Act Like a Lady or Else You’re a Whore (among other things)
When my boyfriend’s father told him to teach me how to drink wine like a lady, I daydreamed about the ladylike version of myself, coached by the fantasies and fairytales I had grown up with.
A lady sits with her back straight and holds a wine glass by its stem. She allows her date to scoot her chair in, relinquishing her autonomy under the guise of chivalry. She listens, thoughtfully, and without interjection. She sips slowly, remembering that many women do not enjoy the misfortune of male attention and the donations from his wallet, should she behave. These are the rules she must remember. Just then, in this daydream, a man with a scruffy beard and polyester pants croaks into the microphone at this extravagant charity gala — only ladies, they say, have privileges to wealthy men’s money. As the audience quiets down, he laughs, making the first of many poor jokes: “The proceeds tonight will help all of the young gentlemen get these ladies from these chairs to their beds.” He knows this will work, and if almost by cue, the men erupt into laughter — their plot has been foiled. And the women blush but pretend to play along, and that is that, and the evening goes on.
This scruffy-bearded man and his too short of pants are most men I meet. They’re Frank DiPascali in The Wizard of Lies who compares women’s vaginas to automobiles, and they are the college boys at last week’s party who wanted to know which one of them taught you to play beer pong like that. But hey, you’re kind of good for a girl! They’re the men who composed “Wives and Lovers,” a 1963 ballad that warns women to stay pretty for their husbands because their only worth is only their beauty. They are my boyfriend’s father who urges him to dump me before study abroad because swarms of Parisian women will be at his beck and call, and they are Brock Tuner and his father. The audience, you should know, is full of the sanctimonious bunch who will prove to you that women really have it good these days; you should have been there in the 50s!
My daydream ends with the realization that these are the men who label ladies and their likeness.
Your idea of a lady does not exist, but it goes something like this:
If you are a lady, you are a woman. And if you’re a woman, you are a whore. You are a slut. You’re a mooch, a man-eater, a gold-digging cunt. If you say you are not, a man will demand that you are. You are brute and you are rough. A nasty woman. You’re a bad mother. A single mother. A negligent mother. A helicopter mom. You’re $200 for the night. You are demanding. You are cheap. You are a nag. You’re a vessel for abuse: Why can’t you shut the hell up, woman? In Spain, nearly a thousand of you been murdered in the past fifteen years because your partners have killed you. You’re a farm animal at the petting zoo, but instead of seeds, men throw dollar bills and heckle you while their wives and children coo and kiss at baby chickens. “But baby,” he sighs. “Don’t be scared.” You scream no and push him off, but he pins your arms down, assures you you’ll like it. You’re a virgin. Inexperienced. You don’t know what you want. At the end of it all, he rolls to his side and mumbles, “That was great,” and you leave, sobbing. But lady, you’re stupid. You asked for it. Naive bitch. “But baby, let me cum inside you!” You have had sex before — this is when you become a whore — but you know how to say no, and you don’t give in, and you feel strong — you go, girl! But then they find ways to manipulate you without you knowing, and stealthing, a word that isn’t yet recognized by Microsoft Word, becomes a thing. But baby, these experiences and these horrible words you have just read are things that ladies do not endure.
In that case, no woman has ever had the luxury of being a lady.
