An appropriately unhinged rant about linguistic tags

Editor’s note: I have a cup of coffee about three time a year. When I was writing this was one of those times. I decided to leave it punchy.

So I have an axe to grind, and it’s about linguistic tags (no don’t go, this is going to be interesting I swear). I’ve seen some variation of the following advice in countless places of late (and for some time honestly, although I think Lean In feminism accelerated it). The advice goes: women more frequently add tags like ‘if you see what I mean’, ‘if that works for you’, ‘don’t you think’ on the end of their statements, and they need to stop. These tags on the end of sentences function to soften commands, seek clarification, confirm understanding, and build consensus. You know, pussy shit. If women were more assertive and didn’t worry about whether or not their colleagues *checks notes* actually understand and agree with them they’d get farther ahead. I don’t know. Maybe that’s true, but it’s also completely corn-holed (I also suspect it really isn’t true. I suspect women who stop using these tags at the office at best begin to be perceived as ‘less helpful’ and ‘harder to deal with’ and at worse as ‘the office bitch’, even though it is just modelling the behaviour of their male colleagues. It’s a rigged game, babes. You can’t lifehack your way through the glass ceiling). The thing is, if the point of communication is indeed to transfer the things that are in your brain into the brains of other humans, these types of tags are better for communication. Just objectively better at allowing you to communicate meaning between multiple human beings. They are certainly better for project management. Checking for understanding and building consensus are essential to getting a group of people to complete a project together, and the truth is, women in business doing this is the only reason those businesses get shit done. That they don’t adequately reward or even acknowledge the value of this work is a problem with the system, not the women. If women do tend to use these tags more it doesn’t mean they should stop, it means men should start. Why should we sink to their level when nothing is stop them from getting up to ours?

But, dear reader, this is yet one example of an entire system of thinking that many if not most feminists aggressively co-sign where if a thing is traditionally gendered, the masculine version is assumed to be the good one and the feminine one is the one we should throw away like steaming hot garbage. It’s very often not though. Action figures instead of fashion dolls? Half the time their clothes are molded on so if the character gets a new outfit you have to buy a whole new doll. What’s good about that? Those cross-bars on bikes? Make it harder to get on your dang bike.

How about Home Ec? In my mom’s day, girls had to take home ec, which taught you to cook, plan menus that were both healthy and within budget, balance a check book, mend your clothes, make clothes even, properly clean your home; you know useless shit, right? Complete girly bullshit. Obviously not, obviously these are actually very, very important skills that my generation suffers for not having learned. In the name of women’s liberation girls were no longer required, or even suggested, to take home ec, increasing numbers of schools cut it out of the curriculum all together. Which, like, I get it. The idea that a woman’s only job and highest calling was to take care of the home was insulting and limiting (and the idea that a girl would grow up to be a homemaker and never work outside the home was always totally untrue for working class women and most women of colour). Thing is though, those are still essential skills, and now instead of only women having them, no one does. We’re all just out here desperately hoping to find the youtube channel that will teach us how to fix our lives. Here’s my hot take: we would have done way more to liberate women from the second shift by making Home Ec mandatory for everyone regardless of gender, so that everyone knows how to run a household, than we managed to do by just pulling it from schools. It wasn’t ever a waste of time just because it wasn’t something masculine-coded like STEM. And also, STEM fields are valuable, and girls should be in STEM if that’s where their interest and talent lies, but the Humanities are also valuable. I mean, did you know you are a human*? Really makes you think.

So okay, this has been a rant, but I do have a point. Femineity has been imposed on AFAB people, sometimes with extreme force, for much of western history, and I’m against that. But it’s the imposition, the lack of choice, that’s the problem. And yes, some of these trappings of the feminine were imposed because they materially perpetuate the subjugation of women, like jeans with pockets you can only get your hands in up to the first knuckle. Despite all of that, the feminine version of any given gendered thing is not automatically the bad version. The assumption that it is comes from patriarchy, and it brings all of us down. Sometimes it brings us down because the feminine version is better, and people of any gender could benefit from it and/or enjoy it**, like home ec or making sure everyone is on the same page with simple linguistic tags. Sometimes, there’s no better version. I prefer Drag Race to WWE, but that doesn’t make it better. I can admit that. Guy stuff is fine, and men/mascs should be able to enjoy healthy masculinity without censure. But the idea that women should have to adopt masculinity to achieve liberation is simply bullshit.

*Apologies to any intelligent orangutans or aliens who the 2022 edge of our radio bubble has reached

** Skirts are, in most contexts, better than trousers. Fight me

I Should be a TV Executive

Do you ever hear the title of a show and then become excited because of what you’ve just assumed it must be about, only to be terrifyingly disappointed when you find out the truth and then mourn the lack of the thing you thought it was? No? Just me.

Anyway, I saw an ad for a show called ‘The Premise’ and got excited because this show was obviously, the retro-glam biopic of our fandom foremothers we all deserve. It’s not. It apparently some sort of ‘really makes you think’ non-fiction anthology about social issues. It absolutely should not be, and how dare they. Here’s the pitch for the show they should have made titled ‘The Premise’.

Set in the early seventies, ‘The Premise’ follows the lives and loves of four women who work together to edit, print, and distribute a Star Trek fanzine of the same name. It has everything you want from a period piece, great costuming, an exploration of society’s changing mores, a window into a lesser-known bit of history, and hardcore gay sex (or at least references to, is this going on a network or just streaming?). Every episode is ‘framed’ around their weekly conference call* as discussions of stories and formatting either devolve into or conceal discussions of their own messy lives, which we the audience then see in flashes.

There’s Midge, the token midwestern WASP, played by a Kristen Chenoweth-type (could we get Kristen Chenoweth? What’s her rate these days?). She has a very defined signature look that’s still a bit sixties. Quite mod-ish mini-dresses in bright, psychedelic florals, frosted pink lip gloss and bright aqua eye-liner. She’s the formidable leader of the pack. In another life she’d be a high-powered executive but instead she funnels that energy into the annual 2^nd Lutheran bring-and-buy sale, and making her life into a huge fucking mess. It’s bad enough that she’s sleeping with her kid’s band teacher, but it’s somehow worse that she can’t remember which kid. Her feud with Sheryl on the PTA has escalated to such a point that it can only resolve in actual violence or furious sex. She’s finding the secretive printing and distribution of Star-Trek themed gay erotica a valuable distraction.

Sadie was half of a world-famous husband-wife team of sexologists, like Masters and Johnson, until her husband was killed in an accident a few years ago. The speed with which grants and lectures were withdrawn made it clear who everyone thought was really doing the intellectual heavy lifting. She spent about a solid year smoking grass and watching daytime TV on the living room carpet. After watching the series all the way through several times in daytime re-runs she grew deeply attached to the obvious lovers (I mean of course there are gays in space, it just wasn’t credible that people would still have these hang ups about natural human sexuality in two hundred years). She saw a lot of herself in Spock, as she had repeatedly been accused by previous boyfriends of being too logical and calculating to really love. Maybe life would have been easier if that were true. She sort of got their whole group together by showing up to the first big New York Star Trek convention and getting up at a Q&A to ask Leonard Nimoy (in Yiddish so the event organisers wouldn’t notice and get up in arms) what he thought about ‘The Premise’. She wears a lot of floor-length chiffon caftans and a sharp point of eyeliner. She’s had a lot to say to Midge about how female bonobos solve conflicts among themselves.

Vivian is by far the most talented writer in the group, and shouldn’t she be? She was working on an MFA in creative writing at Howard when she got pregnant, and their families all agreed what she was going to do. Wasn’t her boyfriend in Med School? Worse things could’ve happened. But she loves writing and is good at it. She writes some of the most beautiful, evocative stories in the entire Star Trek fanon. Her mother-in-law (played by Whoopi Goldberg, non-negotiable. We have to have someone from one of the classic series’ in this thing) at one point found some of her writing and is low-key blackmailing her about it, but little do either of them know that her husband knows all about it. He found a copy of the zine ages ago; he’s just waiting for her to tell him about it. He thinks it’s great. He’s always loved her writing and felt guilty she had to give it up. He’s a little…concerned about what some of the stuff seems to indicate about some of her interests. He’s not totally sure what she gets out of stories about two men, but he was in the Navy, he’s not shocked by any of it.

Ruth (ideally played by Allison Janney. I know that’s a big get, but honestly these days she seems to pick projects based on what she’d have the most fun doing) is a recent empty-nester living in San Francisco (yes, all the other girls are jealous she lives near Starfleet Academy), and one day she realised she didn’t know who she was anymore outside of being a mom. She’s been on a voyage of self-discovery ever since. She discovered a love of sci-fi (especially sci-fi with cute outfits), re-discovered her youthful love of illustration and design, so she is in charge of layout and adds lots of great marginalia. She also thinks she might be a lesbian. Is one of her new best friends a world-renowned sexologist? Yes. Has she ever talked to her about it? Absolutely not. I mean she’s still a Methodist after all. She recently went to one of the more genteel sort of lesbian bars in town, just to sort of test things out, only to find her ‘husband’ there, who turns out is trans. She’s not sure what that means for her sexuality, but they are enjoying a sort of second honeymoon.

So anyway, CBS my inbox is open. I’m terrible at negotiating a wage and will probably except your first offer as long as I get creative control and wardrobe makes me a copy of all my favourite outfits. It’d be a Mountain of entertainment 😉 It will one day replace the following as the greatest piece of K/S-related content to grace the internets

* Yes, they had those in the seventies. My granny was an operator for Southern Bell

Death and the Crone: Nomadland and widows in Film

When I was a kid I loved kaleidoscopes. My mom had this really beautiful sort of art deco triangle-shaped one and I spent truly vast amounts of time playing with it. Just a tube with some glass beads in a wheel and I was entertained for hours (or anyway, star at and turn from side to side for hours–I recently realised that I was a pretty depressed child, but that’s not the point). I loved how you could make this slight little turn, just a click, and the whole view changed.

Yeah, turns out that’s less fun when that happens in real life.

After my husband died, my whole view had changed, and as I looked around at the media landscape, I saw something I’d never seen before: the way we portray widows* in film is complete balls. The main thing that strikes me is that most of the widow character in film just feel so fucking fake. They are by and large unrecognisable aliens to me. Let me break down the widow tropes a little bit more and I think you’ll see what I mean. Maybe I’ll make a buzzfeed quiz, what type of widow are you? Tell us your widow trope and we’ll tell you your starbucks order, that sort of thing.

Tragic backstory romantic lead widow: First of all, congratulations on the good fortune of being assigned Male at birth, and sticking to that. That means not only are you more likely to be treated for a heart attack in a lifesaving time frame, but also your personal tragedy will not interfere with your ability to be desirable and loveable. You appear in such films as The Holiday and Sleepless in Seattle. The loss of your spouse (let’s be real—wife—this trope, like all widow tropes, is only for hets) gives you a deep and soulful side, and maybe some adorable children, but never causes you to be messy, scared, delicate, or challenging in the way actual grief does. Your new potential relationship might be complicated by guilt (because if our culture ever fully embraced the idea that you can fully and completely love more than one person in your life without it being a betrayal, we might have to admit that it’s not just okay if you’re bereaved, polyamory is also totally fine), but never like an actual trauma response. Your wife will never appear on screen, probably not even in photographs. Also your adorable children don’t seem to have suffered in any way from losing a parent, but I’m probably not the right person to talk about THAT trope. Cinnamon dolce macchiato

Avenging Angel Widow: In this case, you might be a woman, although things will not go well for you if you are. You are on a quest, for justice or maybe just to finish your spouse’s unfinished business. I mean if you’re a man it’s definitely a quest for justice. You are played by Oscar-contenders, even if the resulting film is a little schlocky, and appear in such films as The Constant Gardener and Widows. Your spouse appears in flashbacks, largely about your relationship and sometimes about the relevant crime, for a significant portion of the film. Greif is your whole thing. You never crack a smile, never have a light moment, never chill for even a second. Americano.

Old and Sad and in need of an adorable child protagonist: You can be a man or woman (but not any gender, cishets only in widow cinema, remember), but you definitely need a cane, and you are definitely grompy. The good news is you’re also sympathetic and definitely the most well-developed of the widow types. You’re probably animated, appearing in such films as Up and Encanto. Your spouse definitely appears on screen, in the scene that everyone will remember as the one they cried at. It may have been years or decades since your spouse has died but you have made zero progress on your grief until an irrepressible youngster shows you the error of your ways. This part is kind of annoying, but otherwise you are still the most well-developed and emotionally honest of the widow tropes. At least you’re given some space to explore the complexity of grief, recovery, and memory, even if it’s kept at a child-friendly level. That sort of complexity is just not allowed if you’re under 70. Drip coffee.

The Black Widow: At least you’re allowed to be female, bereaved, AND hot, although ‘bereaved’ implies some level of sadness about the death, so…. You are for some reason used to advertise life insurance in Scotland. Iced almond milk skinny caramel latte.

A Single Mom Who Works too Hard: You basically only exist in old movies where they wanted to have a single mom character but divorce was simply Not Done. Your husband and your grief are not relevant to anything (although your in-laws might be), but on the other hand you often get great clothes, good storylines and even sometimes a cool ghost. Who doesn’t want a cool ghost! Seriously anyone have some charming seaside property (possibly haunted) they need to off-load, hmu. You don’t get to treat yourself often so when you do, hazelnut hot cocoa with extra whip and a caramel swirl, if it’s not too much trouble.

So those are, as I see them, your standard widows in film. They are, as I hope you can see, complete dogshit. The overarching message is clear: if your spouse dies you have two courses of action, what I’ll call the Full Italian Widow, your grief is your life, no smiles, no recovery, no romance, but maybe one day a plucky youngster will teach you to smile again or you’ll shoot enough people that you feel better. OR, like just get over it man. You’re bumming everyone out and you should stop bumming everyone out.

That’s what I saw as the messaging about widowhood from film, but then I saw a film where I suddenly felt like an actual real human being was on screen.

Nomadland is one of the most beautiful pieces of film I’ve ever seen in my life, and just genuinely so important to me. The first time I watched it I pretty much sobbed non-stop because I saw someone going through what I was going through, who was able to find peace and joy again, through her own journey, and without discarding the hard and messy parts of grief. There were so many little moments I recognised, wearing your partner’s old jacket and feeling safe for a moment, the tight brittle smile accompanied by an ‘oh, I’m doing fine, you know’ when you run into someone you haven’t seen in a while, someone that you aren’t particularly close to; the entirely different kind of reluctant smile from when something makes you happy and you haven’t felt that recently and you’re a little scared to feel it now. It’s beautiful, and Frances McDormand is just incredible.

The message of Nomadland is very different than those other films. It tells you, yes, that life you had before is over. It’s gone, and trying to keep it or return to it will only make you miserable. However, you can build a new life and it can be beautiful, and it can still include all your memories and all the love you feel for your spouse. You can find people who will hold space for your grief without shying away from the hard parts, who you don’t need to give the tight smile to, but who you can also just have fun and laugh uproariously with. People can help you. People can nourish your soul, but you don’t need anyone to save you. You’re on a journey, and one day you’ll be able to walk away from your old life and in to the beautiful unknown, and only you decide when that day has come.

Also you see Frances McDormand’s bush. Can’t say that for Up.

* Hot take: the word widower is dumb as hell. Why are women widows and men are, what, one who widows? According to the Oxford English Dictionary that’s the actual etymology. A baker bakes, a widower widows. What the actual fuck is that? WHAT DOES IT MEAN? If anything it’s precisely backwards. The one who dies should be a widower and the surviving spouse** a widow. I reject it outright. So join me fellas, in widowhood. We can go shop for massive black fringe shawls together.

**We won’t even talk about ‘surviving spouse’