In what will come as a shock to absolutely no one, I have a contentious opinion to put forwards.

Tentatively.

I’m not a hundred per cent on any of this: it’s something I’ve been chewing over for the past while, and I’m writing it up because I’d like to hear what other people think. But this is not a definitive statement of my beliefs – rather, it’s an attempt to tease out an idea that may or may not stand up to actual criticism. Still, I think it’s an interesting problem, and I’m going to make an effort.

So:

As things stand, female notions of male sexiness in our culture are deeply problematic, particularly as relates to feminism. Traditional concepts of masculinity – and, by extension, patriarchy – hinge on the three P’s of strength: protectiveness, power, and physique. Feminism has sought to challenge this ideal, emphasising equality, intelligence and agency for both sexes. The P’s aren’t just for men, this argument goes, but even so, they need not and ought not be the defining characteristics of society. Women have taken charge of their own sexuality, and feminists are fiercely – and rightly – determined to protect that agency. And yet, when it comes to male sexuality as coveted by women, it doesn’t seem like much has changed.

To be clear: I am not saying that feminists have never argued against traditional notions of male sexuality, nor that they’ve argued badly. In that respect, what I’m saying isn’t new. But what has struck me recently is the extent to which the three P’s are still used as the basis for male sexiness in narratives written by feminist women – and worse, that the sexiness of female characters is frequently expressed as the ability to provoke those characteristics in men. I do not excuse or exclude myself from that statement. Part of what has prompted me to sit down and write this out is the fact that, in planning romantic and/or emotional encounters between various of my characters – something I do to do help me fall asleep – I’ve been hitting a wall of cultural preconceptions. Like it or not, I have a learned version of sexiness stored in my head, a set of rules to which I’ve subconsciously been adhering, but recently – perhaps because I’ve been thinking about feminism and writing – I’ve started to see that they’re there, and to poke at them.

Here are some of the tropes I’m talking about:

1. A strong female character surrounded by men who find her attractive and a smaller number of rival women will demonstrate her strength by showing up one or more of the women in front of the men, frequently through a refusal to behave in a traditionally feminine (negative) way. This proves she is better than the other women, and therefore more deserving of male companionship, because she does not Play Games.

2. A variant on the above, where the strong female character is picked on by other women in the sight of one or more men who find her attractive, such that her dignity in coping with the situation and/or her subsequent stoicism in refusing to complain about it becomes proof of her strength. In this instance, it is important that the male observer(s) remain concealed and not intervene, ostensibly to show that the woman is strong and can deal with things on her own, or that the man respects this about her, but in reality to ensure that he is later able to confront, comfort and offer to protect her.

3. Male love interests who are physically dominant, who always initiate the first kiss, the first touch, and who might go so far as to hold the heroine’s wrists or push her forcefully against a wall. This would perhaps be less detrimental if it weren’t a default setting – if we saw a comparable number of narratives, or really any number of narratives, where the woman was physically dominant, the first to initiate everything, who pushed or held the man. Instead, the reigning logic says that male dominance is sexy, while female dominance is wanton and potentially pitiable.

4. A more chaste version of the above, but still with sexual overtones: the protective male character who, in response to whatever plot-specific necessity, will grab the heroine, carry, push or embrace her in the name of ensuring her safety, such that the heroine must reflect positively upon and ultimately be made grateful for his physical strength. Again, this would be less detrimental if the reverse situation was equally as popular, but where male protectiveness of women is permitted, female protectiveness of men is seen as emasculating.

5. A strong heroine is shown to be strong by her decision to confront the villain alone, always for noble or altruistic reasons, so that we cannot suspect her of being headstrong or rash. Inevitably, she is injured or overcome in the subsequent confrontation, such that she must be rescued, healed and comforted by a male character, whose protectiveness of her is (of course) sexy. This shapes the heroine as decisive, brave, competent and selfless while still allowing her to be a damsel in distress.

6. A male love interest must be two things: traditionally strong and non-traditionally sensitive. If he is just strong, he is a villain; if he is just sensitive, he is the geeky best friend who lusts after the girl and never actually gets her. (Sidenote: this is one of my LEAST FAVOURITE TROPES EVER.) The combination of strength and sensitivity is explained by trauma in the man’s past, such that the female character, even if she’s the ostensible protagonist, is ultimately bound to a narrative arc designed to orchestrate his redemption. Note that the female character will probably have trauma of her own, but because she is female, her behaviour is never bad enough that she needs redemption: instead, it makes her stoic, so that the male character, as part of his own emotional development, can comfort and protect her.

And so on.

The thing is, though, that what I’ve just described are some of my favourite narrative devices – and I’m not alone in that. It actually hurts me to mock them, on which grounds I’ll beg bias and say that, despite the way I’ve painted them above, they can be done well, to a purpose, in a way that genuinely works. But the problem I’m trying to identify isn’t that such tropes are being used badly. It’s that they’re being used exclusively. They enforce the idea that the only viable definition of male sexiness is the traditional definition of male sexiness. This is tempered and excused in the narrative by the fact that the woman is strong, too, and maybe the man’s a bit sensitive, but what it excludes is the idea that women protecting men is sexy; that men who are just sensitive are sexy; that any alternate permutation is sexy.

I understand the popularity of these tropes: I really do. They appeal to me, and on some level, because I am a product of our culture, I can’t help that. At best, they represent a balance between traditional masculinity and feminism: scenarios where women are strong and competent, but in ways that allow for male protectiveness without emasculation. It’s the perfect compromise. Everybody wins! But at worst, the definition has become a subconscious default, and not one possible option among many. Men can’t be sexy in different ways, this trope says, any more than female strength can be derived from sisterhood, rather than the ability to keep up with and/or impress men by the adoption of traditionally masculine traits. There is only one proper way, and we ought not question it.

In the end, I’m left thinking about this ad, wherein the perfect man is discussed with no small degree of irony. In these tropes, men are shown to be a faultless combination of everything – strength, support and sexiness – while women derive their agency, not from their own selves, but through their ability to attract a man who is strong, supportive, sexy. And when that happens, it stops being female agency, and starts being female worthiness. And that is, I believe, entirely antagonistic to feminism.

So, people: what do you think?

Comments
  1. Kristen says:

    One of the things that I’m finding interesting, particularly in feminist narratives on tumblr, is that I’ll watch as a self-identified feminist proclaims that objectifying women, or conformity to gender norms, to beauty standards, is oppressive, and then proceeds to post photos of both men and women, and sexualise them in commentary. I don’t think we’ve reached a point where we’ve negotiated the divide between ideology and human desire, and we’re not even acknowledging it. Is it because the female gaze is so under-served that we’ve internalised these tropes you discussed? I don’t know, although it seems a logical assumption.

    • fozmeadows says:

      Something that tends to squick me out is when grown women talk about the hotness of teenage/young adult boys – I don’t mean with regard to describing characters, but actual models and actors, like with the tumblr example. If it were a grown man talking about the hotness of teenage/young adult girls, we’d all view it as a form of sleaze or perving, but when women do it, I think there’s something of a tit for tat attitude – that is, because men have done it for so long, women want to have a turn, too, even though they object to it. Not that we don’t all make remarks along the lines of finding such-and-such a person attractive, but somehow it feels more like objectification if the person in question is noticeably younger than the commenter. That’s just an intuition, though.

      • seanwillsalt says:

        I’ve been thinking about the same thing, actually. It’s always weirded me out a little bit when adult readers talk about ‘swooning’ (or, if they’re feeling explicit, ‘lusting’) over teenage characters. Nobody in these books’ respective fandoms seems to find anything strange about it, though.

        • fozmeadows says:

          While we’re on the topic, I feel obliged to point out that I have no objections whatsoever to shipping, which is both fun and awesome – rather, it’s when the only story being told is OMG THEY ARE SOOOOO HOT that I start to cringe.

  2. Brendan Podger says:

    The Lerv interest is something that really astounds me in fiction. The idea that no matter how successful and competent a woman is, she isn’t “complete” until she has “given herself” to some guy makes me want to gag.

    And there is a complaint at the moment that men don’t read women writers, and I think part of this may be because if the there is a male love interest/side-kick in a novel where the main character is a female, the guy is never(well hardly ever) someone they can identify with(Unless it is Fabio reading said book)

    • fozmeadows says:

      The love interest point is well-made. That being said, I don’t think all instances of a female protag and her love interest automatically fall into that category, any more than all instances of a male protag and his love interest automatically infer the same thing about men. But it would be interesting to try and tease out what distinguishes the problematic stories.

  3. […] I read this post about depictions of heterosexual sexiness in fiction, over at Foz Meadows’s blog, about a […]

  4. lamellae says:

    This got me thinking and I ended up putting my thoughts on the topic in a post too – it’s such an interesting area in fiction. I guess the core points that occured to me were:
    – are some of what we see as old fashioned stereotypes driven partly but underlying biology?
    – do we fall back on some gender stereotypes because they offer the type of escapism we’re after?
    – do we ‘disempower’ our male characters if we too strictly ’empower’ our female ones?
    – maybe the really bad gender stereotypes are hiding in our character’s flaws rather than their strengths…

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