From that organ of Our Betters – the New York Times Magazine – a question of throbbing import:

Because intimate relationships, even love, must, it seems, have political utility. It’s like dating, but For The Cause.

However,

Again, note the subordination of attraction, love, a lifelong bond, to a predetermined political goal. Readers are welcome to speculate as to how a sufficiently brown and exotic mate might regard her supposed utility as a tool to “combat racism.” Being a component of someone else’s strategy.

Oh, there’s more:

I know, ladies. He’s such a catch. You’re ovulating as I type.

One might call that neuroticism. Or a warning sign.

And so, the language of amour now includes the terms implicit bias and kyriarchy. Oh silver-tongued charmer. If readers sense the presence of an elaborate, rather contrived sorting fetish, well, hold that thought.

And what woman wouldn’t be charmed by the comparison with sprouts, kale, and other bitter foods? You see, ladies, if he can overcome the initial revulsion, and if he can suppress the gag reflex for long enough, he may, in time, find you palatable. You’d be the fibre in his diet.

Update:

If the contortions above sound familiar, you may be thinking of this item here. In which, Melissa Fabello, a “community educator” and former editor of Everyday Feminism, insists that “when you’re a white person in an interracial relationship, there’s this whole – ohhh, ya know – white supremacy thing hanging in the air.” A “white supremacy thing” that “has to be acknowledged – and dealt with – constantly.”

Ms Fabello’s ideal interracial relationship is, it turns out, one based on mutual awkwardness and regular confessions of “whiteness,” and in which any sexual activity “should be considered in relation to social power.” Which, again, does rather suggest an elaborate fetish. A weird, neurotic kink.

Oh, and according to Ms Fabello, if your partner-of-colour’s family-of-colour don’t want to meet you, a person of pallor, or have you in their home, then, obviously, this is all your fault. Because “you represent an oppressive system” by “virtue of your privileges.”

Such are the agonies of the pious.

And other modern dramas.

First, from the comments, where Clam warns,

Regarding this:

What grates, I think, is the routine overstepping of boundaries, the casual insult. Judging by the transgressive sandwiches, to which the note is attached, it seems the child was prevented from eating and, presumably, publicly embarrassed.

A while ago, one of my nieces received a snotty note scolding her for sending her son to school with a packed lunch consisting of a banana and a peanut butter sandwich, an occasional treat. Apparently, peanut butter, like jam, is a verboten foodstuff. And so, as a result, someone is employed to poke through children’s lunch boxes and to then write snotty notes to parents. A function doubtless enjoyed.

But here’s the thing. If you aren’t paying for something directly, even if you’re still paying indirectly, via taxes, you won’t by default be regarded as a customer, for whom some minimal regard might be shown, and whose boundaries should be respected. Instead, it’s quite likely you’ll be treated as an inconvenience, an irritation, someone who can be insulted and subjected to condescension.

See also, our glorious NHS.

The item linked above recounts, in abbreviated form, my attempt to return a set of crutches to the local NHS hospital – and how an ostensibly simple task became a 45-minute ordeal with farcical overtones. Entailing a trek of a half a mile or so, down endless corridors on multiple floors, from one department to another, then another, then another. An odyssey enlivened by encounters with bizarrely rude and unhelpful staff, and while walking past posters stressing the moral imperative of patients returning their crutches. An undertaking made as impractical, as maddening, and as absurdly complicated, as would seem humanly possible.

And it’s not entirely heartening to realise, as you trek down yet another corridor, that you’re entrusting your wellbeing, perhaps even your life, to an institution that can’t organise a practical system for the returning of crutches.

Oh, and while I have your attention, I bring dating instructions from the land of the badly tattooed and terminally self-involved:

Please update your files and lifestyles accordingly.

Also, open thread.

Lifted from the comments, via Mr Muldoon, a rather coy omission:

Roxanne Tickle has won her discrimination case against the social media app ‘Giggle for Girls’, which blocked her from joining on the basis of being male. This is a step forward in ensuring transgender women are not discriminated against on the basis of their gender identity. pic.twitter.com/552Qq6r2KJ

— Amnesty International (@amnesty) August 23, 2024

A less pretentious, and rather more frank, account of the above can be found here. Note that Mr Tickle – Roxy Tickle – was enabled in his mission by the University of New South Wales, via a $50,000 grant, and that his methods of persuasion included equating insufficiently compliant women with the Ku Klux Klan, and making phone calls to the site’s owner at her home.

When not suing women who would rather not participate in his fantasies of sudden-onset womanhood, Mr Tickle spends his time sharing Instagram photographs of his underwear and neck hair, and cartoon sex toys.

Readers are invited to imagine the mindset of Amnesty International and their fellow enthusiasts of transgression. A mindset in which you have to pointedly not share an obviously relevant piece of information in order to maintain the pretence of righteousness:

Or, “If we let them see the reality of the situation, they won’t comply. So we mustn’t let them see the reality of the situation.”

Imagine that’s your thought process, consciously or otherwise.

A more honest and realistic report might say, “Weirdly vindictive cross-dressing man launches three-year-long harassment campaign against women who object to the imposition of his compulsions – namely, making women and girls uncomfortable for his own gratification.”

Or, “Weirdly vindictive cross-dressing men who exult in violating the normal boundaries of women and girls are an obvious danger, and should be regarded accordingly.”

Something along those lines.

Update, via the comments,

Mags asks,

Once registered, it is an oddly common phenomenon.

Pst314 adds,

Well, the blunting of normal, quite rational discernment does seem to be the goal. As Ms Grover put it,

From the Reddit forum r/mypartneristrans, a tale of romantic complication:

The feeling of being, shall we say, misled can do that, I suppose.

Twist incoming.

Oh my, a spotlight shared. Awkward. Or, “Woman who wants to pretend she’s a gay man is thwarted by male partner now wanting to pretend he’s a woman, resulting in something not unlike straightness, albeit with extra steps.”

As I said, complications.

Readers are welcome to speculate as to whose feelings are more, er, valid in the scenario above.

And before you ask, the outlook isn’t great:

Update, via the comments:

Regarding this,

Mags adds,

Indeed. A notable omission. One that results in finger-wagging from fellow forum regulars:

It’s a bold claim. And despite which, the person being scolded, a woman who expects to be taken seriously as a man, can’t bring herself to take seriously as a woman her own male partner. There’s no she or her, just a grudging them. Which does rather cast some doubt on the broader enterprise.

Readers who poke through the subsequent replies will note how almost any kind of questioning – even expressions of surprise and concern from an intimate partner – is promptly dismissed as “hurtful,” “transphobic,” and “pretty shitty,” something to apologise for. As if anything short of immediate and gushing affirmation – pretty much any hesitation at all – were an act of wickedness.

Also, this caught my eye:

Which is something of a drawback, given the odds on that matter.

One of the commenters then replies that “drag queen is a look,” by which they mean valid, a possible aspiration, and that one should “interrogate those feelings” that looking like a drag queen is probably not ideal.

Via Rafi.

In other, happier news, open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

Are you ready for a “genderqueer planet”? Of course you are. And obviously, you have questions.

Thank goodness a teacher walks among us, a guide to what lies ahead. Meet Laura (formerly Lawrence) Jacobs, a man who describes himself as “trans and genderqueer-identified, kinky and non-monogamous,” and as a “lesbian” with “multiple intersecting identities.” And – because the universe has a sense of humour – a psychotherapist.

Above, Mr Jacobs and his lingerie.

When not offering his expertise to prostitutes and “unicorns,” and devotees of polyamory and nipple clamps, Mr Jacobs shares his feverish visions with those less enlightened:

It’s all terribly exciting:

Get ready for flowerplasty https://t.co/gj5MQlgsUG

— Σ𝕏ulansic 🦎 (@TTExulansic) October 25, 2023

Readers with a taste for “empowered acts of self-creation,” and an unstable sense of self, will find much to chew on. The promise of wonders as yet unimagined. Because those bizarre, prosthetic pseudo-genitals will be “valid and valued.” And crowds will surely come.

Though given the limitations of current technology, as illustrated vividly here, you may have to wait a while.

Still, while you look forward to all those below-the-belt upgrades, you could always book a Zoom session and whet that appetite. You see, Mr Jacobs is more than a mere psychotherapist. He’s a full-on guru, practically a messiah:

Yes, those repeatedly mutilated novelty genitals – the ones that, if you squint, look like flowers or abstract sculpture – will light the way.

Batteries not included.