From Misogyny to Empathy

I feel myself slipping into bitterness and resentment toward women and I don’t want to. There’s something dishonest about my anger; it’s directed at too many people. I’m over-compensating for something, but I don’t know what. I’m honest – I have that going for me. I will root out the ugly truth and nail it up in the public square. Another dead animal on the trophy wall displaying all the parts of me I’ve killed. 

Let anger have its moment. What’s the argument? I know it well enough by now. 

Women tend to marry across and up dominance hierarchies which means their choice in sexual partners is tied to how they stack up in the social and economic strata. Since this strata is inevitably pyramid-shaped, it means the few, rich, successful men at the top (regardless of character or personality) are highly sexually successful while the many losers at the bottom are not at all. Christian Grey is an attractive figure because he’s a billionaire. Change nothing about him except his income, put him in a trailer park, and he’s a creep. Women are more interested in aligning themselves with money, fame, and status than brains, integrity, and personality. For circumstantial evidence, consider the Paul brothers and their series of hot girlfriends.

This is problematic for both types of men: losers can’t get women and winners are left wondering whether women actually like them or just their status and upward mobility. And it’s not as if success is always earned. Someone can do everything wrong and win while someone else can do everything right and lose. There is a tenuous connection between what we do and what comes of it, but we will be judged according to the results rather than the action. Women don’t care about a man’s actions – if what he does is worth doing – so much as whether or not it’s successful.

Chris Rock said Beyoncé is so fine, if she worked at Burger King, she could still marry Jay-Z. But if Jay-Z worked at Burger King, he couldn’t get Beyoncé. It’s a joke, but it’s not funny. The more beautiful women are, the more dismissive and rude they are to men. Complements and attention are their birthright. Meanwhile, men spend their lives unnoticed, unappreciated, and unwanted. Even the advances of high-status men are more often rejected than accepted. Women are far more sexually successful than men and this is exponentially increased the further down the social hierarchy one descends.* Men may expect to face constant rejection, and only if we are lucky, gold-diggers who marry and divorce for the free ride. All women are prostitutes in their actions; only those in name are honest about it.

Sure. 

What’s hiding behind all that resentment? I think I see him. Hiding in the shadows, watching from the sidelines. He’s obsessed with beauty, but he’s scared. That’s understandable. Women are foreign to him, unknown magical creatures. He’s a servile, insecure, terrified little boy who can’t look beauty in the eye, so he turns to a place where he doesn’t have to risk vulnerability or rejection. He hides in pornography’s arms for fifteen years because she never says no. Unlike all the real women he’s approached. They all say no. It’s coming into the light now. His fragile sense of self-worth, repeatedly bludgeoned by the rejection of women. He wants to always be perfect, and never lose, and leave no audience member alive. He needs to be adored and worshipped to be okay with himself, but he isn’t. Women are constantly reminding him that he’s undesirable. Unwanted. An involuntary celibate, a simp. A virgin who shouldn’t get laid because that’s a sin, but it’s all he’s ever wanted: sex and revenge. Everyone around him is in a relationship, going on dates, and getting married. But he’s trapped behind the glass, and he can not make them see him or like him no matter what he does or how long he tries. Pathetic. Pitiable, if he wasn’t so grotesque. 

But what if it’s not his fault? What if there’s a way to avoid owning up to all those wasted years, unlearning and relearning? 

What if it was someone else’s fault?

The female of the species. Soulless prostitutes who sell their bodies to successful men and convince themselves it’s love. If nothing changed about me – not my looks, personality, or character – except suddenly becoming rich and famous, I would instantly be desirable. And I want this, but not so I can be in a relationship. I want to be desired so I can look these women in the eyes and reject them and make them feel the same pain, the same feeling of worthlessness, the same ache for what they can not have that they have made me feel for so many years. They’re all gold-diggers and whores, and all I wanted from them was some compassion. Love is the answer, isn’t it? Everything would have been alright if they just loved me. If they had enough belief and imagination to see me for who I could be, instead of only ever judging me for who I am. I need empathy. 

And I do, but not the kind I want. I don’t need to be given empathy; I need to extend it.

Slowly and begrudgingly, I look at the female experience again. Only this time, outside the narrow perspective of how they relate to and effect me. What is life like for women? What are they up against?

I imagine a girl who is conditioned from a young age to base her sense of worth in beauty. She is not appreciated for what she says and does so much as how she looks while she says and does it. God knows this is the standard by which I value her. She is a Barbie to be dressed up. A status symbol for the men she attends. She is an object of sexual pleasure for someone else, a satellite orbiting men rather than her own planet.

Even if she was born winning the genetic lottery, she feels deficient. Through comparison to the figures in entertainment, advertising, and social media, she is constantly aware that she is not beautiful enough. Because like any social structure, beauty is a pyramid – there are a few supermodels at the top, and most everyone else is not. 

That’s a start. Keep going.

She is constantly being cat-called, hit on, chatted up, and generally harassed online and in person. These advances are often ludicrous, offensive, and even dangerous. Or maybe she is never hit on. She is invisible and ignored, as she watches her hotter friends receive a constant stream of attention. Because beauty is what it often comes down to. Pretty women get unwanted attention and plain women get no attention. If she is plain, she doesn’t get guys at all and if she is pretty, she is left to wonder whether guys actually like her or just her looks. 

The fact is, I can’t be angry about Victoria’s Secret Angels choosing billionaires without also recognizing the billionaires chose the Angels. I would too, in their place, so is my anger really fueled by justice like I imagine? Or just jealousy – wounded ego lashing out.

I’m running out of road, but I’ve traveled far enough to get the idea. The frustrations between men and women fuel each other and the divide widens into resentment and bitterness. A Mysterious Distance between a man and a woman may always exist, but it can be narrowed by understanding and empathy. We share more commonalities than differences. We are both human, as stupid as it sounds to say. 

When I only see women in light of how they relate to me, frustration and resentment follow. But if I see them as fellow humans faced with a relatable series of challenges and struggles, there is empathy. 

And there is no guarantee that there will be anything more. I won’t magically become desirable or suddenly find all my sexual frustrations and neuroticisms have vanished. I won’t necessarily receive the grace and compassion I desire for myself, even if I extend it to others. But maybe having empathy, or at least more of it, is enough. Enough to keep me from the sort of unproductive, self-sabotaging, and self-perpetuating resentment threatening to engulf me as it has so many others. 

Humans are charmed with a magical gift. No matter how old we are or what we’ve been through, we can always change. We can grow and be free from the people we used to be. When I hate who I was, or who I am, or who I feel myself becoming, I hold onto this truth: I can become a different person. I can gain understanding for those whose experience is different than mine and see how similar it is. I can learn to love others, even those who have hurt me. Who knows? Maybe that is enough.

J.

*On dating apps according to a study by Swipestats.io, women pass on 95% of men while men only pass on 47% of women. If a woman likes a profile, there’s a 36% chance it will lead to a match, whereas if a man likes a profile, there’s less than a 2% chance it will lead to a match. This is not an environment that works for men, and the real world is no different.

June 27, 2023