Robin Williams joked that “God gave men both a penis and a brain, but unfortunately not enough blood supply to run both at the same time.” When it comes to politics, the Lena Dunhams, Cosmopolitans, and ladypartsjustice.coms want to overlook the humor of that joke and make the female equivalent the focal point of their politicized lives. Lady Parts Justice lays out the skinny:
5 REASONS TO JOIN LADY PARTS JUSTICE
1. Because women decide elections and if we get together, blow this shit up in a smart and funny way, we just may be able to get folks to sit up, take action and reverse this erosion of rights.
2. Because neanderthal politicians are spending all their time making laws that put YOUR body squarely into THEIR hands.
3. Because extremist goon squads exist in EVERY statehouse in America and are sneaking in tons of creepy legislation. We’re staying on top of this shit so you can stay on top this shit.
4. Because you use birth control.
5. Because you like sex and it’s not all about having babies. Think about it, if it were there would be no room to stand.
Mmmkay, although I would argue that Nancy Pelosi and her ilk fall squarely into the second and third bullet points. But what about Lena Dunham, the noted mentally stable person who had great parents, never crossed any boundaries with her sister, and definitely didn’t write about those things as though they were normal?
“[Voting] is how you keep sexist health care policies from happening.” What is sexist health care? It’s comparable to pornography—difficult to define, but they know it when they see it. Dunham also took to Instagram, with the help of friends, to talk about Planned Parenthood. Cosmo, meanwhile, is less focused on lady parts and more focused on Latinas and how sexist policies affect their lady parts. They also have a party bus, which is somehow related. No word on whether it will offer alcohol and affirmative consent forms.
When we mash all these things together, I’m reminded of a useful literary tool.
Synecdoche—noun \sə-ˈnek-də-(ˌ)kē\: a figure of speech by which a part is put for the whole (as fifty sail for fifty ships), the whole for a part (as society for high society), the species for the genus (as cutthroat for assassin), the genus for the species (as a creature for a man), or the name of the material for the thing made (as boards for stage).
Despite its uses in writing and storytelling, though, it’s no way to live life. And that’s why the Robin Williams’ joke came to mind. Sure, it’s all about rallying female voters, but it seems women have forgotten they have other organs; that the only one that matters is the vagina and how they get to use it. Don’t get me wrong—I love the vagina, too. It’s definitely high on my unwritten list of favorite organs.
2014: The Lady Parts Election Cycle
But to others, like those cited above and this person whom Maria Guido of Mommyish accurately described as bat-shit crazy, the vagina is becoming the end-all, be-all. The only organ that deserves any blood-flow. I will concede it’s wildly funny that bat-shit crazy lady attempted to use baked goods to make her point. But what happens when others don’t share your devotion to the vagina and baked representations thereof? One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war:
I thought you were a well educated woman due to your accomplishments, and your well known teaching methods. You have completely changed my mind. You are one of the most closed minded women I know. You settled for less when you became a teacher because that is known for a woman’s job. Why teaching because you are a woman? Why are you denying important education to our future leaders of the world. I must say that knowing the human body both for men and women is a beautiful thing and you are depriving them for that. We as women should stand together and inform people about the vagina and how to please it.
As a man, I’m probably not supposed to have an opinion on this, but I totally do. As a father of daughters, I’m actually quite opinionated on the matter. Whereas I get to make decisions based on a whole raft of factors, apparently I’m supposed to teach my daughters to ask only one question: How will this affect your vagina?
With this election, the vagina and effects upon it are on front and center, much like artwork at the Dunham household. Because women don’t have to worry about the economy, job opportunities, international relations, or anything else. It’s all about the beaver.
Am I overreacting? Perhaps, but all my blood is flowing to my upper head at the moment and it’s about to explode. On the other hand, the smart set has declared that everything is a women’s issue. One might argue that if everything is a women’s issue, then nothing is, but that would do a disservice to the divide and conquer mentality of the politics of the personal.
Why Does Everyone Act Like Women Are Dumb Sexpots?
From hygiene companies to politics to art to the United Nations, everything must begin and end with “as a woman.” If it were just a celebration of the awesomeness that is woman, and seriously I do love y’all, that would be great. Just as I love being a man, because it’s great, love being a woman. Goose, gander, and all that.
But instead of Margaret Thatcher cookies and discussions of how economic freedom benefits not just men but everyone, we get abortion and birth control. Instead of a discussion of any number of female artists and an Etsy earner agenda, we get Belle Knox talking empowerment.
My oldest daughter is in first grade. She goes to a charter school. They study math, geography, biology, English, and more. And they have quizzes. While studying, she became frustrated over a word and threw down her book. “I can’t read it, it’s too hard.” I tried to reason with her, to point out that she just needed to practice. Maybe a better strategy would have been to discuss with her that in Arkansas abortions after 20 weeks aren’t allowed and that’s the real struggle.
My middle daughter takes soccer quite seriously. She doesn’t care about learning to read or write. She just wants to play soccer. She spends hours each week practicing on her own. Her league had actual practice and games on Saturdays. One Saturday during her most recent season, she only scored one goal. Her teammates scored the rest. This resulted in approximately four on-field meltdowns. And I mean meltdowns. Tear streaming, snot flowing, erratic breathing meltdowns. Perhaps I should have just said, “There, there, honey. You can still get ‘free’ birth control when you’re of age. That’s what matters!”
The toddler is learning to put together phrases. They are very rudimentary. “Go outside.” “Drink in mouth.” “Where’s Gear?” Thus far, I’ve been unable to teach her “Smash the patriarchy!” or “Hillary 2016,” so I’ve still got work to do.
Use Another Organ When Voting, Please
This strategy didn’t arise from the aether. Women and men are different. We view things and coalesce around movements from contrasting vantages. That’s why every October, for just one example, the landscape transforms as though a renegade Christo armed only with pink was on the loose. Football teams, car dealerships, grocery stores, newspapers, magazines, websites, cows, titties themselves—nothing is spared. Men just don’t associate and plan it that way. We don’t create relationships with businesses and organizations. We don’t rally around our nuts. Sure, small, dedicated groups try to build similar momentum around the colon or whatever, but the rest of us just try to decide what kind of bourbon to buy. Then we can’t remember what month is colon month and Christo doesn’t decorate anything for us.
But this new trend, the focus just on the lady parts and not solidarity, is just creepy. Perhaps the movement has reached its apex and jumped the shark. The numbers certainly seem to suggest that women are less one-dimensional than some of their sisters would claim. We’ll find out after the returns are in. I’m keeping my fingers crossed, but I’m cautiously optimistic.
Although the vagina is high on my unwritten list of favorite organs, it’s not the one that I use to describe the women in my orbit. In fact, call me a mean old white guy, but I dream of a world in which women don’t encourage one another to become the female version of Robin Williams’ man. Rather, I dream of a world in which all women encourage their sisters to focus on the organ between their ears rather than the one between their legs.