The Word You’re Looking For
Come, let us turn to the pages of Men’s Health, where Zachary Zane, a “sex writer, author, and ethical Boyslut,” answers “pressing sex questions with thorough, actionable advice.”
“Boyslut,” by the way, is,
Not just open, but very, very open.
You see,
Hundreds of people. Of all genders. Hold that thought.
Now, on to the meat of things – the problem faced by Men’s Health reader, Small and Scared:
For the sake of those with delicate sensibilities, I’ll spare you much of the subsequent reply, which concerns insecurities, dodgy surgeries, and “a world obsessed with penis size.” However, the following did catch the eye.
At which point, readers may note a curious, rather mannered choice of language, an odd asymmetry. Throughout the piece, men are referred to as, well, men; while women – the sex equipped with vulvas and such – are acknowledged as “a person with a vulva,” or “vulva-owners,” or as some disembodied “vulva,” on which sex is performed.
As if one were being intimate only with an abstracted set of genitals, and not with the woman of whom those genitals are a part.
Whether women so described are likely to be grateful for this phrasing, and instantly aroused by such erotic poetry, I leave to others. Though I’m now wondering whether the publication in which the above appears should be renamed Prostate-Havers’ Health, or Beings With Penis Health. Something along those lines. Or would that be silly?
Also, open thread. Share ye links and bicker.
Before you ask, the terms “penis owners” and “person with a penis” have cropped up before in other articles, by other authors, in the same publication. Though, again, there’s a mannered inconsistency. It’s both clunky and a little confusing.
They make it sound like a car.
Well, yes. Quite. And which in turn calls to mind a combination of sexual performance tips and, er, Jeremy Clarkson.
I’ll just leave you with that mental image.
Detachable Penis.
I was previously unfamiliar with the works of… [ squints ] King Missile.
Fixed it for him.
I’m slightly surprised that these magazines still exist. They strike me as hangovers from the 90s. As the covers invariably feature shirtless male models or shirtless male celebrities, or shirtless men of some sort, I’d assumed the readership was in large part one of gay men. Though the magazine’s media pack makes no mention of this.
The UK edition of Men’s Health currently claims an average circulation of around 70,000, though that includes freebies, and the figure is shrinking rapidly, around 20% in the last year. Its readers are apparently “affluent, intelligent and successful.”
Yet seemingly rather unsure of female physiology.
Her narcissism was not indulged.
Heh. Last time I saw a copy was not too long ago at my sister-in-law’s house. Her husband had a subscription and my only thought was being surprised magazine subscriptions were still a thing. Now I get to be surprised all over again. This is great…well…not really…
…“a person with a vulva,” or “vulva-owners,”…
TBF, I have been lead to believe, though decorum prevents me from searching let alone pasting a link, there are cheaper sporting versions of these teaching aids, so indeed one could be an owner.
Even though a legitimate educational device, caution is advised. Before anyone asks, yes, there is one for prostate-havers. These days it would not surprise me if there was a sporting version, but am happy to maintain my ignorance.
It’s like some kind of gynaecological playset. Weebles come to mind.
OK… I have questions…like, all those items on the right…should we have been replacing those gaskets at some regular time interval? Is there a specific spec or is it something I can just pick up at Lowe’s? I might need to tell my niece about this…
Snort. Does it come with a plastic treehouse?
Her narcissism was not indulged.
Yet again, a hissy fit in a car. Why???
Does it come with a plastic treehouse?
Clam asks about the device, irony can be pretty ironic…
As if Monday’s weren’t bad enough already.
Because she got kicked out of Starbucks?
There’s no need to thank me. It’s done entirely out of kindness.
I’m assuming the words pretentious bint would be frowned upon, too.
I’m assuming the words pretentious bint would be frowned upon, too.
It’s like some kind of gynaecological playset
Looks like Mr Potato Head. Or Mrs.
is it like ‘Operation’? Does a buzzer go off if you touch the sides?
Heh.
Wait, you mean in real life?
is it like ‘Operation’? Does a buzzer go off if you touch the sides?
From earlier in the sexual revolution…
Hissy fit in a car?
Easy answer:
Several years ago I followed a link to a hiking magazine that had a story lauding its inclusionary skills: the establishing of a group for LGBTQLSMFT+ that nature had apparently previously excluded.
The story was about multiple people, so of course “they” featured prominently. Moreover, several members of the group identified as “they”.
The story was practically unreadable.
So, no, I will not assist in vandalizing English. “It”, however, is available.
It’s somehow appropriate that someone with a micro-brain answers a question from someone with a micro-penis. Disney was prophetic, it’s a small world after all.
I’m sorry I read it as Volvo owners and it took a minute or so to reunderstand his point.
let us turn to the pages of Men’s Health
Does this run parallel to Women’s Health that we hear so much about? I imagine there is plenty of advice for opting out when men become pregnant.
Not current year, but very now.
By the way, I have to say, Mike Flanagan’s latest Netflix horror series, The Fall of the House of Usher, isn’t very good. Five episodes in and my patience and goodwill have been sorely tested. Of the three Flanagan series I’ve seen, this is by far the weakest. Usually, Flanagan gets a lot right along the way, but stumbles with the endings. Here, there are stumbles all the way through. Episode five, which I watched last night, is aggravatingly bad.
The nods to Poe are superficial, sometimes contrived, and instead of the usual conjuring of atmosphere and suspense, the series relies heavily on gore and jump scares, most of which don’t quite hit the mark. The pacing is flat, there’s no sense of looming dread, and at this point, with three episodes left, ploughing on to the finale just feels like an existing commitment, not a pleasure. And even some of the acting is kind of meh. Bruce Greenwood and Carl Lumbly are good, but whenever T’Nia Miller delivers her surly, impassioned lines, I keep falling out of the story.
Also, having a majority of the Usher children be racial and sexual minorities may have been an attempt at making some kind of political point – HEY, LOOK AT ALL THE BROWN AND GAY – but it also adds another layer of contrivance, another obstacle to immersion.
As so often, the Rotten Tomatoes critic score is a little puzzling.
See also this.
Hack media strikes again.
the establishing of a group for LGBTQLSMFT+ that nature had apparently previously excluded.
Their proclivities were obvious, and the two of them joined us on safari (morning bush walks fraught with peril, a must) This in a country where gay activity is illegal. There was neither let nor hindrance to their enjoyment of the wilds, and I presume the government turns a blind eye when hard currency is being bandied about.
The 90% score is a little odd. The drop in quality from previous offerings is quite obvious, and obvious from the start. With only three episodes left, there’s been nothing to match, say, the opening accident of Midnight Mass, or the later scene in which the crippled girl confronts the drunk who crippled her. Indeed, as yet, there’s been no emotional engagement to be had. It’s all rather flat. Episode five in particular is in almost every respect a mess.
You might enjoy reading about this very balanced play concerning a trans activist interviewing J K Rowling.
Maniacs, but not monomaniacs.
Teetering between horrid and dreadful.
I guess I’m getting old, but I have a hard time respecting any adult who calls himself a “boyslut.”
Grow up, fella. You’re a “manslut” or just a plain “slut.” Take your choice.
Grow up, fella. You’re a “manslut” or just a plain “slut.” Take your choice.
Hebitch manho also works.
It seems I need to stop commenting here so often — I’m repeating myself.
I’d assumed the readership was in large part one of gay men
It is. Always has been. Some clueless suburbanites don’t see it.
Flanagan gets a lot right along the way, but stumbles with the endings.
IIRC, that was the bane of The Haunting of Hill house, which built great momentum until the final episode when it veered sideways into mawkish family melodrama.
The nods to Poe are superficial
The only correspondence between the Netflix version of Hill House was the title and the names of some of the characters. There’s a Cormanesque mockbuster feel to those efforts, as if a completely different script was purchased and produced and lightly modified at the last minute to suck in unwary viewers familiar with the name.
The finale of Hill House wasn’t entirely successful, no. After a promising opening, it sagged a little, lost some deftness and economy, and felt removed in tone from previous, better episodes. As I think I said at the time, by the end, the drama was practically tripping over the florid dialogue.
Likewise, Midnight Mass, in which the set-up is much better than the pay-off. The finale’s side-lining of the priest, who all but carries the thing, doesn’t help matters. Instead, we get lots of running about, which is much less engaging than what preceded it.
House of Usher has some nice touches – background shadows that inexplicably move, that kind of thing. But as a series, I couldn’t recommend it.
Try sitting here, matey.
felt removed in tone from previous, better episodes
I would bet money that Netflix had acquired, separately, a script about a family that dissolves as the result of a mother’s mental illness and resultant suicide and the Haunting of Hill House license, and lacking the money to produce both simply smashed them together in a low-rent version of Hereditary.