The Goddess's Contempt

One of the cultural tropes that inspires the most outrage inside me is the idea of the Woman as Goddess. It outrages me for two main reasons: 1) It elevates the woman to a superhuman, magical, do-no-wrong status, and 2) It strips "mortal" men and women of their rights to have human emotions and attitudes that (subjectively) negatively impact the goddess.

"I'm arbitrary and whimsical, but it's ok because #entitled#divinerightofbitchess"

The goddess's attitude is: He who does not worship Me is against Me. Everything in the universe is subservient to her magical inner world. Her opinion of others defines their objective worth, and her good opinion is a magnanimous gift that people should be grateful to obtain and desperate to keep. People who do not accord her whims the divine respect they demand find themselves the object of contempt—and the goddess is keen to make her contempt publicly and conspicuously known.

Where do I even start?

Why do I hate the idea of womanhood as something magical and idolized?

Because it is a practice of contempt, of inequality. It's a poisoned attitude, no matter how well-intentioned. It reflects the hierarchical attitude of everything-on-a-spectrum that I've written about before, and the ultimate arrogance of placing oneself at the top of that hierarchy.

"golden rulez r 4 other ppl"

This contemptuous attitude is the kind of garbage that infests online spaces. It's often met with reactions like "OMG SO TRUE," and gets interpreted as some profound epiphany. Bad enough that it exists in the first place, but the way that it's upheld as some pillar of magical truth is despicable and damaging.

It's also a hypocritical attitude, a practice of double-standards. The entitled woman can "cut people off without hesitation, no explanation, and no warning." People in her world are required to be perfect, and if they show any imperfection they have lost her good opinion irrevocably. But if she were to be in the wrong, you can be sure that she would expect to be accepted flaws and all; she would demand another chance again and again, and "anything less [would be] bullshit".

(but not anybody else's worth)

It is the most beautiful thing in the world to realize and embrace that you are human, and to live in a world connected by all kinds of people, treating one another with the equality that is fundamental to the very idea of being human. Why would you want to transcend that, and thereby break it? What is it about humanity that makes you think you're above it? What is it about yourself that makes you think your emotions and needs are more precious and valuable than those of others? What makes you deserve second chances while others don't even deserve explanation? When did the word "bitchess" become a word to own and flaunt as though it were a royal title? When did memes become the authority on acceptable social conduct, and why do we attribute so much meaning to them when they're often the thoughtless ramblings of a self-centered mind?

It's a sociopathic attitude. Setting yourself above others is an act of violence and ugliness, and extreme mistreatment of the people you emotionally affect through your contempt.

I've mentioned the ill-fated Roman triumvirate before, but it's relevant again. The triumvirate consisted of three men: one who could tolerate being paralleled, but not surpassed; one who could only tolerate being supreme and therefore unparalleled; and a third who was content to be average. The triumvirate crumbled because of the first two members' incompatible views; if it were a logical puzzle, it would have no solution.

That's what the goddess/bitchess attitude is: illogical. Incompatible in a society worth living in. Monopolizing all value, worth, and validity. Contemptuous, toxic, and emotionally abusive.

Book vs. Movie: The Eternal Struggle

This is something I've touched on before, but I wanted to devote a bit more time to rounding out my thoughts on media elitism. It also lets me foray into non-issues unrelated to relationship status, which is something I had intended for this blog right from the start.

The other day I met a book-loving friend for coffee, and conversation turned to what we were currently reading. I spent many years following my graduate degree in an anti-reading stupor, largely fueled by my graduate work on the multimedia experiences that I strongly feel constitute a modern sense of "reading." It's all about the way we consume stories and culture, after all, and the frustrating focus on beating dead books served only to alienate me from the medium. But I've recently rekindled (heh heh) my reading through the acquisition of an eReader, and happened to have cracked open The Road the morning of our coffee meeting.

"I saw the movie... I'm not so sure about the book yet," I began.

"Oh, the book is way better. The movie was pretty bad."

"Huh," I replied. "I consider movies and books to be separate textual experiences, separate textual artifacts. I really liked the movie." It was my polite way of saying that I discounted his opinion.

"Oh, well put,"—trying to recover his credibility here—"I think I just don't get film."

But the conversation continued to other "failed" movie adaptations of books. I listened as he expounded on how specific adaptations were not well done, all related in a tone of complete objectivity. I didn't bother to argue; in fact, I didn't bother to say anything, just let him ramble on while I tried to keep most of the smirk out of my smile. Yes. You do not "get" film. Your mistake is in trying to do so.

On the one hand, this is the type of unattractive attitude that reinforces my single lifestyle—but that's not what this is about. This is about that frustratingly nonsensical spectrum of enjoyability that people place things upon. The need to compare, to create a hierarchy, to weigh apples and oranges against each other and determine which is better. It is all pure illogic; that is the only objectivity that can be determined.

I love film as a medium because it plays on many senses to tell a story. A good soundtrack can manipulate my emotions like nothing else, to name just one aspect. And it does all this in a convenient allotment of time. Seeing a movie in the theatre adds the fantastic dimension of being part of a collective readership, a shared experience. What's not to love?

Let's take an example that my book-loving friend might understand. Say there's a book written in another language, and translated to English. A literal translation is not going to be enjoyable; the story has to be retold using different language conventions. In this example, we're only translating from words to other words. What can you possibly expect for a translation from written page to silver screen?

I'm not saying that movies are better, or that books are less multidimensional. I'm saying it's not a matter for comparison, and each should be considered on its own merit.

Elitist Garbage

My childhood best friend lived on a farm a couple miles down the road from mine. We were born during the same summer, and were friends through thick and thin right up through highschool graduation, after which we largely went our own ways in the world.

She was also good friends with a slightly younger girl even further down the road, on a farm with a few horses. They would occasionally go horseback riding together.

One year she kept a horse as well; I can't recall who it belonged to, but it was a fairly short venture. They went riding more often, and I—knowing that there must be an extra horse now that my friend had her own—asked if I could come along some time.

"You don't have a horse," she said.

Young Me was confused and hurt. We were all in the same general social circle, so the awkwardness of overlapping friend groups didn't seem to be an issue. A long-germinating seed of resentment was planted in me—not toward any person, but toward the very idea of elitism that causes some people to be excluded. The Horse Incident was just one instance in a long childhood full of brushes with exclusivity.

With the optimism of the terminally bullied, I was sure that the adult world was a place where I could find belonging. Children are ignorantly cruel, but surely that behavior wouldn't follow me past the school that spawned it.

Surprisingly, the seed has taken well over a decade to bloom into a useful fruit. The adult world has its own guidelines by which The Other is excluded. It's tough to break into any circle, even as an adult. And don't let the image fool you: circles do indeed have a hierarchy, and someone is usually only loosely attached and easily overlooked. Even the most welcoming of communities will unknowingly make somebody feel unwanted, uncomfortable, and reluctant to return.

But when you can overcome your own anxieties and accumulation of bad experiences, and actually break into a new community—well, that's one of life's triumphs. Just keep an eye toward the periphery; and if you recognize yourself in anyone lingering there, be a champion and welcome them in.