ms. Dowd’s position, whose identities are completely wrapped up in what they do, cannot let their guards down, cannot let anyone in - really in - because they are afraid (oh so very, very afraid) that if they let someone in…they might be exploited, that the inborn gift of nurturing that is so much a gift of what Pope John Paul II calls “the feminine genius” might be coaxed out of them…and then trampled upon.
Nothing great comes easy. And being trampled on is a risk you take when you’re out to gain something great.
Really, how sad. How bleak. It seems there is a castle and a Keep, but it is not a romantic castle housing a princess eagerly awaiting the arrival of her prince, with airy rooms and open-access. Rather it is a cold and dank castle, its walls un-scalable, with drawbridge drawn and crocs in the moat, a prison of choice, a separate and protective keep. Should a prince approach, he will have to woo the princess from a distance, as she gazes down upon him with narrowed eyes and inquires as to whether he completely understands the primacy of her title; she warns that he’d better know right now exactly what-up-with-which-she-will-not-put.
And he’d better be happy with steel wool and scouring powder, because that’s basically all she’s going to bring to the party, until she knows with some certainty that her consort understands his place and will not usurp, will not harbor expectations, will not ask for anything he cannot get on his own.
Horrible. Unhopefully bleak. I read this and look at this sterile castle and my heart just breaks for this woman and all the things she simply does not get, and all the gifts and pleasures she will never have, as she wanders through her empty Keep.
There is some comfort, of course, in noting that this does seem to be one issue on which she cannot blame George W. Bush. Yet.