 "I can buy myself flowers," warbles Miley Cyrus in her new song. I've never heard Miley Cyrus' "Flowers" all the way through, but I have heard the chorus; and beyond the saccharine insipidity of the music itself, the lyrics bothered me enough for me to think about why, and to look up the lyrics for the entire song. They reek of cope, as the kids might say, but more than that what bothers me are the larger implications of this tripe being held up as a feminine empowerment anthem. The song is clearly about her ex-husband. The notes under the lyrics on the site I used state that Cyrus released it on his birthday. Writing songs about an ex and being petty about it isn't anything unusual for a singer, and writing bad songs certainly isn't unusual for the shills who put a face to the radio propaganda that currently passes for pop music. What bothers me so much about this song are the larger implications I see in it. There are only a few lines about her sorrow over the end of the relationship; most of the song focuses on her and her ability to take care of herself. But Miley, that was never the point. Marriage is supposed to be different, supposed to be distinctive among your relationships. Divorce isn't like- or isn't supposed to be like- you and your boyfriend deciding to go your separate ways. Divorce is the death of a home, the future you might have had together, what the two of you could have built together if you could've worked things out. Divorce is the death of the family you might have had. It's something worthy of grief. That heartbreak is worth more than a couple of throwaway lines in the middle of a bunch of feminist talking points parroted to make you feel better about your life, your breakup, and yourself. As an old maid who had always assumed I'd be a housewife and mother, who assumed that that life would just fall into my lap as it did for my mother and friends and forebears, let me tell you: that is a dangerous assumption. You can't count on finding a soulmate. You can't just assume you'll fall in love. I'm not saying marriage or a romantic relationship is the end- all be- all of a woman's life. If I were willing to raise a child on my own, I could find a man to use to conceive one with little trouble. If I were willing to be in a romantic relationship just for its own sake, I could have a boyfriend probably within a week, even at my age. But I've seen what true love looks like. I have seen what good, stable marriages look like. I am not willing to settle for anything less. That kind of love, commitment, and devotion should not be taken lightly. The good marriages, the ones that last a lifetime, the ones that bring out the best in both spouses- that's arguably the pinnacle of human experience. The lyrics of "Flowers" are as much an insult to someone who values what romantic love and marriage should be as the "music" is to the ears. I will most likely spend my life alone and die unmarried and childless. This is something I've had to come to terms with; I would've been a good wife and a good mother. The loss of that life, of who I could have been, is worthy of grief even if I don't regret it. Sure, I can buy myself flowers. I can take myself to the beach, or the woods. I'm strong enough to stand on my own, to build a lovely home and a good life for myself. Even without romance, I have family and I am well loved. But that strength has been won at the cost of loneliness. I am no one's priority. I have no children to take care of me in my old age; I'll have to figure that out on my own, and the fact that I would rather be dead than dependent is as much a necessity as it is a preference. Part of the reason I despise feminism so much and hate the girl-boss trope is because I am both the target demographic and an easily- misinterpreted example. I knew better, in my twenties, than to believe the feminist propaganda, but so many girls don't. I knew, in my twenties, how fleeting my fertility was, how quickly that clock was running down. Most young women don't. Even in my twenties, I knew the value of men. Most girls don't, because they are now taught not to. And this, really, is the heart of my problem with "Flowers." Even if you don't need romance to build a good, fulfilling, successful life (I haven't), the value of it deserves to be acknowledged. Spinsterhood is not some great victory, Miley.
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 "I don't want to be a lady!" I shrieked in my father's face, and at the time I meant it.
My idea of a "lady" looked mostly like my grandmothers, and none more than Grandmama. Grandmama, with her iron self control. Grandmama, the one adult whom I never, ever dared try. Grandmama, from whom I never heard the words, "I love you," to me or anyone else, even as a response when someone else said it first. Grandmama, who I can't remember ever laughing, though I know she must have. I still don't want to be a lady like that. But what I failed to realize as an angry teenager was that there is not just one way to be a lady. Grandmama's borderline inhuman self control and impeccable manners are inarguably ladylike - so long as the ones arguing can agree on terms rooted in reality - but Grandmama was not the be- all and end- all of what a lady is. After all, I had other grandmothers; and as much as Grandmama was a Grand Dame of the South, so too were Granny and Mimi. And weren't Granny's gentleness and faith ladylike? Weren't Mimi's beauty and charm ladylike? I came to realize that the key was to gracefully accept and emulate the best of my grandmothers, and to improve upon and surpass their flaws - just like any other part of my heritage. To use beauty and charm as valuable tools, as my Mimi did - but without relying on them as a crutch. To know how to be gentle, and to pray in times of trouble as Granny did - but without the years of abuse it took her to get there. To know the value of manners as Grandmama did- but to know when to put their shield aside and be vulnerable, as I never, ever saw her do. That's the kind of lady I try to be. And it's paid off. Though I work in a male-dominated field, I've never seen the rampant misogyny about which the feminists love to shriek. And while I have encountered misogyny, it was never from the men from whom I was told to expect it. The most workplace misogyny I ever saw or experienced was from a gay man working in a grocery store bakery. In almost two decades of retail and blue collar working experience, and in a lifetime of interacting with others, I have found that nothing earns a woman more respect and goodwill than when she acts like a lady. So what do I mean by that? Not sleeping around, for one. (At first I thought it was just the place where I was working, but now I think it's that people are Just That Way, at least post 1960s "sexual revolution"). I've had a few friends and acquaintances who are undeniably sluts, no matter whether you consider that a pejorative or not - women who either engaged in casual sex or bedded men not married to them. I don't know that any of them fully realize how much respect they lost from others by their conduct. Is it really so difficult to keep your legs closed? And then there are women - too many of whom are handed a microphone - who deny biological reality - women who insist that they are the same as men, women who venerate the word "equality" and pervert its meaning at every opportunity. It is prudent to avoid these women as the threats they are, but it's horrifically amazing to see the sheer hubris of a woman who can fail physical ability tests again and again, then insist that standards be lowered, and then to refuse to admit that she wants the standards lowered because she wants a title she hasn't earned! But then, why wouldn't she, when she's been told all her life that Girls Rule, that she's Special, that she can do and be whatever she wants? What chance do biology and reality stand against a lifetime of ideological coaching and the looming shadow of every single societal institution? She may find it reassuring that she can steal the title, but it won't earn her the respect of the men with whom she works. If she ever gains the least scintilla of humility and wants to earn their respect, the only way for her to do so is through admitting her fault, years of hard work, staying quiet unless and until she has something of actual value to contribute, and helping others without any expectation or demand of recompense. In other words, the opposite of what got her there in the first place. Seeing how many of them there are and the lofty heights to which they can climb in any organization they infest (largely in administrative roles, you'll note), it's easy to get discouraged. An ambitious woman who happens to have integrity and self respect might be forgiven for considering adopting their methods and rationalizing using those tactics by telling herself that she's just playing the game to win. My dear, it's not worth it. The women who sleep their way to the top, or those who get there by backstabbing, stealing credit, lying, or plying whatever diversity cards they hold - unless they're psychopaths - they're miserable. These are the ones who make up those statistics about SSRI use and depression, and who make up the stereotype about Millennial spinsters or divorcees and their cats and box wine. They're hollowed-out husks of people, with shallow, screaming eyes when you look closely (and you won't be able to look closely for long; there's something uncanny about them). They're pathetic creatures, and there's somewhere between little and nothing in them worth emulating. But when a woman carries herself with self respect; when she's polite, hardworking, and sincere; when she honestly acknowledges both her strengths and her faults, and takes them into account; when she thanks those who offer her help in the same spirit in which it was offered, even when she didn't need it; when she refrains from gossip, especially malicious gossip; when she does her best to take care of those around her even when she doesn't particularly like them; all of these things are ladylike, and every single one of them earns respect. And while it may be difficult, every single one of them is achievable even in toxic work environments. Sometimes it means keeping your head down and your mouth shut; sometimes it means using knowledge strategically; most often it means knowing when to leave. (The time to leave, by the by, is always before you're trapped or tricked into doing something unethical or illegal- because if you let them maneuver you into that, you're seating yourself under a sword of Damocles.) Wisdom and good judgment are also ladylike. A woman is an adult human female; being a woman is not an accomplishment, since all it takes is being born that way. But to be a lady is to choose to be a good woman, to be the best woman that you can. Continually making that choice is worthy of respect. Turns out I'd rather be a lady after all. |
