I remember being a boy and deciding that being a boy was just better than being a girl. The memory of my justification is pretty hazy, but I can guess what was going through my head. Boys can do anything, I probably thought. Or maybe I was thinking that we’re strong and everyone admires us. Or that we get to do science and figure stuff out. Or some such bullshit.
Over the last few years I’ve realized that if there’s any truth to these things, it’s because of some really ugly structure in the world. And it’s activism, not smugness, that should be welling up in little boys.
But along with that realization has come a problematic switch. The things I used to admire about men–the confidence, the wielding of dangerous and powerful tools, the independence–I find those things more and more repulsive. And I find myself jealous of this other kind of power… power that isn’t fed by entrenched cultural structures, but instead exists despite them.
After all, what’s more bad-ass? A boy wielding the confidence the patriarchy bestowed upon him, or a girl wielding confidence that couldn’t be wrested from her? It’s easier being a dude, but where’s the pride in having all of this stuff handed to you? And what right do I have to feel good about my value in a feminist space? Isn’t that just the patriarchy trying to assert its universal importance through me?
I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I have a few insights, but the questions keep coming up, and I’m never really prepared for them.
It’s sort of ridiculous, but in the end, the thing that gives me the most comfort is sitting down and putting on a Rufus Wainwright record. As ugly as I think the patriarchy can be. I listen to his voice and I think… that, at least, is beautiful.
