I am, by most definitions, a woman. By birth and by identification I consider myself a full lady-woman-girl. I once called the last installment of the ultra macho Batman movies, The Dark Knight, “cute.” When the series finale to the TV show ‘Friends’ first aired I fell apart in a complete and utter sob-fest because “no one will ever love me like Ross loves Rachel!” (Ah, adolescence) I believe these are the scientific criteria for what qualifies ‘womanhood’ and, clearly, I pass them all with flying colors.
But, riddle me this: if I’m such a shining beacon of womanhood then why is it that I can’t get on board with a large handful of supposedly womanly things (I’d say ‘girly things’ but that mostly evokes images of cotton-candy pinkness) that exist on the Women Stuff list.
Y’know. That proverbial, permanent list of superficial things that every woman on the face of the earth is supposed to inherently and unquestionably love. The ‘Women Stuff’ list. Every few years (few months, few weeks, few hours) something new is added to the list.
A few fan-favorites from the ‘Women Stuff’ list include:
- High heels
- Sex and the City
- Designer purses
- The timeless allure of George Clooney
But, see, I’m a woman and yet I don’t truly love all those things. I mean, sure, gimme a baker’s dozen of the chocolate George Clooney cupcakes but, other than those, I can’t say I would invest a significant amount of my time, money, or general interest in any of those other things. Does this mean I’m not embodying ‘woman’ enough? Do people see me as some kind of uncertain half-breed now?
Well, to make matters worse, it now seems there is a brand spanking new addition being made to the proverbial ‘Women Stuff’ list. On the bright side: its a book. (Look at us, reading and everything!) On the very hopelessly dim side: its Fifty-Shades-of-Freaking-Guuueregh!
Yup. It dawned on me today, as I was walking into a bookstore with a couple of friends, that Fifty Shade of Grey is now an official item on the “Woman Stuff” list. As I nonchalantly picked up one of these uninspired tomes I casually mentioned how I didn’t understand why everyone was so insanely obsessed with this thing. One of my friends haplessly shrugged and replied, “You know, its women stuff.” My two other friends simply nodded along in careless agreement.
Now, as a definitively certain woman, I honestly don’t think I know a single person (let alone another woman) who has really read Fifty Shades of Grey. And yet the Fifty Shades of Crazy is in full swing. Through absolutely no help from anyone within both my family and my social circles, Fifty Shades of Grey has now made such a massively shocking mark on popular culture that there is, quite literally, a Fifty Shades spin-off item of some sort being manufactured and sold to a woman nearly every single minute of every single day.
Okay, now don’t get me wrong here. Yes, I personally think that this book is wildly idiotic, horribly written, and very annoyingly and detrimentally haphazard about the placement of its female figures as stupid victims who only seem superficially empowered. And, yes, if it were up to me I’d probably include a piece of writing with a little more thought and meaning behind it on the “Woman Stuff” list. But I’m definitely not about to become some annoyingly high-horsed idiot and presume the right to tell women what they can and can’t like.
Did Fifty Shades of Grey entertain you, help you amusingly drift off into another world, or give you any momentary awakenings? I think that’s absolutely great. So what if you like to kill some time every afternoon with a saucy, titillating read? I completely agree. Go for it, ladies. Go Grey crazy.
All I’d like to suggest is, would it be okay if we left Fifty Shades of Grey off of our eternal ‘Women Stuff’ list? Can we not make it one of our defining emblems for the rest of time? I mean, the list is embarrassingly superficial enough as it is. Can’t we just let Fifty Shades of Grey be that one book that was really popular and that everyone read at one point? Please?
All my love!