One can’t say anything positive about sex and gender, or negative about sex and gender, without hearing a voice in one’s head demanding a string of caveats that must continue until one is blue in the face: Not all men. Not all women. Not all couples. Not all families. Not all cultures. Not all species. Not all possible worlds. And on, and on.
It’s as if we are expected to take everything into account, before we can account for anything.
“Can you define woman?” is an exception that proves this rule. It is a typical female question—by which I mean it is two faced. On the surface, it is an invitation to draw a line in the sand, to declare one’s allegiance to or defiance of an ancient category that has recently1 come under assault.
On the subface, it’s a test of one’s qualification to define what a woman is. Who is allowed to say aloud what’s a woman? Have we not been told for decades that a woman can be whatever she wishes to be? Is not a woman filled with multitudes? Has her definition not always proved to be her subjugation?
(And if we are to really take the question seriously, we must first look inward and ask: “How can I even begin to exhaust the meaning of ‘woman’?”)
But we are supposed to ignore the subface, and address the surface. And, as it always is with a typical female question, we are supposed to tell the questioner what she wants to hear, which boils down to either of two things:
“A woman is someone who identifies as a woman.” [♺]
or
“A woman is an adult human female.” [♀]
And then we are supposed to stand there, like a man, and catch hell from the women (or “women”) we just now scorned.
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How is defining woman an exception that proves the above rule, that we must take everything into account before we can account for anything?
Because it is a reversal of what we’ve grown accustomed to—to always address exceptions first, to always say a thing is “not just” a thing, or that “not all” this type of thing is typically like all other types of this thing.
To define woman is to stop watering down our capacity to define, and to embrace the act of exclusion—admidst one of the most inclusive and tolerant and permissive eras of our civilization.
To define woman is to say of the progressive project: “Here, and no further.”
To define woman is at root to regain the ability to point to a thing and say: that thing is what that thing is.
But we’re not supposed to go too far with this. At some point, if one (especially a man) seriously undertakes the task of defining a woman, someone else (probably a woman) will take exception to his definition, in one way or another.
For to define woman is not only to exclude all who aren’t women—it is also to limit all who are women—for to define women, no matter how blandly, is to suggest—no matter how subtly—an expectation of what a woman should be, or like, or do.
And no self-respecting liberated individual wants to be ruled by expectation.
To define woman is not only to stop progress—but to threaten liberation.
“Woman” must then be defined gently, contextually, tentatively—she is to be categorized in the same way she is to be courted.
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Woman is not a chair. (You heard it here first.) And if the definition of “chair” is highly dependent on context, how much more so “woman”? What a woman is is one thing on an operating table, another thing in the changing room, another thing in the bedroom, another in the boardroom, or dance floor, or seat next to you on the bus.
In fact, there are so many different contexts in which one might find (or is not to seek) a woman than it’s probably wisest to just say “Adult Human Female” and haggle over where that definition should be used to separate the sexes.
But what’s the fun in that? What is the extent of that? Is not “woman” a useful concept beyond the mere fact of a female-sexed body?
Does no one flirt anymore? Does no one study the social cues that women hint at and that, should one heed, might award one the relaxing of her guard, or a smidge deference, or even a quick smile, or—if one is particularly lucky or skilled—a deep, long burst of laughter—!, !, !
Does no one anymore take note of the particular wisdom of the crone, the particular power of the matron, the particular charm of the maiden, the particular precociousness of the little girl? Are we supposed to overlook the particular gifts and burdens of women, to take them as accidents of birth or the imposition of mere biological process—rather than legible, perennial patterns that have influenced art and culture since we possessed culture and art?
It is one thing to define a woman—it is another thing entirely to understand her.
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It seems to me (and I am far from the first to notice this) that we had about done away with gender stereotypes, only to witness them return with a vengeance in this newfangled cultural zeitgeist some call “Gender Ideology.” (Come to think of it, I’m gonna use the term “Gender Idolatry” henceforth when speaking to that.)
I myself argue that we dismantled gender stereotypes so as to liberate women (and to some extent men) from social expectations—but we were foolish in our quest, insofar as we neglected the archetypal aspects and facets of women (and to some extent men2).
A noble project, to liberate everyone to be anyone they want—but out of the most liberal and free society we could muster rose an incredibly demanding and illiberal titan. Among the ruins of our gendered roles and modes arose a fantastical construct. This gender spectrum that on close inspection becomes a nauseatingly pixelated arc. This infinite freedom to be yourself so long as you adhere to what others say they are. This woman and man being nothing but a feeling of woman and man. This choose your own “gender journey” that presents so many options at first, but aided by on-demad a la carte medical interventionism, pressures the players into reshaping their male or female bodies into simulacra of male and female bodies.
Many blame this on “gender” and believe we need to redouble our efforts to erase stereotypes from our collective conscious.
I believe that gender is lodged far deeper into our collective and individual psyches than most suppose.
“Gender Idolatry” arose in a vacuum. It is time, I say, to move aside the rubble and examine the plenum beneath the ruin we made of what came before.
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So, where’s the apology?
Let me put it this way: gender is like language. There’s all these words and rules of syntax, more or less arbitrarily constructed—but when artfully and properly adhered to, gender, like language, has a tremendous capacity to make sense out of ourselves, the world, and how those two relate. It can also form intricate illusions and be used to manipulate or to organize, to control or to harmonize, to restrict and to unlock potential.
Insofar as it is a social construct, gender is as indispensable as language in the construction of society.
A big claim? Yes. So allow me to apologize for casting so wide a net. I believe some bold moves are required to carve out a ground that is neither “the land of infinite gender” nor “gender is oppression and must be destroyed.”
These essays are not intended to be a definitive text or totalizing treatise on either man or woman or their impossibly productive and destructive interactions—they are merely me exploring a topic I’ve been obsessed with and possessed by and burnt out on and rekindled anew with since whenever I realized that women are awesome and dangerous and confusing and adorable and the reason I was born and possibly might even be the death of me, someday, who knows.
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I hope some of my thoughts are useful, and others incite thought. Do comment and/or subscribe if you feel so moved. I have a collection of interviews with women that demonstrate better than ever my writing could my true attitude toward the—ha, ha, ha—fairer sex. Found here: http://bit.ly/WomenInterviews
yeah, about that…
I will need to address superheroes at some point, the females of which have turned out to be typical male action figures with “bolted on tits.”
"These essays are not intended to be a definitive text or totalizing treatise on either man or woman or their impossibly productive and destructive interactions—they are merely me exploring a topic I’ve been obsessed with and possessed by and burnt out on and rekindled anew with since whenever I realized that women are awesome and dangerous and confusing and adorable and the reason I was born and possibly might even be the death of me, someday, who knows."
I love this paragraph. It really does sum up the perpetually enigmatic entities known as "women" since time began, and our ability to bewitch, bother & bewilder men with our feminine wiles. This was something me & the better half were discussing recently; recalling how in our late teens we all had to begin - through trial and error - to learn the steps of that very precarious dance that goes on between the sexes. Awkwardly trying to embrace a burgeoning sexuality while fuelled by hormonal insanity; trying not to appear naïve...but not wanting to appear too easy; fumbling with both words and physical gestures; looking for the signs that our feelings were reciprocated; sometimes getting it wrong...but in saner times not having to worry about woke-scolds skewering (mostly the guys) us with sexual harassment litigation. (I'm so glad I grew up when I did.)
Women, or rather girls, realise very early on in our teens that we possess a sort of magical power over the opposite sex, and boy do we ever use that to our full advantage. At least, we did 20+ years ago. I'm not entirely sure how young women navigate the world around them these days, but I certainly don't envy them. The dance of courtship, of mating rituals, between men and women has been going on since the dawn of time. It used to be a real rite of passage to start to learn those steps, tentatively at first until we learned how to settle into the rhythm, then bolder as our confidence grew. Now? Well now nobody is supposed to learn how to dance, because some folk don't have legs and so no one is allowed onto the ballroom floor.
RIP 'The Dance'. Nice essay BTW; very much enjoyed it, thank you!
Bex