If I Were a Man ...

The Jakarta Post - WEEKENDER   |  Tue, 03/24/2009 2:57 PM  |  Said & Done

If I were a man, I would probably wish I was a woman. That’s the conclusion I’ve come to after listing all the (relatively unappealing) consequences of being reborn a man. I say “reborn” because otherwise I wouldn’t have the same insight as I do from “the other side”.

Not only do I now have a new and often overlooked perspective on sexism and how it shapes our expectations and preconceptions of men, but I have come to realize that if I were indeed a man, my incredibly good taste would probably make me a gay man, and therefore subject to all the prejudices that would entail. Of course, this assumption in itself is riddled with stereotypes, but the truth of the matter is, as a woman, being a man just doesn’t sound like much fun.

To be fair, I asked a cross section of my female friends to fill in the same blank. What I found was a mix of serious and not-so-serious recurring themes: a fear of gendered financial expectations, suppressed fashion consciousness and overall a bit of sympathy for the seemingly dull and rigid world of men.

A friend of mine put it nicely when she said, “I’m trying to think of what it would be like, but the dude world just doesn’t interest me.” While many of our initial reactions were to think superficially of how boring life would be without our “feminine rights” to look great and be fabulous, more serious thought into the matter would seem to suggest that us women actually feel like we are more liberated than men. In some ways, we feel like we have more room to think and do what we like.

And if that’s the case then we’re obviously among the world’s more privileged women. But as another friend said, “I honestly can’t decide whether I’d feel more privilege or pressure as a man.” And so, without further ado, here are some of the consequences of being a man, from a woman’s point of view: the good, the bad and the ugly.

•  For a start, according to the statistics I’d have a lower life expectancy. Some people say it’s about quality, not quantity, or in this case length, but if I were a man apparently length would matter so that would be a bit of a letdown.

•  I’d finally know what the phrase “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” feels like, or I’d be willing to give it as many tries as it would take to find out.

•  I’d force myself to apologize, stop and ask for directions, and all those other things that men are accused of never doing.

•  I’d probably be a designer or decorator just so I could have an outlet for color and style.

•  My love for Michael Jackson and Queen would take on a whole new meaning without the nostalgic justification of girly middle school dance parties.

•  I’d probably wear a three-piece pinstripe suit and wingtip shoes every chance I got. Otherwise, I might risk deteriorating from boredom.

•  I think I’d wear Speedos for comfort (not that I can be sure how they’d feel).

•  I’d have to live with the fact that everyone I know would be asking each other behind my back whether or not I was gay. But who cares – women would love me.

•  If I did actually care, I’d have to be more overtly machismo and insensitive than I really am just to assert my sexuality.

•  I’d probably get far fewer hugs from my male friends, except for when they were drunk and even then it might still be a bit awkward.

•  It might be difficult to find other men to talk about my feelings to, and I might end up spending a lot of money on a psychiatrist as a result of my pent-up emotions.

•  It would be more acceptable for me to be openly vulgar, and on some occasions I would feel obliged to do so just so I could be “one of the boys”.

•  I could take my shirt off in public places and not just during Mardi Gras.

•  I could write on walls while urinating (though I might still pee sitting down just to avoid the whole toilet seat issue).

•  The doctrine “Size Does Matter” would all of a sudden be relevant and I’d have to get used to the unofficial sizing-up that goes on in public urinals.

•  I’d have the opportunity to experiment with every style of facial hair possible and watch myself go through identity crises as other people couldn’t decide whether I was a trucker, porn star, bushman or lascivious Italian.

•  It would be more acceptable for me not to shave my legs or armpits.

•  I hope that I would remind myself and my male friends that a woman’s eyes are not down her top.

•  I’d probably buy drinks for strange women and their friends just so they’d talk to me, even if only for a second.

•  I might feel like I should be earning a lot more money than I do now.

•  It would be difficult to find work if I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher or a midwife.

•  But I could work construction or mechanics without always having to explain that I wasn’t making some kind of feminist statement.

•  Even fewer men would hold the door open for me, and fewer yet might stop to help if I had a flat tire.

•  I’d certainly be expected to do more things like help people move, carry heavy things, fix broken things and remove insect and vermin infestations.

•  I might be able to get out of things like cooking and cleaning easier.

•  I’d inherently have more authority and wouldn’t quite know what to do with it.

•  I’d either feel a little jealous of the fact that I couldn’t deliver babies, or perhaps relieved that I would never have to go through childbirth.

•  I’d be “too much of a nice guy” and be single most of my life.

•  I’d be forced to pioneer a serious men’s rights movement.

+ Hana Miller

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