While often taken for a nihilist, I am no atheist. And even if I were inclined towards upholding theological nullification, I would hold no candle for the likes of Richard Dawkins, who, in his non-scientific writings, strikes me not as a thoughtful doubter but a smug, arrogant egotist more concerned with self-promotion and the attainment of cult-of-personality status than the disinterested pursuit of truth for its own sake.
Given his unlikeable personality, and some generally loathsome propensities, I find myself thoroughly surprised at my current desire to defend Dawkins against those of his own camp who have turned against him in an ideologically-driven snit recently. But then, an overarching concern with opposing the Zeitgeist’s smelly little orthodoxies at every turn can make for strange bedfellows sometimes.
I suppose, however, that it isn’t really Dawkins with whom I sympathize in this silly little controversy involving a silly little feminist blogger and her hapless, dorky would-be elevator-wooer in the aftermath of what was certainly a silly little atheist conference filled with hapless and dorky attendees in Dublin last month. I’ll certainly roll my eyes if Dawkins bows to pressure and perpetrates a Tracy Morgan-esque craven apology for being such a wretched “sexist,” or whatever they’re saying he is. But ultimately, it’s none of my concern what Dawkins does, or doesn’t do. However he elects to respond, verily, he has his reward.
No, for me the truly galling aspect of the “elevator-gate” pseudo-scandal only becomes apparent when one reads between the lines, and considers what is being said and left unsaid in the reportage of what should have been a non-event.
As we all know by now, “Skepchick,” a young, bespectacled, sour-faced female-supremacist, was invited to speak at the World Atheist Convention, a godless gathering at a hotel in Dublin, Ireland. (Goddess only knows why she was invited, and I’m frankly uninterested in speculating; I’ve never claimed to understand the rhetorical tastes of atheists, feminists, or atheist-feminists.) After her speech, at 4 a.m., whilst taking the elevator up to her room, Skeptical-chicky was awkwardly propositioned by a man she apparently regarded as an unappealing nerd. She turned down his advances, and he meekly relented, in good beta-male fashion, exited the elevator, and slunk away to his room for a heavy date with his right hand.
Spoiled, bitchy womanist princess puts horny, harmless dork in his place.
End of story, right?
In fact, Skepchick, seething over this pre-rape hostile-environment trauma she was forced to endure on the lift, elected to blog about it later, where she huffed about suffering the indignity of being “sexualized.” Poor thing! Richard Dawkins responded to this childishness with haughty mockery, and then found himself under fire for his display of ungallant chauvinism, or something. And Skep-chickypoo added fuel to the fire by calling Dawkins a “privileged” White Male Sexist Dog, or words to that effect.
So the matter stands. Whatever. If feminists want to complain about being sexualized, I guess they can knock themselves out. Reasonable people will find their complaints tiresome and stupid. If someone “sexualizes” you, that means, in plain English, that he finds you attractive, right? Why would this possibly be taken as anything other than a compliment? Moreover, the man in the elevator wasn’t annoyingly persistent, nor threatening. Save for his unsavory overtures, he seems to have behaved like a perfect gentleman (albeit of the nerdy variety). Only a thoroughly ideologized feminist could manage to find menace in such a circumstance.
But therein, I suspect, lies the rub. Clearly our Skepchick was annoyed because she found her interlocutor unattractive. One wonders how she would have reacted if some atheist stud of Brad Pitt or Matt Damon-esque handsomeness had asked to attend her to her Skepchicky suite for a nightcap. One gathers that she may have had rather a different reaction if she’d regarded her potential suitor as a hot piece of man-meat. She probably would at least have blushed and giggled, while running a finger through her hair and coyly biting her lower lip, instead of rolling her eyes and stomping her feet with furious annoyance at the awful impertinence of his behavior. Whether she’d take him up on his proposal, I don’t pretend to know, but I will go so far as to surmise that she almost certainly wouldn’t bitch about the incident later on her blog, or treat the man’s proposition as rape-waiting-to-happen, or symbolic rape, or other such ideological rot.
Several years ago, I remember watching Chris Rock weigh in on the then-topical Clarence Thomas-Anita Hill hearings. If Justice Thomas had resembled Denzel Washington, Rock opined, Ms. Hill would never have complained about anything. Expanding this observation into a broader context, the caustic comedian declared that “sexual harassment” is often just, as Rock put it, “when ugly guys try to get some.” When women dislike the attention, as they are more likely to do when they find the man unattractive, they are more likely to claim to have been harassed or improperly “sexualized.”
Thus, it would seem that the gravest societal victims of this malignant strain of radical feminism represented by “Skepchick” are average or below-average looking men. In addition to having been denied the physical blessings given to the handsomer of the male species, they are now commonly regarded with self-righteous rage as piggish harassers and potential rapists if they ever decide to be bold with the ladies.
Think about it: Has Skepchick ever apologized to the poor guy she insulted and impugned on her blog? Has anyone even asked her to do so? She was perfectly within her rights to reject him, but how sporting is it, really, to hold him up for sanctimonious ridicule in the aftermath of spurning his feeble advances?
As anyone who regards my mugshot below might guess—yes, as a below-average looking man, I do rather take offense at this seldom-mentioned double standard. It’s high time someone stands up for the ugly guy.
Stepchick, we’ve got your kind outnumbered. We are prouder and more powerful than you think. We refuse to apologize for our existence. We’re here, we’re ugly, we have sex drives, we sometimes hit on women out of our league. Get used to it.