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Anthropology His Pretty Nails Parenting

Shush, Daddy’s Being Fabulous

August 13, 2024 87 Comments

From the forthcoming film by Vaishnavi Sundar, Behind The Looking Glass, about women whose partners, or fathers, have ‘transitioned’:

You’ve got to pretend that it’s all okay… You have to realise that your dad has fallen in love with himself, and there’s no part for you in that where you are not just a prop.

It’s like this person came along and said, “You know how you had a dad? Well, that was all a lie. And all that time, your dad didn’t like being your dad.” And my dad was kind of replaced by this other person. This other person who didn’t love me like my dad loved me, wasn’t interested in me like my dad was.

And his love was conditional.

“Your dad has fallen in love with himself, & there is no part for you in there where you are not just a prop.”

There is profound silence surrounding the lives of the children with trans id-ing father. Are they just props used for championing a delusion? #behindthelookingglass https://t.co/MGRE78WGLk pic.twitter.com/aw9yFit55J

— Vaishnavi Sundar (@Vaishax) July 27, 2024

Emma Thomas, the woman recounting her somewhat unorthodox childhood, also appears in this longer interview. The subjects touched on include unmentionable erotic motives, ideological capture, and the experience of watching a man publicly enacting an approximation of breastfeeding. It’s a strange listen, necessarily, a little sad, and sometimes darkly funny.

Ms Thomas also has a blog, Children Of Transitioners, in which she relates her experiences, and those of others, and where she attempts to parse the phenomenon of dads in dresses:

Most people wouldn’t post a picture of themselves in their underwear in this context.

For instance.

Update, via the comments:

Pete SJ visits Ms Thomas’ blog and quotes this:

While many people assume that autogynephilia is all about the clothes, the fact is that children of transitioners are often familiar with the other markers of the condition. When your father wants to go to a bra fitting or make up session with you, or wants to know all about your period, that’s autogynephilia too. If your father is doing this, he is involving you in his erotic world.

Adding,

“Involving you in his erotic world” – an economic summary that catches the ambiguous or boundary-transgressing aspects of the behaviour. 

At which point, this eye-widening saga came to mind.

And note that those applauding Mr Yates, the star of the link above – the bewigged man quizzing schoolgirls about their panties – are overwhelmingly ladies of a progressive leaning. Selling out their own daughters, and the daughters of their neighbours.

In order to be seen holding fashionable views.

Or, as Ms Thomas recounts in the embedded video:

I lived this very, quite sheltered life, really, in some ways, and then I moved to this situation where there are a lot of people who were cross-dressing and, you know, selling sex. There was a guy who was a prostitute. He’d left a wife and two little children to sell sex. He moved in with us for, like, three months. 

So again, some boundaries being tested.

Given the current near-ubiquity of trans activism, it’s curious how little attention is given to estranged wives – ‘trans widows’ – or, as above, estranged children. Who, I suppose, would be ‘trans orphans’.

To which dicentra replies,

When they stick their heads above the parapet they are told to get over their transphobia and affirm their new mum/wife. The term “trans widow” is considered to be transphobic, because of course it is. 

Before citing the following scolding comment, directed at Ms Thomas by a disaffected reader:

“‘Trans widow’ is an appalling term, centring others where the focus should be on the trans person becoming his/her true self. Of course, there have to be difficult adjustments, but this is not death!” 

Yet the popular activist term deadnaming.

And you’d think the news that your husband no longer exists and that your entire marriage was a farce – or that your dad no longer exists and is now competing for the title of mom – or some bizarre hooker aunt – might be a legitimate basis for some, shall we say, irritation.

Even so-called “phobia.”

Update 2:

The entire documentary can now be viewed here.

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Free-For-All Politics

An Unfamiliar Neighbourhood

August 11, 2024 44 Comments

Lifted from the comments, and relevant to the ongoing liveliness, Peter Whittle ponders a recent, very rapid transformation:

The speed of change has been mesmerising. Indeed, lacking any real sense of overarching identity, the need to impose a sense of community has become paramount. Whether locally or, as we see, nationally, never have we heard the word community so bandied about. But it’s all pretend, really. Community was never talked about before, simply because it didn’t have to be. 

 

An animated chart of some relevance.

Update, via the comments:

Regarding the video above, this came to mind. Tim Newman on knowing your neighbours:

The trouble with well-educated, international people like [Kristian] Niemetz is they fall into the trap of meeting foreigners who are much like them except for the accent and assume cultural differences stop there. Of course, if you hang out with academics and white-collar professionals it doesn’t matter if you’re in Berlin, London, Singapore, or Rio de Janeiro, it’s all the same.

But if you live beside someone who has no reason to get up in the morning and decides to play music at full blast until 5am, or deals drugs in the stairwell of your apartment block, or uses it as a toilet, or keys your car on a regular basis, all of a sudden you realise the character of your neighbour becomes central to your quality of life. The only reason Niemetz doesn’t know his neighbour is because the latter is culturally conditioned to be considerate, and to get up at 7am each morning to go to work. If he wasn’t, I suspect Niemetz would know him intimately.

If you start dispensing with old-fashioned ideas like sovereignty and believe a neighbour is no different from a Brussels bureaucrat, you’re going to be in a for a rude awakening when diversity and vibrancy moves in next door. Of course, those who advocate such policies rarely have to live with the consequences.

Having re-read it, it’s not entirely inapt.

Very much related to the above, and because an example is always handy, the rumblings of progressive educator Dr Adam Kotsko:

Given the self-satisfied ignorance on display – or malign perversity – I’m guessing Dr Kotsko doesn’t live in a neighbourhood rapidly being enlivened with Congolese and Somali borra gangs, whose social skills, and machetes, are so much in the news here.

The phenomena that Dr Kotsko is unlikely to experience personally, but which he is keen to see inflicted on others, are helpfully illustrated.

See also Douglas Murray on the Simon Schama tendency:

Schama showed something a lot of us had suspected – which is that for a certain type of globe-trotting international celebrity, any concern for borders, national identity and cultural continuity are not just beneath them, but actively ‘common’.

Of course, like so many other advocates of mass immigration, Simon Schama can live pretty much where he wants. And if the area around him goes somewhat downhill because the neighbours all start to come from the rougher corners of Eritrea, then Simon Schama can move. And he will probably move to a very nice area. But not everybody has that choice.

And one thing we can all be certain of is that Simon Schama will never choose to live in Bradford, Malmo or any of the (dare I say it) ‘suburbs’ outside Paris. Yet all the time he will urge other peoples’ neighbourhoods to more closely resemble those great success stories, and look down at people from an ever-loftier height when they dare to object.

Needless to say, Mr Schama’s own neighbourhood is suitably… insulated.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

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Reheated

Reheated (96)

August 7, 2024 188 Comments

I’ll be taking a break for a few days, and so, to soften this terrible blow, here are some items from the archives:

Role Models, You say.

On the weirdly woke marketing of retailer John Lewis.

In the comments, Liz notes the unhappy combination of baby products and bondage harnesses, and asks, not unfairly, “What the hell were they thinking?”

Well, quite. I was in John Lewis recently, buying towels, and at no point did I feel a need to know about the cross-dressing bondage activities of the sales staff. Whether the person bagging my towels likes to dress up as a pantomime dame while brandishing instruments of torture was not, it has to be said, foremost in my mind…

Whether female customers, the backbone of John Lewis’ customer base, will be inspired to shop harder and more often by the thought of employees bringing their autogynephilia to work remains to be seen. Ditto bondage fantasies and wearing rubber dog costumes. Perhaps well-off ladies in search of posh frocks and upscale furnishings will be dazzled and enchanted by the thought of sad, cross-dressing men in thigh-high boots who like to share photos of themselves smeared with unspecified white substances.

Gardening Gone Wrong.

Four women fondle straw, tongue moss.

Needless to say, the accompanying prose is quite extensive. The words “sustainable heterotopic space of discourse” crop up, obviously, and which, as you can imagine, is an enormous help. Quite how one might “exchange ideas” with a plant is, alas, not divulged. 

Bravely, I Cope With Rejection.

Royal Air Force sidelines fitness tests, prioritises brownness, womb-having.

I’m tempted to ask how these target percentages relate to any actual expressed interest or aptitude – say, among school-leavers – or to any tactical utility, according to which an unusually high number of women and racial minorities would somehow confer a military advantage. Or are they, as seems to be the case, entirely arbitrary?

The paragraph immediately above was posted as a comment on the Personnel Today website. It was held for moderation, then disappeared. 

Why Don’t You Welcome Further Degradation?

Observer columnist excuses habitual, organised shoplifting. Dystopian surrealism ensues.

And so, the preferred, progressive trajectory entails a more demoralised, more dangerous, low-trust society. In which pretty much anything one might wish to buy will be out of reach or shuttered away, and in which every customer will by default be treated as suspicious. Because apparently, we mustn’t acknowledge a difference between the criminal and the law-abiding. Except, that is, to imagine them as more vulnerable than we are.

We will lock up the product, but not the thief. And utopia will surely follow.

Ms Gill is not alone, of course. According to her Guardian colleague Owen Jones, expecting persistent shoplifters to face consequences for their actions is now among “the worst instincts of the electorate.” Because shoplifters are “traumatised,” apparently. The real victims of the drama.

At which point, a thought occurs. If repeated thieving is so high-minded and so easily excused, perhaps Ms Gill and Mr Jones would be good enough to publish their home addresses, the whereabouts of any valuables, and the times at which they’re likely to be out, or at least preoccupied or unconscious.

Or do our betters only disdain other people’s property?

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

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Anthropology Free-For-All Politics

Ten Times, You Say

August 5, 2024 141 Comments

Not entirely unrelated to ongoing events:

Mr Politano, by the way, is a “He/him. Bi/pan.” Just in case it wasn’t clear that he’s better than you.

The subject of social trust – specifically, its erosion – has, of course, been mentioned here before.

Update, via the comments:

From the subsequent rumblings:

The “I can just will myself to have high trust” thing amongst urban liberals sounds almost exactly like when people try polyamory and obviously fucking hate it, but have philosophical commitments that force them to work through it anyway.

It does rather call to mind numerous polyamory ‘cope’ videos, in which clearly neurotic and unhappy people try to convince themselves that they’re totally cool with their chosen lifestyle miseries. Often while on the verge on tears.

You can say you have high trust, but I know that you got screamed at by a crazy person one night when you were leaving the bar and now you’re scared to walk home alone, and I know that your bicycle was stolen last year and now you feel a low level of panic about securing your new bike every night.

If you want to wake up every morning and repeat into the mirror that you don’t actually mind that there are strangers fucking your girlfriend, then that’s your own private business. But the world exists independently of your framing of it.

Pretending not to see the obvious implications of, say, this phenomenon here, and variations thereof, or this lively, uplifting scene, is, I suppose, a skill of sorts. But I wouldn’t say that such pretensions are a basis for applause.

Update 2:

And speaking of practised unrealism:

As Steve E adds, drily,

That cat will start behaving like a dog any day now.

The idea that there may be very real physical constraints on some favoured policy – that reality may not comply with half-baked theory – seems entirely alien to Mr Snow. An attitude not uncommon among his progressive peers, and which may help explain the lively events currently underway in several British cities.

Mr Snow, since you ask, is married to the philanthropist Lady Edwina Louise Grosvenor, daughter of the sixth Duke of Westminster, one of the country’s richest landowners, with an estimated fortune north of £7 billion. Needless to say, Mr Snow does not live in, or anywhere near, the kinds of “diverse” neighbourhoods now being trashed and terrorised by competing tribes.

Tribes that apparently shouldn’t exist.

Also open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

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Ephemera

Friday Ephemera (731)

August 2, 2024 160 Comments

Memorable watermelon. || Maybe it’s a meat thing. || Monster competition, 1967. || Mirror for sale. || Two men with placards, an exchange of ideas ensues. || The thrill of watching dough. || Card game. || How to earn a doctorate in psychology. || She’s got a big one. || Bouncy. || Just one job. || One of these things is not like the others. || You want one and you know it. || Oh glorious enrichment. || We revolve around him, you know. || Cinema snacks. || Fancy a little chicken? || Not unfair. || No, I insist, ladies first. || It’s “gender affirming,” see. || A compendium of profanities, sorted by subject and rudeness. From cobblers and cack to putain de merde and cona da tua mãe. || Stiff competition for food. || “Unfortunately, the cost of this mistake is quite high.” || And finally, funereal scenes.

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In which we marvel at the mental contortions of our self-imagined betters.