There is a concept, deep in the recesses of second-wave feminism, that to be a “good” feminist, one must eschew patriarchal beauty standards. I understand that, I understand the principle of rejecting beauty ideals set up for us by men (and women!) for profit and pleasure. It makes complete sense to me that we should not have to exemplify these standards, especially when nobody is telling men to wear makeup and spend an hour curling their hair in the morning. And yet, I just can’t do it. I love my makeup and my hair straightener and my designer clothing, even though I know it’s just a show.
Tonight’s Witty Gentleman comes to us by way of Rosa, and you’re going to have lots of fun with him. Find out all his secret answers after the break. Read More 7 Questions for a Witty Gentleman: Subject L
Today’s witty gentleman hails from Australia, and he brings a certain Aussie flavor to our weekly column where we ask men the hard and/or ridiculous questions. Read More 7 Questions for a Witty Gentleman: Subject C
It’s that time of the week again, when one of our male readers answers seven questions for our entertainment. If you’re a male reader or if you know a male who would provide us with clever answers, send him our way. Subject B’s answers after the cut. Read More 7 Questions for a Witty Gentleman: Subject B
17 is an interesting age. It is nestled between driving age and adulthood, a prime number that is written using the numbers 1 and 7. You add 1 and 7 together you get 8. If you take the number eight and lay it on its side, you have the symbol of infinity. What does all this mean? Not a damn thing really. Seventeen connotes the last exhilarating steps toward the huge change into adulthood, the end of high school, when most of us have gotten laid for the first time. We need seventeen to be this little island in our minds that we can refer to when we want to reminisce about simpler times. Imposing sunkissed summer days on the number makes it even warmer and fuzzy to curl up in when the complexities of life as we know it turn our emotional skies gray. 17 is simply what we make it, regardless of the year. Read More The Summer I Was 17 (Or Any Other Year)
Subtitle: The lyrical journey of a hormone-crazed 17 year old
When I was offered the opportunity to submit something to do with the summer I was 17, only the topic of music would do as it defined me at the time. Coincidentally, it happened to be the first summer I found myself penning odes in a letter that would accompany the “mix cassette” I would painstakingly create for the objects of my desire . So I decided to review some of my favorite sonnets, and to my awe there was a common carnal thread flowing subtly and insidiously through them. Here are five that eptiomized my perverted chivalric bent. Read More 1987 – The Year Music First Expressed My Love
I sat there drinking cheap, weak coffee in one of our many 24-hour diners, surrounded by the rest of the usual suspects. My car was outside with a flat tire, and I really didn’t care. I’d probably be here until it was light out anyway, that was just how it went on Friday and Saturday night when you’re too young for bars, too uncoordinated for clubs and you’d rather hear your friends argue the Yankees roster and see who could connect Abe Vigoda to Dudley Moore in the least number of movies instead of doing the party scene. Read More Seventeen