Have you ever wondered why when a man sleeps with lots of different girls he’s known as a “stud” or a “player”, but when a woman behaves in a similar way she’s saddled with “slag” or - even worse - “whore”? Of course you have. We all have. I’ve probably wasted enough oxygen for seventeen conifer trees just moaning about it. Rather annoyingly, however, there is a very simple reason why this double standard exists.
Basically, it’s just more acceptable for men to sleep around lots because they can, or rather they’re made to. Ladies, once past a certain age, have the ability to carry children. A wonderful and amazing gift that none of us would ever pass up, even if all the men on the planet promised we could be called “studs” too. Having a baby takes the best part of a year, realistically, and while carrying that child we can’t conceive another one. A man, on the other hand, could impregnate several women every day for nine months if he wanted to. OK, maybe he wouldn‘t get that lucky every single day, but he’d certainly have a better chance than us girls. The fact that men are made to breed, breed, breed has made it more acceptable for them to shag, shag, shag. We, as the carriers of children, must behave better.
While discussing this theory with a male friend of mine a few months ago, he pointed out that while this was true, it wasn’t always true that men are just after sex. “You lot get labelled as being obsessed with marriage and babies,” he grumbled, “But we get labelled as sex-obsessed arseholes who are only after one thing.” I do admit, I took a certain amount of comfort from his remarks.
On a recent date (with the aforementioned Mr Rhino Snorer) he said to me: “Aren’t you looking for Mr Right? You must want to get married and have babies. You are 31 after all.” After I’d nailed my hand to the bar to stop myself slapping him with it, I told him that no, as I’d only just met him, I was actually happy to just see what happened. Up until that moment I thought men like him only existed in my friends’ bad dates and in bad chick-lit. I was wrong, and it really concerned me.
Of course I’d like to get married and become a mum one day. Not on the third date, but one day. Surely I’d be a stranger breed of female if I didn’t? But yet if a man asks me that question on a date, for some reason I lose the power of truth-telling and ramble off into some utter bullshit about not being sure. Just for the record: I am sure. I would like those things. But it doesn’t mean I’m a bunny boiler or a desperate, clingy mad woman or that I have a scrapbook under my bed full of wedding dress pictures I’ve been adding to since the age of seven. Would men really prefer me to turn around and say, “Urgh! Marriage? Babies? Why would I want to grow a disgusting bald alien in my belly? I’d rather shave my tongue with a rusty razor than do THAT. Bleurrrrrrgh.” Something tells me that would be far scarier than a simple, “Yeah, one day.”
The thing is with lies, they tend to do that snowball thing. Tell them on the first date and you’ll be telling them until the day you say your goodbyes. And trust me, you will be saying goodbye. Anyway, going back to studs vs. sluts, I think we all just have to accept that it’s not going to change. But we do have to stop letting it get to us so much. If a man can’t handle your sexual past, then he‘s not the right guy for you, simple as that. And as for being free to sow our oats, let them get on with it. As much as I love Jessie J (that hair! That hair!), I don’t think I can Do It Like A Dude and, to be honest, I wouldn’t ever want to.
No comments:
Post a Comment