This Is A Satirical Romp by A Male Feminist.

When one looks out at the dismal panoply of male behavior regulating female behavior, the sight is not at all pretty. The macho swagger of the hyper-masculine male, innocent as it might be in its purely physical manifestation, often reflects an internal machismo that is emotionally repressive, spawns oppressive politics and curtails economic opportunities for those who fall within its reach. Women who fall under the exclusive jurisdiction of male dominance (women in many countries outside of America) have their capabilities and functions held hostage by the will of men.

In light of this and in light of the revisited spectacle of downtrodden women weighed down by Islamic fundamentalism, poverty, and undervalued female worth, the spectacle of a curious and rare species known as the Male Feminist is a Darwinian phenomenon of the highest order.

Who is a male feminist? What does he look like? And why are we not seeing more of this delightful spectacle parading the streets, populating boardrooms and chairing congressional offices? More important is the millennial question that progressive girls hang their dreams on: can he make his woman happy? Do the progressive political principles that promise liberation from the coercive and restrictive will of another also deliver a liberated sexual psyche with multiple orgasms? Or might this sensitive male type be a source of unacknowledged frustration for his woman, who, while thankful for a liberated male who doesn’t mind acting like a lactating father, lacks….something, something that is distinctly male and that makes sex hot, messy and bewildering?

The male feminist may be described as a man who subscribes to the principles of feminism and who aims to organize his life and activities around them. He is a man who seeks to liberate himself from traditional ideas of masculinity, ideas that heighten the asymmetrical relation of power between the sexes. It isn’t just that this highly evolved man subscribes to the more popular forms of feminism known as equity feminism—feminism committed to undermining the distinctions among the sexes that prevent women from fully participating in economic, social and political life.

The male feminist actually incorporates the socializing and ideological precepts of feminism into his psyche. He is a re-socialized male who aspires to behave and think differently in his every action and attitude. The question that looms like a deliberately constructed superego above his consciousness is: do these thoughts, actions and attitudes reinforce the distinctions among the sexes that promote sexism, domination and hierarchy? Like Christians in the making, the male feminist shoulders a heavy responsibility. He is in this world but cannot be of this world, where being of this world consists in participating in a patriarchal, sexist world. He is in a constant quest for becoming and self-overcoming. Like the pre-incestuous Woody Allen type, he lives in a state of chronic hyper-vigilance and potential guilt. This man has always existed. He was just not at the top of the masculine hierarchy. Perhaps much of feminism is a conspiracy of women and effete men to bring down real men. But since 9/11 they are back. The world watched brute muscle and raw male strength save the lives of thousands and give immediate hope in the first few weeks of our national disaster.

It is only the pantheon of fair-minded and ideologically correct women of the male feminist's immediate circle who can rein him in and save him from lapsing into the barbarism and regression of the beer-guzzling jock. No sexist jokes, no public gawking and no visible appreciation of a woman for the distinctions that mark them out as women: breasts, ass and hips. Like the male characters in the early episodes of the television comedy Friends, who cultivated extensive contacts with women as de-sexed buddies, the male feminist achieves what few heterosexual jocks are capable of: having female friends without the accompanying fantasy of wanting to bed them. Ice packs on the expanding crotch before the Saturday afternoon lunch won’t be necessary. Platonic friendships with women, a gay boy’s easy hobby and a straight man’s daily battle with his unruly imagination, are an achievement the male feminist holds on to proudly. His wife feels she is safe while he has after-dinner drinks with his female colleagues. She need not fear that he may also be a closet homosexual.

Everything about being male that could potentially serve hierarchy, be interpreted as sexist, or fall back into old-fashioned notions of gender appropriateness is scrutinized by his feminist radar. Zap this, zap that, goes the radar, giving him constant feedback as to what is appropriate and what is not. That in his immediate circle is often a constellation of understanding feminists who are constantly reacting to stimuli that reinforce sexism and male patronization is of great help. His historical founding father may be located in two historical figures. The first is the liberal utilitarian philosopher John Stuart Mill, who observed centuries ago that: “The generality of the male sex cannot yet tolerate the idea of living with an equal.” The second is August Bebel, pioneer in the German Socialist movement and a man whose commitment to gender equality played a huge role in his choice of friends, his articulation of socialist goals, his sponsorship of female colleagues and his childrearing practices.

I have several male feminist friends, and believe me, I feel safe and comfortable with them. They are refined and civilized in a way that the crotch-grabbing, beer-drinking, muscled jock is not. But they also lack the raw, unabashed sexual energy that women of all classes and backgrounds find titillating. One of my male feminists friends, Chris (de-sexed pet name) will, in the presence of his wife, respond with horror to what he takes to be blatantly sexist and stereotypical images of women: a scantily clad female with mounds of cleavage and a mini skirt on the arm of a tuxedoed man, a model in swimsuit with zero cellulite and a bright smile meant to seduce the males into buying the car she is sprawled on top of like gorgeous icing on a cake. Any photograph that seems to draw the attention of the viewer to a delectable female body part is crude, oh, just awful! No one can decry the masculinist ethos with as much vehemence as the male feminist. With a man like that, why on earth would any woman need girlfriends? Her partner is bestfriend, lover, sex-provider, girlfriend/boyfriend all wrapped up in one. He is the repository of the nuclear family’s ideals, a self-sufficient closed system that is safe and predictable. But this is where the problems and the humpings really start. This is where the tidy psyche of the male feminist and the women who hump them begins to unravel. [To be Continued in Part 11]