The shape of a woman
It’s a wonder that more women don’t kill themselves, or at least wither away into nonexistence, given the amount of ‘I just want to wither away and die’ moments that seem to plague women. Women hate other women, magazines hate women, the interwebs hates women (especially rubinesque ones that frequent big-box stores), I could go on.
But, as much as men may be vain, superficial creatures, most men love most women. And not just as sexual playthings (does everyone really look good in the dark?). At their core, men seem envious of what women can accomplish with so little, especially in the way of bringing comfort (from cooking, to decorating, to our ability to soothe and coo even the douchiest of humans). And since most men’s tiny brains can’t get past that these abilities are not intrinsically feminine, and therefore not damaging to their machismo, they need women.
What’s the saying? Something like, ‘women dress for other women, so we usually dress like we hate our bodies’. Perhaps it’s as simple as men enjoy the window dressing, but can’t be bothered with all the fussiness. Too bad I like to make a fuss…