The 3 Big Female Double Standards That Dwarf Slut-Shaming

Piotr Marcinski / (Shutterstock.com)
Piotr Marcinski / (Shutterstock.com)

Whenever I hear a woman complaining about the evils of slut-shaming, I feel like I’m hearing some crude and feminized version of “I have a dream,” only it’s about fucking instead of racial harmony. The fact that certain females feel entitled not only to an endless variety of dick AND the same social status as their more reserved counterparts is a symptom of insecurity, greed, and an almost superstitious denial of essential differences between men and women that go far deeper than the societal level. After all, these sluts complain, why aren’t men made to feel ashamed for fucking as many people as possible? Why is it only women?

I’d like to point out a number of scenarios in which men are held to a disadvantageous standard, in which we are belittled and made to feel like filthy whores, and which will never be reversed or rectified until technology has rendered us all post-sexual, post-racial robots without genitalia or egos or senses of humor. You could tell me that you’d never judge a man for doing any of the following, but you’d be lying:

1. Crying in public

Nobody likes the crying girl at the party. She sits there at the foot of the stairs, sobbing into her own lap and spilling wine on the floor as her poor, embarrassed friends do their level best to console her about whatever recent relationship crisis is troubling her at the moment. She makes it impossible for anyone to nudge past her and get to the bathroom because she doesn’t want them paying attention to anything that isn’t her.

She has the audacity to give you a dirty look if you ask her to scooch aside. She dry-heaves toxic vibes into the stratosphere and lowers the tone to the point where only a benevolent drug dealer in a Spider-Man costume could have a chance at lifting the mood again. She’s a selfish cunt, and she’s utterly, utterly dreadful.

Still, people tolerate her. Her friends are there to console her. White knights will even come along to offer her cigarettes, rides home, and whatever other currency seems like a fitting investment for future hook-ups at the time. The last thing anybody does is laugh at her, at least not to her face; if you mock a woman for crying in public, regardless of the context, you are chided as a cruel brute with no idea what she’s going through.

Do you know what happens to men who cry at parties? They are either: a) ridiculed into leaving; b) beaten into unconsciousness; or c) ignored until their hysteria subsides. I’ve known numerous women—many who have complained to me about sexual double standards—to express disgust at the sight of a weeping man. They think it’s pathetic, and that’s because it is. They call him a pussy, and that’s because he’s being one. Men know that we have much to gain from our traditional roles, and one of the prices we pay is that we have to wait until we’re home to cry like a bitch. If we can accept that, you can accept being called a slut for having a triple-digit number before the age of eighteen. If that upsets you, you can either toughen up or learn to not find crying men repulsive.

2. Being walked home

When you point out the fact that at the end of a night of drinking, men are expected to walk their female counterparts home, you can expect a couple of stock responses. The first is that because the overwhelming majority of rapists are men, the double standard was created by males and thus is their responsibility to rectify. This would be a lot easier to swallow if all men were actually rapists and if the streets were only dangerous for women to walk alone at night.

While I’ve never been raped while walking home late, I’ve been chased, threatened with weapons (if you count attack dogs as weapons, which I do), undergone an attempted mugging, and have experienced all sorts of unpleasant assaults on my person that nobody tried to prevent by escorting me to my front door. Again, I can accept this, and I’ve spent many an hour diligently ensuring that my female friends and acquaintances arrive at their abodes without being sexually assaulted.

I’ve never expected them to return the favor, and therein lies the second response you can predict from feminists and their male allies alike: Men are usually stronger than women! An average woman can’t do much to protect a guy from being robbed or assaulted, so what’s the problem? This is my point exactly. There isn’t a problem. Men and women are different, and that’s OK. If your definition of equality is making us all exactly the same, you’re destined to lose. If it’s a state of affairs in which women enjoy all the privileges of being a man while experiencing none of the downsides, you’re also destined to lose. I’ll stop shaming sluts when I start getting three-woman escorts back to my home in the small hours. Until then, get used to it.

3. Calling for backup

The most obvious sexual double standard when it comes to fighting is that a man is forbidden from hitting a woman, even if she hits him first. Some feminists disagree with this, and considering how masculinized many Western women are becoming—to the point where they not only walk and talk like guys but try to start fights like guys and with guys—I’d say this was a good thing. I want to be able to clean the clock of anybody who puts their hands on me without the risk of mob intervention, regardless of their gender, but sadly we aren’t there yet.

Many women are still traditionalists, and so in the heat of a conflict they will opt to have their boyfriends and husbands do their dirty work for them. Sometimes this is uncalled for—it’s certainly not above certain female sadists to set their knuckle-dragging life partners on weaker males over a spilled drink in a bar or an awkward look on a dance floor—but sometimes it’s perfectly justified. I remember when an ex of mine came home from a night out with her friends and told me that some worthless piece of shit had groped her vagina through her pants in the middle of a packed crowd and that her limbs were so constricted by the throng that she couldn’t even raise her hands to stop him. I wished that I’d have been there to slay him with a barstool; I guess I’m kind of old-fashioned that way. Men protect women’s honor, but never are the roles reversed. Can you imagine what that would even involve?

Picture the scene: A guy is out at a nightclub with his girlfriend when halfway through the evening he decides to scoot off for a quick piss. En route to the bathroom, a couple of surly women at the bar block his path and pour a beer over his head. He stands there, dripping and humiliated, before returning to his lady friend with his tail between his legs.

“Who did this to you?” she demands with fire in her eyes.

“Those girls! Those girls over there!” he whines, barely able to fight back the tears. He watches in admiration as she sets down her drink before marching over to the pair to offer them an ultimatum: Apologize and get out, or catch a vicious beating. They swing for her and she ducks, taking them out with a couple of well-placed combos before hocking a loogie on them and returning victorious. Nobody calls the guy a pussy for the way he handled things, and they even get a shout-out from the DJ as the bouncers eject the she-thugs and set them up with a couple of on-the-house mojitos. Sounds wonderful; kind of like a dream, right?

Men get stabbed in the face trying to protect the dignity of their mates. Ask ten honest women if they would prefer for their man to confront a stranger who insulted them rather than overlook the incident, and nine of them will admit that they would. In return, we get to wear promiscuity as a badge of honor and not a stamp of shame. Maybe it isn’t fair, but neither is life. TC mark

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