Stamp of approval
So I’ve got a bit of an early morning rant…
I’ve just taken my shower, am ingesting the morning protein shake with blueberries, and jammin’ to my favorite Pandora station (B.B. King).
Early last night as I completed my rounds of errands and was heading home, I realized my demons were nipping at my heels. Sitting in my apartment was not an option as that would give them the opportunity to slither under my skin and fuck with me. That always happens when I share life stories with a friend.
Anyway, my homegirl hits me up about going to a movie. I’m not really a big fan of sitting in a movie theater, because watching movies is a very intimate and intense experience for me. Being a screenwriter, I come at movies from a different angle. I can count on one hand the movies I’ve seen at a theater in the past couple of years, and most of them had Johnny Depp starring. He’s a phenomenal talent. Women get your minds out of the gutter and stop objectifying him (yeah, women do it too).
Anyway, I digress.
So I agree and we go to see Lincoln. I was all about wanting to learn the story behind abolishing slavery. I fell asleep once or twice, but overall it was a great history lesson from the Caucasian perspective. But then again, that would really be the only viewpoint that could remotely explain what took place. Black folk were busy working the fields and serving their masters.
Again I digress.
Movie over, we decide to take a walk around downtown. As is the case with this friend we ended up at a local nightclub and were drawn to the idea of blowing off some energy by dancing. This is a three story structure with a live band downstairs, Misogynistic T&A filled music streaming from the second floor, and house music blasting from the rooftop. The rooftop became our roost as we listened to music and watched people dance.
It is at this point the writer kicked in full throttle and I began to observe the crowd very closely. I saw a mass of people conditioned by societal rites of passage. The thing that most struck me was how similar this scene was to the music videos I’d just seen downstairs, objectifying women as sexual entities. Bells and whistles went off.
I teach a Mass Media and Society class and a large part of it has to do with a patriarchal society that is misogynistic in depicting women in the media.
Okay, ladies, here goes. This is where you can hate me, tell me to fuck off, or leave my page.
I watched young women with skirts so short you could see their wares, necklines plunging to their belly buttons, drunken stumbling, and I even followed the girl in the red dress’ journey from guy to guy kissing on them and letting them fondle her. Not sure who the “lucky” fella was that took her home, but…
In reality, the way they were dressed is not the issue, hell if I could pull it off I would. It’s more the behavior that came with it. The most interesting part was watching them ensure they had male attention before gyrating around the floor while tossing their hair about and running their hands up and down their bodies. “Come get me.”
I am more incensed by women that perpetuate misogynistic behavior than the male driven desire to objectify females. I’m not sure how there can be a valid argument as to why men see us a sex objects when that is the vision we create.
Respect cannot be expected when you don’t respect yourself. What is the end result of your actions? Is it a need for attention or are we really that desperate for a human connection? What goes through a guys mind when he’s watching this?
I am by no stretch of the imagination a prude and I’m not trying to come off as a hypocrite because when the girl in the red dress directed the current guy she’d been grinding on in my direction and we booty danced, I was enjoying the hell out of myself. The part I liked the most was that I was wearing jeans, a tank top, and sneakers, so I by no stretch even remotely was anywhere near comparison in the club wear competition.
At that moment, I think I understood it a little better. It’s not about the attention, or the need to connect, it’s a power trip. We have so little of that in everyday life, but in the club, we OWN it. Sad. Yes?