Mensch Madness

Louis Icart (French, 1888-1950),

Oh, Louise Mensch, you have to be shitting me. You just have to be because that’s the only reason I can think of for the shrivelled ballbag of information that you’ve just spaffed all over your website. See, there I was thinking that women were crawling out of the shadows of sexism and taking control of their lives when bam! I saw your collection of words entitled What Men Want and realised that you are grabbing said women by their ankles and dragging them backwards, like a pervert, into an alleyway.

What in the fuck, Mensch, is wrong with you? What possessed you to write an article about how you think “most men” want women to dress? I dunno, perhaps you have drilled burr holes into the skulls of a few billion blokes with the sheer boredom of your novels, peered inside and come to some puss-infested conclusion that you know how they think. That or you’re making sweeping generalisations to make women wonder if they’re living in 1861.

In fact, before I take your individual remarks and festoon them with tiny shards of frozen piss, let me ask you something: is the following really how you think modern women and men operate? Yup, in that case you really do have the social and moral nous of a puddle of cold sick that’s been trodden in by a moulting donkey.

See, you start by saying that men “like their women feminine” and that women should “consider wearing dresses” which has actually made me barf tiny bits of my brain out of my nasal cavity. I dare say there are also some men who like their women to bring them ironed copies of The Times while dressed in chaps made solely from the front-teeth of beavers but they don’t always get what they want either, do they?

Then you bang on about wearing “fitted clothes that flatter your shape” because “waist to hip ratio is a scientifically proven quotient of attractiveness to men throughout the ages, no matter what your size”. Pardon? So I take it, then that your next article will tell the world that some women are attracted to men with big feet because that suggests that they have wangers like Red Rum and therefore men should wear clowns’ shoes? No, I didn’t think so.

And then you crow that men “operate a double standard and don’t want to see you in anything too revealing” and that “a man wants to be proud of the woman he’s with”. Well, fuck me. And there I was thinking that Conjugal Kraken was proud of me because I stick up for myself, have a strong sense of identity and rage against the utter cock of articles like yours. Stuff the double standards, Louise, love. He’d rather see me dressed in a discarded dog basket that had been dragged three miles by a fire engine than following any of your advice.

Oh, but that’s not all, is it? Christ, no. You say that men envy another man whose wife looks feminine, that women should dress for the man they love and that feminism is not “about denying the urge women have to please the men they cherish”. Well perhaps you should mention that to Conjugal Kraken too because he’s been labouring under the impression that when I stagger towards my wardrobe it’s to dress in the way that makes me, not him, feel good. See, that’s because he’s a man who doesn’t need the suppression of his wife to feel manly and he has the intelligence to understand that my wearing Primark knickers with grey, collapsing gussetry is not a direct reflection of how much I “cherish”the poor bastard.

Apart from which, have you any idea how utterly patronising you are being to men with this festering pyramid of arse-marbles? You tell women how to win them over in much the same way that Barbara Woodhouse told a rapt audience how to train a pissing puppy. Seeing as you have intimate knowledge of the male brain it won’t come as a surprise to you that the blokes I know would weep themselves into a seizure at exactly how idiotically one-dimensional you think they are.

Which means, Mensch, that if I needed fashion advice I’d be more inclined to conjure up the spirit of a constipated Elvis on a Ouija board than come to your website. That is, of course, unless I want to start acting like a fan-waving extra from Pride and Prejudice. Believe me, if women really are to emerge from the shadow of sexism first they have to emerge from the shadow of Louise bloody Mensch.

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5 Responses to Mensch Madness

  1. Andy says:

    Firstly, I have a complaint. I read this post on a crowded train and the line about ‘dressed in chaps made solely from the front-teeth of beavers’ made me do a weird laugh/snort through my nose. No fair Kraken, no fair! Secondly, MAN LIKE SHINY SHINY, LOOK AT DE SHINY SHINY. UUUUEEEEUUGGHH! Mensch can cock off telling me what I like.

  2. Stevie says:

    Hey I’m a pervert and I would never drag a woman by the ankles into an alleyway. I think you mean sexual predator or um… ok yeah difficult, I’ll let it slide with just this comment as a note.

  3. CircleThinker says:

    I think she must have gone and spoken to my ex boyfriend who used to complain at me for wearing hoodies and asked me to dress girly when I came to visit him. Who made my buy coats because they looked nicer, who, when I got a tattoo on my foot asked “Are you going to buy more girly shoes now to show it off”
    It battered my self esteem a bit to be with someone who didn’t quite love me for me, a Doc Marten wearing, generally scruffy looking person, whose appearance hadn’t altered since we were going out, only his attitudes to it. I wish I could say that’s why he’s an ex but I can’t, ah well.

    Louise Mensch can fuck off back to the 1800s. I don’t want a man who wants me to wear dresses and fitted shirts (which incidentally neither flatter my body shape or are EVER COMFORTABLE) and would much prefer someone who wants me as I am, Doc Martens and all. The only woman who shouldn’t be revealing if she wants to be is Mensch, and by that I mean revealing her stupid advice and couldn’t give a monkeys for her clothes.

    • shava12000 says:

      Pure rage still overcomes me when I think of the extraordinary amount of time one of my ex boyfriends spent commenting on my clothes and appearance when I never – NEVER, as in: NOT EVEN ONCE! – mentioned how utterly hideous that favourite orange jumper of his was. Why didn’t I? Cos I had that weird notion that clothes don’t determine a person and that loving someone meant accepting them for who they are rather than manipulating/coercing them into being what you want them to be. I only wish I had discovered my fury then and told him where to go rather than just accepting his supposed ‘right’ to have a view and feeling rubbish about not measuring up to expectations. At least I’ve learned the lesson now. Never again.

      As for Mensch… pfff, I can’t even be arsed to engage with that nonsense. And fortunately, thanks to Cath’s black hole of fury I don’t have to. Double win!

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