If you love weddings so much, why don’t you marry them?

Ah Wedding Season. Flowers in bloom. Sunlight descending like a halo to crest atop the domes of young lovers. Warmth radiating outwards from the heart to find kinship in the air around. Oh wait, we’re in North America? November weddings be cold as shit.

Only physically, of course. I’m a sucker for weddings. Shall I count the ways?

  1. Celebrating anything is totally my jam.
  2. Giving an ode to future happiness, struggles and connection is also up my alley.
  3. Hearing people give heartfelt personal vows rocks my socks too.
  4. Any excuse to dress up fancy is one worth taking.
  5. Food is basically my favourite thing and I haven’t yet been to a wedding that didn’t impress me much in that regard.
  6. Open bars.
  7. Dancing after experiencing the open bars.
  8. The gooey/mushy declarations of adoration that come about after dancing after experiencing the open bars.
  9. The fact that practically everyone’s in a great mood, because who wouldn’t be happy about two people coming together?

Last night’s wedding didn’t disappoint. It was a couple who I’ve never known super well and always wanted to get to know better. Seeing the people they brought around them to celebrate, witnessing their vows, hearing how others talked of them together, I’ve only got more reason to want to get closer. My girlfriend and I had some other close friends going, plus it turned out there were a bunch more people from around the community we knew. We mostly hung around the friends we knew well, but getting to chat about Magic the Gathering at a wedding was icing on the cake. Speaking of which, there was no cake. There were however stacks and stacks of donuts. Salted caramel, sticky toffee, chocolate pudding, toasted butter (?), pumpkin pie. Aside from the chill in the air, it was the most Canadian thing ever.

While we’re on the topic of food, let’s stay there. After the ceremony (which was lovely. The bride walked the aisle to an instrumental version of “Where Is My Mind?” The vows and celebrant’s speech were liberally peppered with nerdy accoutrements), out came the charcuterie, vegetables and hummus. I stacked up a plate and walked away to eat, well satisfied. Then the hors d’oeuvres started coming out and continued for hours. Corn on a stick, delicious pork and pineapple skewers, chicken and mango skewers, balsamic marinated tomato and mozzarella skewers, tiny taco cones (tacones, obviously), risotto croquette things, stuffed mushrooms and battered sweet potato fries (in adorable little Chinese takeaway boxes). While we were at first at the back of the room, we realised that the dishes had spawning points and the people camped around them got all the good stuff. It became a matter of darting in and out to make sure you got the good stuff before it all went. Plates were sometimes being emptied in 30 seconds or less. I’ll put it lightly: I did not leave hungry.

I’ve been to three weddings this year and I couldn’t be happier about them. They’ve all been entirely different occasions, but no less fantastic. Having left New Zealand, I went years without any invites. All of my good friends were across the other side of the world. I hadn’t made enough close friends to be considered invite-able. Having been here a few years, it’s pretty gratifying to have developed the kind of friendships where I’m seen as a viable guest. It’s great to dress up and my girlfriend’s always a fun wedding partner.

Even when it’s zero degrees outside.

Advertisements

As soon as I fell out I was all “put me back in, coach”.

I had a dream last night about going away to a holiday home with a bunch of old friends. It was a dream, so things were temporally and physically jumbled. I felt like we were in Ohakune, where my family had our old ski batch. However, the home didn’t resemble my family property at all. It was massive, with a pool and everything. We sat on the deck and drank beer. We all caught up on what we’d been up to over the years, scattered around the world. It was comforting to be surrounded by so much love. I’m not maudlin about it, but clearly deep down I miss all these people. They were a part of my life for some time and those experiences are all a part of me.

In the dream I stayed at the home while everyone else went back to work. I discovered that another friend had a home nearby. Since the rental period was up, I crashed at her place. We were awoken one night by a massive storm. Gusts buffeted the house as rain fell in sheets. It got worse. The winds howled like a beast possessed and I started to feel uneasy. The house felt like it was lurching to the side. The section of roof above my bed flew off into the night. I realised just how bad things were and ran into my friend’s bedroom. She was hanging onto a beam, being pulled into an enormous tornado. I grabbed a rope, tied myself to a foundation and jumped up to grab her. Our combined weight brought us both down to the ground. We huddled together and waited for the storm to abate. At some point the winds died out and the sun came up. At some point I fell asleep.

Over the next while I stayed behind to help with renovations. I have zero skill at building anything, so my brain did its best to fill in the dream gaps. I’m pretty sure there was some kind of musical montage. In any case, it seemed like I was being useful, if I needed a clear indication that this was a dream. We were up on the roof trying to fix the missing panels, when we felt wind on the horizon. We clung together, but the winds didn’t amount to much. We looked into each other’s eyes and kissed. It was brief, then we sort of shifted apart and continued to work, saying nothing. Days passed and we didn’t talk much. I remember furtively glancing at her to see if she was looking back. Real high school shit. Disappointed, I assumed it meant nothing and went on with the work. Eventually she turned to me and asked “hey, that thing the other day. Are we gonna talk about it? Like, is that something you’d want to do again?” I grinned and nodded. I turned to face her and… woke up.

I looked at my clock. I still had 20 minutes before I had to be awake. I willed myself to go back to sleep. I tried not to think, but in doing so kept thinking about it. I managed to get back to sleep, but landed somewhere else, rather than back where I was. I woke to my alarm unfulfilled, wanting. She’d always been a close friend and nothing more. Being honest with myself, I’m pretty sure I always had feelings for her, but I’d quashed them because the friendship was more important. I figured that was that, but my subconscious clearly had other ideas. It stayed with me this morning and I thought about it a little more. To be clear, none of this is a resurgence of some melancholic heartbreak. There wasn’t any of that. My heart didn’t pine for her whenever I saw her face. We had a close friendship that I’m pretty sure was mutually fulfilling. It also has no relevance to my current life. I’m in a wonderful relationship with a woman who really gets me. This dream felt more whimsical, really. My mind delving into the past, bringing someone I hadn’t thought of for years to the fore. Revisiting her even in a dreamscape was a pleasant surprise, even if I know that in reality we wouldn’t make any sense for each other at 30.

We’d make about as much sense as my subconscious brain thinking I have any building skills. If anything, that was the biggest flight of fancy.

I guess you could say that it’s my cup of tea.

I wish someone would bottle the feeling of a long anticipated experience paying off. There’s something so satisfying about having hopes come to fruition, so gratifying to have adroitly placed your faith. While so many dreams never grow legs, seeing those that do gives birth to the notion that they can.

Let’s bring the grandeur down a notch. I played a video game and it delivered on everything it promised.

For context, let’s jump back a bit. Last year I was dating this gal who was a professional artist. Her current project was doing watercolour backgrounds for this video game called Cuphead. A side scrolling platformer modelled in the manner of Gunstar Heroes, Contra, etc etc. Stylistically it was taking its cues from early Fleischer Brothers cartoons, Steamboat Mickey, and Betty Boop. It looked awesome. I was floored. This was exactly the kind of game I loved playing as a kid. Fast twitch style gameplay, power ups and two player co-op. I was excited right from the start. As we dated, I saw so much of the work she and her partner were putting in. Modelling props for a combination of CG and video, endless watercolour world maps, shop backgrounds. So much creativity going into each frame. She took me through a bunch of the animation influences. We watched classic Popeye and Bimbo. I learned about the techniques used, and how Fleischer Studios invented rotoscoping. I saw little Easter Eggs strewn around the game. I never saw gameplay or got hands on experience, but watching everything come together was such a thrill, imagining how the final product would look.

The game was getting a lot of press. She showed me fan art that people had submitted an entire year before the game was even released. Whenever I mentioned the game around game dev friends they’d perk up. The trailer was released. I saw international gaming sites talking about it. Conan O’Brien featured it on his Clueless Gamer segment. I realised that this game was a Big Deal.

Cuphead was released and the reviews were great. It sounded like the difficulty level was right where it needed to be. People were digging the art direction, the soundtrack and all the love that’d gone into curating the experience. I was pumped to play. I wanted to find a gaming friend who’d commit to playing through this thing. I wondered who of my friends had the controllers and wanted to invest the time. I asked around and got some vaguely interested parties, but I never followed up or went through and bought the game. It’s been out for a month (exactly) and I still hadn’t played it. Note the change of tenses? It was intentional, I’m not that shitty a writer.

I had lunch with my friend today. We hadn’t hung out in a while so catching up was très nécessaire. While we were eating, I asked about the game and how she’d enjoyed playing, how the controls worked out and whether it’d fulfilled all of her expectations. She was over the moon with it and so pleased that everything had come together. She asked if I wanted to come over and play. I did. We did. It was exactly what I’d hoped for. The controls were fluid and intuitive. The animation followed suit. The world was gorgeously colourful, cute with hints of menace. The soundtrack was perfect, evoking the moods of the era. The gameplay was hard. Very hard.

At the same time it never felt too much. Dying happened frequently, but wasn’t oppressive. The levels weren’t too long, so restarting never set you back to the point of frustration. Power ups helped so much. The boss fights were fun and involved several transformations, so once you got used to a certain attack pattern they changed up. It felt dynamic and exciting, fast paced without being overwhelming. Even in the midst of battle, little details really stuck out. The enemies were incredibly creative and so well tied to the theme of their levels. Playing with her was a blast, as she’d explain cool behind the scenes tidbits as we advanced. I’m so excited to get the game myself, buy a controller and get stuck in.

Let the games begin.

My brain, too, feels like it’s floating.

This is gonna be a messy one. It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent sleep. For the past couple of months the cat has been noisy at night most evenings. Over the past few days it’s gotten ridiculous. I’m a light sleeper. Last night I probably got woken up around once an hour and, because it was a sweaty night, often found it hard to get back to sleep. Here’s an example of how nuts it’s been: We went to bed just before 11pm last night. Between 11pm and 11.30pm (when I finally came out to spray it with a mist bottle- our discipline method) it intermittently yowled six or seven times. It’s a catch 22. It’s gotten to the point where it’s obviously doing it for the attention (we feed it before bed) and while coming out to spray it obviously gives it the attention it wants, spraying it is the only thing that stops it from yowling.

My girlfriend, of course, sleeps like a rock and doesn’t notice any of it.

It’s becoming too much for me. I’m at the point where if it goes on for another night or two I’m seriously considering trying to find a friend’s house where I could crash for a couple of days. Just to sleep and recharge. To put that into context, I’m considering leaving my own house because of the cat that moved in. In short, if this is a war of attrition, the cat is winning. It probably doesn’t even know anything’s up. It’s dire. Things are starting to get a little The Shining around here. I haven’t started hallucinating yet, but it can’t be far off. I’m coming apart mentally. I feel hollow and ephemeral. I’ve started trying to calculate in my head how long it’ll be until natural causes take their toll. I’m not sure whether that’ll be on me or the cat.

For some reprieve, in any case, my girlfriend and I are seeing It tonight. I’m sure the film will be tame compared to the thoughts circulating around my noggin. I like horror films and the miniseries was pleasant, innocent fun. Hopefully the movie has benefited from time and increased SFX technology. I’m not one who usually gets scared in films, but perhaps there’ll be more affecting body horror than telescopic shower faucets. We can only hope. I’ve also got my fingers crossed that the repeated catchphrase “you’ll float too” will have more relevance. We saw far fewer floating bodies than balloons in the original. Also insufficient bodies floating in balloons. Has Pennywise ever considered investing in a hot air balloon company?

In other news, our newly elected Prime Minister just publicly laid the smackdown to capitalism. Maybe she’s afraid the dollar will float too. I’m just stoked to finally be hopeful about politics again. Make us proud, Jacinda!

Please do it before I lose my mind.

Have a nice strip. See you next fall.

So yeah, looks like medicating with alcohol helped. Oh boy, I’m sure that’s healthy. More accurately, blowing off steam while hanging out with friends helped. Without plans, I put a plea out to the internet and the internet pulled me in with both hands. Friends invited me out to an Amateur Strip Show Judged by Drag Queens event. It was a blast.

Amateur also seemed like more of a misnomer than I was led to believe. For the most part these were polished acts with some props and definite intent. Someone’s scene involved “flaying” themselves, cutting “skin” from their forearms and nipple, with bloody “flesh” underneath. Another lady began in a thin slip that was soon shed to reveal a nude body beneath (started from the bottom? -Ed). Her scene cleverly turned the concept on its head and, starting with a little rope self-bondage, had her fully dressed by the time the song finished. There was a phenomenal “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend” piece complete with glitzy period clothing. It was something else. Thing is, watching all of these people perform had me itching to do something.

I’ve had this idea for a strip/burlesque scene for years. Set back in the 40s or 50s, with a husband coming back home after the six o’clock swill. Beyonce’s “Drunk in Love” starts playing. He’s feeling flirty, but also sloppy drunk. So the entire scene involves him trying to do a sexy strip tease for his wife, but he’s literally falling all over the place. In reality, acting drunk would involve a lot of control, especially if pratfalls are gonna be a big part of it. I haven’t really worked out the beats, but let’s have a little go at it:

He walks in the door, pulls off his hat and throws it at the coat rack. It obviously misses by a wide margin. He pulls his coat seductively off one shoulder, then goes to shunt it off the other arm in one go, but it gets tangled on his hand. He waves it back and forth, but ends up with a bigger tangle. He puts it between his legs to try and wrench it off. Then he looks up and raises his eyebrows suggestively, pulling his hand out of the mess and stumbling forward. He undoes his tie and starts pulling each side back and forth across the back of his neck. Then it slips out of one side and he doesn’t notice, so he’s just pulling at empty air with one hand before realising it. He drops the tie and focuses on his suspenders, slowly pulling them down a little, then putting them back into place. Back and forth, up and down, left and right at different times. Then with a flourish he pushes them down at once. Except he’s missed the left one and sheepishly pulls it down. He untucks his shirt, stumbling backwards a little. He goes button by button, sashaying as he does. He goes to pull the shirt off, but he forgot to unbutton the top button. So his hands are stuck in the sleeves, he wriggles around and falls to the floor. He wriggles some more and wrests his hands from the sleeves, ending up flat on his face/stomach. He unbuttons the top button finally and, exhausted, pulls off the shirt while in a heap. Then he realises he can wriggle his bum. So he wriggles his bum a little bit, then pokes it up into the air to wriggle it a little more. He tries to unbutton his pants, but it’s pretty tough to do with his face flat on the ground. He rolls over and battles with the belt, pulling it free, but the momentum turns him on his side away from the audience. He wriggles his bum again as he goes for the button. He rolls back onto his bum and pokes his hips into the air, then pulls his pants down slightly. He turns to look at her and raises his eyebrows again, arching his hips up and down a few times.

I need to start getting ready for my fancy party tonight, but that seems like the start of an idea. Maybe I’ll do one for my girlfriend when I come home tonight. There is an open bar…

Coincidentally, “Better” was the only half-decent track from the legendarily delayed Guns N’ Roses album Chinese Democracy.

CW – Rape, rape culture, entitlement #notallmen-tality

Hey guys (and I’m talking to the men here. I have nothing valuable to teach women that they don’t already know), still listening? Lest anything in my tone yesterday came off as self-congratulatory, I’m here to hopefully expunge the thought that I have things to congratulate myself for. We saw countless women come forth yesterday and bravely divulge what they’ve been through. Siting back and say “I’ll try to be better” rings a little hollow without divulging any of my own shit. So here’s a thing. Strap in, this is gonna take a while.

I was 100% on course to become a full fledged, trillby tipping #notallmen-onist. Late teen/early 20s Leon would’ve been all over that shit. Many of you haven’t known me that long. Many of you have. Apart from all the commonplace egregious shit (feeling like women owed me anything at all, judging women based on how they dressed, befriending women largely with the hopes that it could lead to sex/intimacy), I sure did love some Devil’s Advocate or tossing out rape jokes. Grade A genius edgelord shit. Of course I thought rape was abhorrent, but I did love me a good rape joke. Why? Because to me (and I’m pretty sure I used these exact words many a time) rape was an abstract concept. It was a stand in for the worst of the worst. Comedy came from the chasm between expectations and delivery. Accordingly, if I was looking to spice up an innocuous set up, rape was an amazing out of nowhere punch line. I didn’t want anyone to be raped, but I did want people to be shocked.

Yep, I’m reading how fucking stupid this shit is as I’m typing it out. You don’t have to bear with me here. It’s the logic of a moronic twenty-something who knows it all while simultaneously has barely experienced the world.

Thing was, to twenty something Leon rape was an abstract concept. It wasn’t something I had to deal with in my everyday life. I could walk the streets at night without fear, but my life sucked because nobody wanted to fuck me. Yep. Super proud.

It’d be nice to say that I just grew out of it, but I wasn’t (am not) that smart. I got frequently taken to task by more intelligent Women who’d tell me how problematic my behaviour was. I’d engage in endless Devil’s Advocate arguments in an affort to prove some kind of intellectual superiority, then when my shitlord tactics provoked an emotional response, claim the intellectual high ground. This went on for years. Cracks in my bullshit appeared slowly, but let’s not overstate things. I still acted like a total piece of shit.

At some stage, a close friend of mine was raped. I didn’t know what to do. I felt stunned. I was heartbroken at what she’d been put through. I’d never been an angry person, but I had nothing in me but rage. I wanted to kill whoever it was that did it, but had no idea who he was. I physically trembled with no way to manifest the fury inside of me. It just stuck around and with no choice, I sat with it. I had literally no idea how to handle those feelings. I was fortunate enough to have access to a work supplied counsellor who talked me through it. It took time, but having sat with this foreign feeling, it was impossible to see the world in the same way.

Please please PLEASE, no sympathy. Why wasn’t I already blindingly furious? It’s shameful and abhorrent that this is what it took for me to stop seeing rape as an abstract concept. The “know it all” persona didn’t last for long after I discovered just how little I knew.

I started listening more, arguing less. At some stage I started learning. The older I’m getting, the more I’m understanding how little I know. As time goes by, I’m trying to listen even more. I’m trying to learn, but there are still so many little things I’ll never truly understand, because I don’t have to face them constantly on a daily basis.

I’m so sorry for all the shit women have had to put up with on my behalf. I’m sorry for the years of emotional labour to pull my shitty lizard brain to a place of burgeoning understanding. I’m sorry for the shit that I still put women through, even unwittingly. I’m sorry that apologies don’t make things better half as well as action does. I’m sorry that I don’t act nearly as often as I should. I’m thankful that so many women somehow never gave up on me. I should not have been your burden to carry. I still shouldn’t…

 

I don’t know how many men are still reading, but there’s something I want to talk about. I saw a lot of bullshit from self-righteous men yesterday when women were coming forth with their manifold admissions of trauma. There’s some bullshit regressive stereotype still permeating our society that logic is the domain of men and emotion is the domain of women. If this is still relevant to your life, maybe ask yourself why. What’s wrong with being emotional, having the capacity for compassion and empathising with others? Why is it more important for you to try and score “points” at the expense of someone else’s emotional wellbeing? When you’re engaging in these arguments, is it causing you to relive painful emotional experiences? Or are you just doing it out of some self-imposed duty to be “right”? Why do you think it’s #sobrave to poke and prod at the traumatic experiences of others when you haven’t had to repeatedly deal with the shit we men put women through. Because so many of us still believe that women owe us anything. That women exist for the purposes of our pleasure. That a woman’s humanity is secondary to what she can do for us. What is the value of this apparent logic that’s so obsessed with the notion of “winning” through technicalities and loopholes.

In what way is this “right”? It’s right in the way that both Bill Cosby and Jian Ghomeshi were not guilty in the eyes of the law, because the trials were predicated upon discrediting the testimonies of these brave (but unfortunately “emotional”) women. Do any of us really doubt they did it? Does that sound like justice to you? Does that seem like the “right” kind of society you want to live in? One that protects predators and makes victims relive their trauma in the hopes that when exposed to scrutinising light, the most miniscule loophole might shine through?

Men, we still have so an unfathomable amount of work to do to dismantle the bullshit biased society we’ve assembled. If that pressure is too much, let’s start small. The next time you’re about to start/join an argument about something a woman has gone through/is going through, ask yourself some questions: “How much of a personal stake do I have in this argument?” “Do I have tangible lived experience with what she’s talking about?” “What’s the worst that will happen if I don’t engage?” “If I listened instead of talking, could I possibly learn something from a point of view that’s outside of my own?” If any of the answers to the above questions are remotely affirmative, try sitting that one out. See what happens.

I know you’re certain that you have a totally unique point of view. I can assure you that nine times out of ten you don’t. I see the same arguments from men again and again. Why did #notallmen gain such groundswell? Because with no exaggeration, every day I see some supposedly well-intentioned dude pop into a discussion about shitty things that men do and say “yeah, I support what you’re saying for the most part, but I’m not like that.” If you’re not like that, she probably wasn’t talking about you. If she wasn’t talking about you, why would you pop in and make it about you? Do you think that any of your female friends talking shit about men think that you’re the scum of the Earth? Why then would they be your friends at all? If you’re so assured of your logic and intelligence, use that big brain and think about it. You’re not helping.

You can though. You can help. Instead of pouncing into an argument and loudly taking up space, listen and learn. Read what women are saying. Re-read it until it sinks in. Consider how these things make them feel. Do they sound frustrated? Angry? Why do they feel that way? Try putting yourself in their shoes and seeing things from their view point. Would you be angry in their situation? Would you just get over it if it was happening constantly? If you didn’t only have to deal with this shit, but when you expressed your frustrations, people told you that your feelings weren’t valid? Would that make you angry? Would it be possible to see their experiences as more than an abstract concept?

Listen… Learn… Repeat…

Take note of how other men treat women online. Does any of their behaviour seem strange to you? Do they seem like they have personal experience with the matter at hand? Or do they just seem like they’re trying to prove a point in order to prove a point? Does that seem strange to you?

Listen… Learn… Repeat…

Does the way that men carry themselves online still make sense to you. If a guy says something about a woman’s experience that shows little to no empathy, question it. If you know him and feel like he’s a decent dude, call him in. Send him a private message asking why feels that his opinion is more valid than hers. If you can’t call him in, try calling out that behaviour. Tell him that it doesn’t make sense for him to be telling a woman she’s wrong about something he doesn’t experience. Because that doesn’t make sense, right?

Listen… Learn… Repeat…

These are ellipses, not fullstops, because this is an ongoing thing. There’s not gonna be a point where you know everything. The more you learn, however, the more you can educate other men. If we’re gonna get anywhere, we’ve got to get there together. It shouldn’t be the job of women to make us work on our own shit.

Because we need to own our shit. Nobody else can. Be better. That’s your job, not theirs.

Are you complicit? #metoo.

Any of you been on social media today? It’s sad that this #metoo campaign had to exist, but the hope is that the bravery of sexual assault survivors (A.K.A. every woman ever) in coming forward both highlights the alarming frequency of these assaults and provides solidarity for those whom it’s an all too common occurrence. I mean, there should be little argument that any occurrence is all too often, but let’s be real. We live in a world of shitty gendered bias. There are many reasons it sucks to be a woman in our society. Whereby so often these assaults went unmentioned or understated #metoo seems to have changed those ellipses to exclamation marks. Good. I (naively?) hope any who’s been wilfully hiding under a rock starts to take notice.

I’ve seen an avalanche of invaluable conversations. I feel stuck in this weird rally back and forth. It’s not the least bit surprising to hear of how widespread this behaviour is, but that doesn’t make it nice to hear. It’s fantastic to see these aforementioned conversations being raised, but disheartening how commonly the #notallmen brigade jumps in to recuse the statistical validity of calls against men to do better.

I don’t know if any #notallmenonites are reading, but maybe try looking at women calling on men to do better a little differently. It’s another way of saying “the exception proves the rule”. If a woman is talking about her mistreatment at the hands of men and you don’t think it applies to you, maybe you’re the exception that proves her overall rule. If that’s the case, try not jumping in and making it about you, because it probably wasn’t about you in the first place.

The thing is men, we’re all complicit in this societal bias whether we realise it or not. I’d be very surprised to hear otherwise. It’s pervasive enough to be unavoidable. Over the years I’ve said and done a ton of things that contributed to the culture without understanding the insidious ways in which I did so. I’m sure I still do. Acknowledging past faults is important in seeing the path towards better behaviour. Here’s a short list of the stuff I have done and/or may still do unintentionally:

  • Rape jokes. In my teens/early 20s the concept of punching down wasn’t even a blip on my radar. It was all about being as edgy as possible, to push the boundaries to reassert some misguided sense of bravery. Oh no, of course I didn’t think rape was funny, but using it as an abstract concept showed, I dunno, my unwillingness to adhere to rigid social structures? Fuck that. How brave I was as someone who didn’t most likely would never have to face the act firsthand. Fuck off forever, this mentality.
  • Devils Advocate. Forcing people to argue something that caused them emotional strife. Never mind that I had no emotional stake in the subject, I just wanted to argue and flex my intellectual muscles. Or I just liked being “technically right” or some other shitty nonsense. Once again, fuck off forever.
  • Placing my desire for sex above the autonomy, needs and wants of women. Even if I’d never physically pushed anyone towards any sexual activity they weren’t actively seeking (I may well have), so much of this stuff is insidious and ingrained. Did I wilfully misinterpret or ignore “no” signals and keep pushing for a “yes”? Did I objectify women and see them for how their sexuality could benefit me rather than as a person? Befriend women purely because I wanted to sleep with them?
  • Judging women on the way that they looked or dressed. Way to discount someone’s humanity. The clothes that I wear do not fully express the person that I am. Why would anyone else be different?
  • Ignored or spoken above women because I innately didn’t value their opinion? Of course. I’ve spent my life as a loudmouth and it feels like I’ve only recently learned the importance of listening. I have no doubt that I constantly did this and likely still do without thinking.
  • Constant use of gendered language. I’m sure a ton of people mock this kind of specificity, but I feel like there’s something in the way that we talk. Language is an important tool in conveying both meaning and intent. The number of times I’ve referred to large groups of mixed gender as “guys” doesn’t sound like much, but it also sends subtle messages about gender based hierarchy. It’s something I’ve picked up unintentionally throughout my life, but there’s no reason why we can’t unlearn unhelpful patterns. Nobody is truly ever too old to change.

This is not even the tip of the iceberg. Like it or not, all men contribute to patriarchal dominance and oppression. If you’re interested in changing this, maybe examine your behaviours and decide which of these contribute to the kind of world you want to see. Listen to women, not just when it’s trending. If they’re not talking, become the kind of safe space where they feel they can confide. If women are confiding in you, don’t just be horrified. Act, change, grow and help embolden this change in others. Call in shitty behaviour when you can. Call it out when it’s necessary. We can all be better and we have no reason not to continually work towards whatever shape “better” takes in our lives. It’s not a destination, it’s a journey.