Gender Roles

Like so many other vaginas, as I grew up I was indoctrinated into a society in which there are acceptable gender roles.  I can't speak for other generations, but I feel like the women of my generation are having a hard time figuring out such things.  Grease didn't have much to say about segregation or the Red Scare, so we have a highly romanticized view of the 1950's: a nuclear family with a working father, a housewife mother and two or three Baby Boomer babies watching television and drinking Coca Cola.  At the same time, we are also influenced by the model of the Empowered Woman: the female doctor, lawyer or CEO who buys her own $600 Prada pumps.  Now, it seems like the ideal woman is one who maintains a successful career while still prioritizing the needs of her children and husband... but how does that really work?

The myriad of media messages and social mores out there just confuse matters.  We have Paula Cole singing, "I will wash the dishes while you go have a beer," and intelligent eighteen-year-old women going for Psychology and Marine Biology degrees because they want to be homemakers.  Then we have Destiny's Child singing, "Depend on no one else to give you what you want," and women who are offended when their men promise to take care of everything and tell them they won't have to work.  Even children's entertainment sends mixed messages, with Snow White's "Someday My Prince Will Come" enduring the decades to stand beside Tiana's "I work real hard each and every day / Now things for sure are going my way."

Advertisements are designed to cater to preexisting concepts, but wind up perpetuating them.  Television commercials appeal to women to make decisions about their household cleaning products and toilet paper, proving that they already do and showing girls that it will be up to them in the future.  Other commercials try to appeal to both genders by showing that this toothpaste or that car insurance is "right" for both the husband and the wife, preserving the notion that important life decisions are made as a heterosexual, married couple.  Degree programs advertise a young woman advancing her career as a dental hygenist, perfumes advertise a woman attracting a desirable man, SUVs advertise both the independent spirit of the individual and the safety of the family--because all of these things are "important."

I feel bad for my penis friends.  It must be baffling for them.  They are still expected to be breadwinners and providers, but they have to support their girlfriends'/wives' careers.  They still have to be emotionally stable and strong, but they have to be sensitive.  They have to be tough, dominant and decisive; but genteel, well-mannered and soft-spoken.  They have to be disciplinarians, but nurturing fathers.  They have to hold the doors open for us, warm up the cars for us, open the umbrellas for us and expect no gratitude because in doing so they are not treating us as equals.  Gentlemen, good luck figuring out that mess.

But, I have always been disposed to treat men and women equally.  That's one of the things that bisexuality means to me: the other person's gender does not matter.  His or her personality, intelligence, kindness and sense of humor matter.  How do gender roles really work?  My answer is simply that individuals must figure out their roles for themselves, based on their interests and aptitudes, and while people in the same gender will often have similar roles, gender is more of a coincidence than a contributing factor.

Introduction

I can't claim to have had the most original idea.  On one hand we have erotic art, probably in high contrast black-and-white and arranged in stylish coffee table books for vintage- or Bohemian-couture apartments.  On the other hand, we have colleges, feminist groups and theatres across the country casting female actors to empower the word "cunt."  However, I can claim to have a unique perspective.  After all, no two vaginas are perfectly alike.  I bet even the vaginas of identical twin sisters* can have different ideas on how to celebrate womanhood, sexuality and beauty.

So, this is my blog.  This is my perspective on life, society, and Elizabeth, the twenty-something to whom I am intimately connected.  She's a natural redhead, which works out better for me than it does for her.  She gets sunburns.  I get a rare, pretty hair color.  I've seen porn advertising redheads, and a good percentage of those women were masquerading with hair dye and a close shave.  True redheads deal with jokes like "gingervitis" and "firecrotch," as well as the stereotypes of bad tempers and huge sexual appetites.  Ever have a cocktail of jagermeister, peach schnapps and cranberry juice?  That's a Redheaded Slut.  Your country club might try to pass it off as a Redheaded Soccormom to make it more PC, but we all know what she's doing when she isn't driving her minivan or shopping for groceries.

Truth be told, I haven't met a single redhead who didn't openly embrace his or her rampant horniness.  I'm sure conservative redheads exist, but all the ones I know either sleep around or find a steady partner who can keep up.  Pair two available redheads together and they'll find the first excuse possible to remove every stitch of clothing.  This only gets annoying when new acquaintances take liberties with the stereotype.  For example, take the creepy professional academic in his mid fifties, wearing a velvet cloak at the Renaissance Faire, chatting glibly about his passions for medieval literature, cognac, and promiscuous redheads as if these are simply items on the list of Fun Ways To Spend Fifteen Minutes.  The pros definitely outweigh the cons, though.  Elizabeth has that stereotypical sex drive, so I play an important role in her life.  She didn't introduce me to my first penis until college, but by then I was already good friends with fingers and mouths.  We still have a lot of fun when we hang out.

I've seen this comfort with sexuality have positive effects on my friends, too.  Shy, neglected genitals hear about all the different ways I have fun, and it gives them the confidence to explore new ideas and activities.  One former lover of mine started out homophobic, became comfortable with my bisexuality, and opened his mind to desires he had previously feared.  My vagina friends tend to get a kick out my adventures, too.  Some are content with the vicarious experiences; others share their own stories about batteries running out of power at just the wrong moment.  Redheaded or not, I say, spread the word: sex is natural, fun, and nothing to fear.  Just, you know, be responsible about it.



*Go ahead, enjoy the mental image.