that women do all the time without getting any accolades at all, he cops to it. He doesn’t buy what they’re selling, that it’s more special when a man does it, that it’s wonderful and validating for women to see a man do something traditionally considered feminine, and he sees the injustice of how it all works. He’s on my side, and he’s the closest thing to a feminist male that you can get, and he’s properly insulted by how impressed they are that a man would summon up the brain cells to knit. He knows that he’s being held to a different standard, that it’s easier for him to be impressive because he happened to be born withhis reproductive organs on the outside rather than the inside of his body.
These are old stories, and I don’t know what the answer is, but I do know this: Offering men accolades and waxing lyrical when they do the things that women have been accomplishing forever (and usually all at the same time), like parenting, housework, or knitting, even if they are doing more than other men, doesn’t do either gender any favors, make the work women do any more valuable, or do anything to help diplomatic relations between the genders. I can tell you that I spent eighteen years at home with my kids, and not once did anyone come up to me and tell me it was fantastic that I had given up not just my pastimes but my job to do it, told me I was a really great person for taking the time to clean the toilet, or told me that it was simply amazing that I was knitting, and although I do think it’s grand when a man does those things (mostly because I think it’s grand when a woman does those things, too), I increasingly think we need to even up a bit, so here’s what I’m thinking.
The next time you see a man knitting, try to treat him like he’s not exceeding your expectations or walking on water, even if you are really impressed and sort of have to fake it.
Remember, if you can do it, so can he.
Smarter Than They Think
I am not a stupid woman. That’s not to say that I think I’m a genius or that I’m smarter than anyone else, but I know that I am not stupid. I’ve raised children without seeming to do them any permanent harm, and I passed my classes in school. I read books. I’ve even written books. I cook good meals without regularly setting the kitchen afire, and I can drive a car. I make decent conversation at parties. I figured out my new coffee maker, and I can even work my computer most days, as long as you don’t want me to do anything really fussy or explain how the damn thing works. By all the standards given me by the culture I live in, I am smart enough.
I don’t tell you this because I have low self-esteem and I need you to know; I tell you this because I often run into people who look at how much time I spend knitting, watch the enormous pleasure I take from such a seemingly simple activity, and conclude that I must be equally simple to be so thoroughlyamused by such a thing. Generally speaking, these people are too well brought up to mention my dim nature publicly, but I watch their eyes when I take out my knitting, and I see them do the math. No matter what I was doing before I took out my knitting, even if I had been discussing physics or comparative religion, the minute I pull the stuff out of my bag a look flashes over their visages, and I can tell that part of them just thought it. No matter what they thought of me before, what some of them think now is that if sticks and string are all I need to amuse myself, then I must be very easy to amuse. (I’ve commented before on how incredibly ironic I find it that they think I’m dim for doing something they themselves cannot do, but that’s an argument about perception and their own problems, and we’ll gloss over it for today.)
Their concept of me and my attendant acumen is only cemented if the darlings happen to see my stash or if they find out what I paid for it. If you’re up for a bit of fun and would like to test
These are old stories, and I don’t know what the answer is, but I do know this: Offering men accolades and waxing lyrical when they do the things that women have been accomplishing forever (and usually all at the same time), like parenting, housework, or knitting, even if they are doing more than other men, doesn’t do either gender any favors, make the work women do any more valuable, or do anything to help diplomatic relations between the genders. I can tell you that I spent eighteen years at home with my kids, and not once did anyone come up to me and tell me it was fantastic that I had given up not just my pastimes but my job to do it, told me I was a really great person for taking the time to clean the toilet, or told me that it was simply amazing that I was knitting, and although I do think it’s grand when a man does those things (mostly because I think it’s grand when a woman does those things, too), I increasingly think we need to even up a bit, so here’s what I’m thinking.
The next time you see a man knitting, try to treat him like he’s not exceeding your expectations or walking on water, even if you are really impressed and sort of have to fake it.
Remember, if you can do it, so can he.
Smarter Than They Think
I am not a stupid woman. That’s not to say that I think I’m a genius or that I’m smarter than anyone else, but I know that I am not stupid. I’ve raised children without seeming to do them any permanent harm, and I passed my classes in school. I read books. I’ve even written books. I cook good meals without regularly setting the kitchen afire, and I can drive a car. I make decent conversation at parties. I figured out my new coffee maker, and I can even work my computer most days, as long as you don’t want me to do anything really fussy or explain how the damn thing works. By all the standards given me by the culture I live in, I am smart enough.
I don’t tell you this because I have low self-esteem and I need you to know; I tell you this because I often run into people who look at how much time I spend knitting, watch the enormous pleasure I take from such a seemingly simple activity, and conclude that I must be equally simple to be so thoroughlyamused by such a thing. Generally speaking, these people are too well brought up to mention my dim nature publicly, but I watch their eyes when I take out my knitting, and I see them do the math. No matter what I was doing before I took out my knitting, even if I had been discussing physics or comparative religion, the minute I pull the stuff out of my bag a look flashes over their visages, and I can tell that part of them just thought it. No matter what they thought of me before, what some of them think now is that if sticks and string are all I need to amuse myself, then I must be very easy to amuse. (I’ve commented before on how incredibly ironic I find it that they think I’m dim for doing something they themselves cannot do, but that’s an argument about perception and their own problems, and we’ll gloss over it for today.)
Their concept of me and my attendant acumen is only cemented if the darlings happen to see my stash or if they find out what I paid for it. If you’re up for a bit of fun and would like to test
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