This is a thread for discussing toxic masculinity and the effects and consequences thereof.
Yikes! I knew Jezebel had problems, but I didn’t know they’d flat out made fun of domestic abuse.
Even if it’s extremely tasteless satire, how has this writer not faced professional consequences?
Another editor slapped a guy when “he told me he thought he had breast cancer.” (Okay, that one made us laugh really hard.)
The fuck? Way to kick someone when they’re down. Literally
I see that Jezebel article is from ‘07, but it does not sound like it would be a nice place to work! Boasting about hitting romantic partners and laughing at their health scares? The lunch room must be so much fun…
It kinda floored me. That’s why I wonder if it was intended as extremely tasteless satire; not that that makes it okay.
And why I wanted to google what the author had been up to more recently. I can’t say their more recent activity sounded especially redeeming.
That said, I do want to point out that Jezebel has published some good journalism in the past and their decision to give people who make fun of domestic abuse a platform shouldn’t necessarily reflect on those other journalists who haven’t.
Totally. I’m not going to stop reading their good articles. But that one gave me flashbacks to junior high and all the “mean girls.” Gah. I would not feel at home working with the people described in that first article. I hope it’s a small percentage of the overall staff. And even smaller now than when it was published.
Wait, isn’t this a thread on misogyny? Not like, misandry?
Edit: My comment no longer makes sense here, so I’ll add that it was moved here with other comments from the “misogyny” thread.
Misandry is a fallacy, rightly ridiculed as we do in the misandry thread. At the risk of stating the obvious, misogyny is a structural inequity that simply does not exist as misandry.
This comment does a better job than I could of succinctly summarizing why I regard the actual situations made light of as a patriarchal product of toxic masculinity.
So yes, I think it’s misogynistic.
Fun fact: men do get breast cancer. At a tiny percentage of the risk women face, but absolutely not zero. And those who get it often face disbelief and ridicule.
That’s why I was so shocked at the reaction.
richard roundtree is one of the most famous men who had it. he had a double mastectomy and wore a prosthesis for action films afterwards.
Whoever wrote that should henceforth be addressed as “Hey, Insecure Control Freak.”
The inverse implication is also terrible: “any woman who calls me by my name is totally hitting on me”, which is just…gross.
The old man cruises our neighborhood
in a 2-tone Chevy built like a fort;
he offers 25 cents to the girls
who’ll come close enough to let him pinch
a cheek—gaze hidden behind dark
glasses, one hand on the wheel,
one eye on the rearview mirror.
Across the street, we dare
each other: you do it; no,
you do it—pulled as much by the glory
of what a whole quarter buys,
by the yearning to be wanted
by someone—we’re just trailer court kids
on a Saturday made of asphalt,
shaggy pines and rain. Our mothers
chain smoke Pall Malls inside thin walls,
fathers or stepfathers or mothers’ boyfriends
out hunting work or already drinking.
We’ve all spent nights waiting outside The Mecca
in our parents’ old cars, peering over back seats
into dark windows as if wishing
could erase those light-years of distance.
I am a hungry heart on skinny legs,
standing on the edge of a journey—
no maps, no guides, instincts muddled
by neglect or abandonment or mistake;
naked, letting other people dress me
in trust, shame, lust. I want to say
I will learn how to hide my longing—
that invisible sign scrawled on my forehead
like an SOS revealing my location to the enemy—
but the truth is something more like this:
If there is a patron saint of trailer courts,
if Our Lady of the Single-Wide watches over
potholed streets, crew-cut bullies,
stolen bikes and wildflower ditches, if
children learn to brandish scabs and scars
like medals; if a prayer exists to banish predators—
well, no one taught me that magic.
So I step into that road, cross that street,
take that bribe—and keep walking, out
of that trailer park, away from that childhood.
I follow my hunger, my emptiness, the flame
on my forehead not betrayal but reminder:
it’s not wrong to want, to ask—not wrong—
I keep the beacon lit so love might see me.
What the everlasting fuck?
Brilliant. It makes perfect sense to me that a lot of truck nuts fans would probably love to have the same on their guns. I mean, we understood they were keeping guns for phallic rather than practical purposes anyway, and they clearly love inanimate testicles, so why wouldn’t this be a thing?