I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately, my
twentieth birthday was almost a month ago already and one of my presents was a
set of romance books. I don’t think I would say I was a fan of the romance
genre in terms of books, and even films really, with the exception of Twilight
and Love Actually. I can’t pretend I haven’t read Fifty Shades of Grey or Bared To You, as much
as I’d like to, but sometimes a book comes along and makes you really think. So
much so that when you go out on the bus you find yourself looking around
wondering about the people surrounding you, are they in love? What are they
like? What is their story? It makes you notice the significance of the film
you’ve watched a hundred times but only just understand now; it makes you
question your own life.
A week ago I began the Sex and the City box set from season
one, I was only three episodes in when I came to ‘Bay of Married Pigs’,
hilariously entitled it deals with being a single woman with married friends
and the possibility that married women suddenly view you as a threat. You’re
potentially younger, maybe prettier, and her man is eying you up and down.
Anyone would be jealous. However maybe instead of being angry with her single
friend, she should direct her rage towards her husband whose eyeballs are
hanging out of his head. It occurs to me that there are an entirely different set of rules for men than there are for women, and romance literature supports this wholeheartedly.
If a man checks out another woman the subject of his gawping is the one who is
chastised. However if a woman dares to ogle at another man, she is met with a jealous
possession that romance novels disguise as a man 'taking' his woman in a fit of
passion. Not that I’d be complaining if a guy were to be that crazy about me
that he’d turn all cave-man to stake his claim. I’m just pointing out that this
is the case, and wondering why it’s that way…
Another sticking point for me is the inexplicable way that
what a woman looks for in a man has changed dramatically between lets say Jane
Austen’s time, and E.L James’s. Back in the good old days women found the idea
of eloping with a penniless, but handsome and charming lothario in a whirlwind
runway romance the most endearing and desirable fantasy. Since then novels such
as Twilight, Fifty Shades of Grey, and the Crossfire series, have changed the
way society views what women want in men. Now some may misconstrue women’s
obsession with Mr Grey as being all about a secret desire for kinkier sex,
however I think it runs deeper than that. To me it seems the allure of male
characters such as these are more about the security of their wealth, their possessive
nature that makes women feel desirable, and the fantasy that they could be the one woman in which the closed-off, brooding gorgeous millionaire mogul chooses to
confide his deepest and darkest secrets to. The women of today, who
despite being much more empowered than women were during Austen’s life, are in
some ways no further forward in being taken seriously then they were in the
turn of the century. In a society where abortion is a touchy subject, where sex
trafficking is at an all time high, where women are forced to utilise their
bodies and allure to make a living, and in which even successful women are
forced to make sacrifices for their careers, it is not entirely
shocking that women across the world are turning to fiction such as the
Crossfire series and Fifty Shades to live out a utopian dream in which they
feel fulfilled. The sad factor is that the root of their craving for these
novels comes from their disappointment in men, they turn to a fictional land in
which men behave the way they wish they would in reality. The trouble is these
stories are far from reality and men like Gideon Cross, sadly, do not exist,
and women will always be left bereft and unfulfilled in more way than one in
their relationships.
It goes without saying that there are men in the world who
make wonderful husbands, and are attentive and loving, and I envy the women who
are lucky enough to snag one of the good ones, because the majority of us are
left with snaggle-tooth boys who don’t know a tit from a clit. The point is
that – at the risk of sounding sexist towards men – women are generally wishing
that a rich, handsome, sex god will swoop into their lives, sweep them off
their feet, and make them feel like a goddess, and instead find themselves
watching Romeo and Juliet on repeat, munching on Thornton’s, and rapping along
to a lame Drake song.
My prediction is that we’re just going to have to keep
praying girls, in the hope that Mr Grey, or Gideon Cross will one day fall
right into our laps. Until such a time, keep your chins up and your noses in a
romance novel!
Laters baby…
No comments :
Post a Comment