|I may have got this book because of my|
The reason I got back into reading it some four years after I stopped? Caitlin Moran set up a group on the Book of Faces where men could talk about things that bothered men. Like a safe space for men free from social conformity of, well, the patriarchy. It is... well, it has a lot of women in it and a goodly portion of men that don't fit the narrow stereotypes. It's a nice place. And it's not veered wildly into MRA territory, even though there was one man who, forgive me, NT-splained autism to me after using the term 'sexually autistic' to describe porn-addled youths sending unsolicited dick pics online. I queried and pointed out I was autistic and got told what autistic meant (which was incorrect) and how that definition worked in context (it didn't). I pointed out flaws and was told I was wrong, using more inappropriate terms (mild autism, lower end of the spectrum, high functioning). I have... walked away from that discussion. Apart from that, it's been a very nice place to hang around.
|You get the idea.|
I tried talking to Tilly about it, I did not get far. I said that there were loads of men who liked the idea of flowers and- she cut me off with "and I've bought you flowers." Of course. We can't discuss the fact that something I thought made me more feminine and that Tilly thought was borderline sex reassignment surgery turns out to be a modern masculine trait and what that might mean for other things in my life and between us. To be honest, I don't know how to actually talk about it anyway, or even if it's worth trying, so I can't blame Tilly for that.
|I can relate.|
It's half term now. Maybe I can get back to updating this place. Maybe not.
I find that, when I pack away myself after a time of being me, I put more of me in the box. It is unmarked, it gathers dust on top of the wardrobe. It now includes all my camisoles and my feminine watch. It includes any feminine deodorant. The only things not in there are my knickers. Which I haven't worn since the family returned. Too risky now, what with smaller windows to wash my stuff and dry it as winter rolls in. Especially since Tilly pointed out how angry she was getting seeing me hide the knickers (or not, she had no way of knowing one way or the other) that I was using. When that box is closed and placed in its hole I place myself in there too. It's safer there for my identity than anywhere else. It's certainly not safe at work. And my home life, family life, is scrutinised and controlled so that I am not me. I am what it is acceptable to Tilly for me to be.
Agh, I was hoping to write something else, but this happened instead.
|Well, hello, I am man.|