The purpose of a man

... if you can kill your own snakes, then what is the purpose of a man in your life?

The Feminine Woman

I'll admit it - I was Googling ways to be feminine. It wasn't for an essay (like last year's one regarding the bridal store), but for myself. I'm not particularly feminine, or at least I'm not feminine like the world declares I should be. I'm loud. I'm boisterous. I have an opinion about most things that I've read about. I want to explore the world, God and I doing it together, and while it'd be nice to experience love and marriage at some stage, I guess it shouldn't be the be-all-and-end-all for my existence.

So I Googled. Tapped on the keys and hunted out what made the female, female. What denoted this status beyond a rib-crushing corset ("really, if you get one that's the right size it's so comfortable"), a well-timed simper and the ability to accentuate what matters? Why did the XX Chromosome become associated with these things?

This isn't a post about feminism, nor any sort of -ism. At least, not as far as I can tell. But that quote above set my bristling powers to extra high.

What's the point of a man?

Apparently men have no point other than to kill snakes. To be the predator, protector, annihilate any threat that appears in the path of their woman. Masculinity is essentially reduced to power, and if we take away that power, what else is there to do? A man is nothing without his crown.

Does a man really need to kill the proverbial snake, whatever it may be, to be masculine? Does control need to be assumed at every single point?

I'd argue no. 

I'm not going to be with a man who considers his worth to be related solely to how masculine he is in terms of social gendered constructs (Simone de Beauvoir said that woman was made, not born - no doubt this is true of man as well). At least, it's not going to last for long considering my personality. Don't get me wrong - I'm all for masculinity, I'm all for femininity. But surely it's more important how two people respond to each other?

As the quote refers to acting around a man you're in a relationship with, there is way more to a relationship than two rigid constructs. I've been watching my heavy dose of period dramas lately (shoot me, whatever) and a quote from The Young Victoria stands out:

Albert: Then you had better master the rules of the game until you play 

it better than they can.

Victoria: You don't recommend I find a husband to play it for me?

Albert: I should find one to play it with you, not for you.

With you, not for you. I don't always see the man as protecting. There's going to be a time - as happens with every single person who has ever existed, and don't try and kid me otherwise - that a person collapses in whatever way. Gender does not determine how often you'll trip in life. And when you collapse, surely you'll be fragile, in need of protection?

Call me crazy, but I'm fairly sure any female would be mother-lionessing all over someone she cared about if they were in need of protection.

If the need arose and a woman needed to kill the snake, is that so wrong? If the man can't kill the snake for whatever reason, is dainty poor woman just supposed to leave it slithering around, hissing venom? 

It's okay if a woman mother-lionesses (because it's now a verb) over a child, especially her own. It's someone she cares about, yeah? It's a whole new can of worms if you're assuming this role with a male partner. Emasculating him. Never mind she cares, but it's better to let him get bitten than try and help out. 

What use is a man?

Companionship has to count for something. Devotion. Love.

Friendship.

The whole fact that you can have a laugh with him.

Conversation.

Falling asleep on the couch after a massive marathon of whatever show's taken your fancy.

A man, in my opinion, is worth far more than his ability to kill a couple of reptiles. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the concept of being protected (it's, ahem, sort of very alluring). But if I can't help him out, how is that equal? 

Partnerships. Not control. Not skirting around the issue in an attempt to become an ideal woman. If he's worth it, he'll appreciate you no matter how many scars you've got from battling rogue Basilisks. He might end up wielding the axe more, and that's all well and good if you're fine with it. But please, please, don't determine his worth only by this factor. A man is worth far more than that - just like we're worth far more than our ability to be serene and perfect in every way.

I don't think I've met a woman yet who's serene and perfect. I'm not going to hold a man up to the equivalent male standard, as society dictates it.

The post where Tash is tired and lacking a social life more thoroughly than usual.

"Believe me, men are either eaten up with arrogance
or stupidity. If they are amiable, they are so easily
led they have no minds of their own whatsoever."

Housekeeping:

1. But isn't this about books? 
   I'm trying to keep it about pretty much everything this year. Thoughts, feelings, everything - leading up to whatever happens next year.
   Ergo, books can come, and books can go, as can most everything I write about.
2. Why isn't this going on the other blog?
   Because those poor suckers have to deal with many of my tired posts, and I want something on here besides books.
3. But -
   Stop. Asking. Questions. *intense stare*

To the post!

***

From a young age, I was told that men (on the whole) are not complex creatures. The way of the man is simple to understand, especially to the mind of an intelligent female. After all, how much to them could there be?

Sitting on a chair at my grandmother's place, legs dangling down and not touching the floor, I was eating a sandwich as she told me about the differences between men and women.

Men could eat two sandwiches. Women could not.

Men were meant to work. Women were not.

Men were allowed to go and drink, eschewing parental responsibility. Women were not.

This was, she said, because men did not need much to make them happy. Food, drink and work - this is what kept men happy. And so, gently tugging the extra bread roll I'd reached for from my hands, she told me that I shouldn't worry.

Mi Natashita, she said, you'll always be able to understand them.

Truth be told, I am no closer to figuring out men than Lizzie Bennet was. I suspect it is not uncommon; after all, humanity is inherently complex, and it stands to reason that men - the gender that currently is just over 50% of the world population - would follow this formula of complexity.

Google can't help me understand men either. Correction,  Google thinks it can help me understand men. But when you click on articles and get the following:

It kind of lessens your faith in the whole 'let's figure men out' scenario. At least when it's provided by Google.

It's not that I don't socialise with men - I highly doubt that women can't figure out men for this reason. In fact, I have a group of guys I turn to when there's something one of their gender has done that cannot be rationalised. Occasionally, they get stumped. 

"Yeah, that's just odd. I've not seen that before." What? How have you not seen it before? 

"Okay, I've only ever seen a guy do that once before." Why did he do that? "You think I asked? I backed away."

But with a source like that, and my group of friends being predominately comprised of males (drama effectively lessens by 60%), I theoretically should have an okay understanding of how the male brain works.

I have a fairly solid understanding of how the female mind works. As much as it pains me to admit, my entire reasoning behind female actions has been tainted with a very strong dose of cynic. Yet men...

A couple of nights ago, I had all but decided Lizzie Bennet was bang on (or, I should say, the screenwriters for Pride and Prejudice Class of '05). Men were stupid. If they were not stupid, they were arrogant. If they were neither of those, then they were just sheep-like and really a waste of time.

And, with all the enthusiasm of Danae from Non Sequitur in her attempts to become invisible, I decided it was to the nunnery I was going. In the nunnery, there were no men. There were no idiotic reasonings I had to follow. In the nunnery I was probably only expected to pray, sew, and -

Oh. Dang. There are vows-of-silence nunneries.

Be that as it may, I decided I should wash my hands of all the general weirdness. 

And quite possibly start my own convent, where I could yak all day long, still text and use Facebook (without being evicted), and eat KFC.
Would be an excellent convent.

However, that does not explain the fact that for some obscure reason, I still find myself yearning for a man. There's a vaguely specific one at the moment, but he's so far outside the realm of possible that I should, ideally, forget about him. Pining away for one unavailable man is just ridiculous, pathetic, and an extreme waste of my time.
I say ideally. Ideally never occurs, because I'm one of those humans who is all "YAY PRETTY PRETTY FLOWER OH FLOWER IS BEHIND A BARBED WIRE ELECTRIC FENCE WITH LIGHTSABERLIKE NETTING I MUST HAVE FLOWER", and in my excitement I end up losing my limbs up to my elbows, and they scuttle away and I am left handless and flowerless.
... that makes so much sense, Tash.
I asked Nate about my inability to get over the flower behind lightsaber fences, and he replied with the following:

"Because love is blind, and I'm talking more the 'go to get a drink at night and stumble around clumsily' type of blind"

It's comforting he didn't say "because you're an absolute idiot".

Re-reading from the beginning, I realise I've completely diverted from the point of this post.

The point of the matter is, men currently confuse the heck out of me. I'm sure you have your reasons for doing things, men, but I for one believe signage is appropriate. I probably have written about signs somewhere, but signs are the greatest invention ever. Or they would be, if we just put them into action. Sophie Kinsella shares my views:

Like I said, there should be a different system... It could involve hand signals, perhaps. Or small, discreet stickers placed on the lapel, colour coded for different messages. 

 - The Undomestic Goddess, pp 249

If we just held up signs, we'd be totally cool. We can hold up signs to explain our odd behaviours, our views towards a relationship with others.

YES, I AM INTERESTED IN YOUR ADVANCES. PLEASE CONTINUE WITH YOUR DULCET TONES OF FLATTERY.

YOU'RE EXTREMELY NICE. BUT... I JUST... FRIENDS?

UM, YEAH, YOU'RE FREAKING ME OUT. PLEASE DON'T COME ANY CLOSER. I HAVE DOVE DEODORANT IN MY HANDBAG, AND I WILL USE THIS AS THOUGH IT IS MACE.

I'M NOT ACTING LIKE THIS TO CONFUSE YOU, I AM MERELY ACTING LIKE THIS TO GET MY HEAD TOGETHER.

Etcetera, so on, so forth.
But unfortunately the world has not gotten on board with such things, and as a result, men and women will forever be unable to understand one another. At least, I fear I will be forever plagued with this.
Maybe it's just some innate knowledge you're born with, much like the ability to apply makeup effectively, except you can't learn it from YouTube and you can't get someone behind a counter at DJs to make it all work in your favour.

I have always heard from men that women are confusing. That we say one thing, and mean another. True, to an extent. I have been known to say "Yeah, I'm fine" when really meaning "One day, you will pay. I don't know how, or when, but expect it". I'm sure that my fascination with fashion is astoundingly odd, and the fact that during a rational debate regarding something like politics, literature or feminism with a group of men, I can instantly be distracted by a sale or a beautiful shoe:

But you men... my gosh. What's with the whole 'pleather-being-chased-around-a-field-while-wearing-abnormally-short-shorts-qualifies-as-sport' mumbo jumbo? How does rugby even work? AFL is even more confusing, and really? Why does random tall man in red uniform need to kick that through those posts? What is the point?
(I understand women enjoy these sports as well, but the men in my life are all - or mostly - obsessed by this.)
And apparently you guys don't really do the whole D&M thing. I mean, yes, it took me years to get to that point... but surely part of you wants to, right? How do you vent? This deeply confuses me.

My brother once told me, when one of his female friends was weeping over her boyfriend never confiding in her - or, very rarely - that guys won't go to their girlfriends first, or don't usually. I don't know how right he is, but that's another enigma of Man. Man, you are weird. ('Man' being used as gender and as exclamation of exasperation.) I can understand if it's an issue about the girl, but...
Oh, I don't know.

Men, you confuse me.
I don't expect this to ever change.
In rebuttal, I'm going to eat cake.