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

“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:

For instance.

Update, via the comments:

Pete SJ visits Ms Thomas’ blog and quotes this:

Adding,

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:

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,

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

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.

Or, And This Is Mommy’s Snatch.

Yes, I’m reading Scary Mommy, where exclamation points abound, and where ladies of a progressive leaning share their political radicalism. In this case, Ms Kate Auletta, the publication’s editor-in-chief, is thrilling us with tales of her domestic nakedness:

It seems, then, that the nudity is not so much shared, a gift to the world, but more something inflicted. Specifically, on the author’s two small boys. I’ll spare you the lengthy description of Ms Auletta’s various physical imperfections – the rolls of excess flesh, the big, sagging bosom, and the whole Fat Upper Pubic Area thing.

I’m assuming she means naked in the changing rooms, though any observance of such boundaries is not made clear.

At which point, sharp-eyed readers may be attempting to reconcile this,

With this:

Come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure what loving one’s body might mean, beyond the obvious off-colour jokes. But apparently, it’s something that one is supposed to proclaim as an accomplishment, a credential of progressivism. I have, however, noted that it tends to be announced by people whose declared triumph in this matter is not altogether convincing, and whose basis for doing so is generally much slimmer than they are.

Still, there are the obligatory noises to be made, and empowerment to invoke:

There we go. Because, clearly, it’s a blow to the Patriarchy, a radical act. A feat of progressive heroism. Not just some incongruous crack and badger. Come up onstage to collect your certificate and enamel badge. Everyone applaud.

That’s quite enough. You can stop now.

No, really. We have everything we need, madam.

So, again, it’s all about empowerment and “body positivity,” you see. Oceans of self-love. Or at least the intermittent appearance of such. Something done “without a care,” except “on most days.”

It must be quite strange to go through life feeling a need to boast in print of some pointed behaviour – specifically, “showing my sons what a real woman’s body… looks like” – as if this feat of not wearing knickers were somehow radical, empowering, and a basis for applause. And to then have to justify this lifestyle affectation in ways that are somewhat contradictory and not particularly convincing. As if no-one would notice. It seems a lot of effort.

When not treating her small boys to the sight of her arse and undercarriage, Ms Auletta offers other educational experiences:

Those lucky, lucky kids. How the time must fly.

Previously in the world of Scary Mommy:

Empowered woman dreams of Donald Trump, has panic attacks.

Empowered woman, user of Xanax, suffers from internalised capitalism.

Another empowered lady and her mood-stabilising medication.

A tale of laundry and resentment.

On auras, emanations, and paranormal parenting.

Empowered woman, who is in no way unhinged, teaches her small children to scream profanities at random people.

There’s more, should you want it, if you poke through the archives.

Update, via the comments:

Regarding the six items linked above, Aitch adds,

Not an unfair question. What with the recurring motif of mood-stabilising drugs, the existential trauma of hearing differing views, the lurid fantasies regarding Mr Trump, or the obsessive thoughts about babies heads spontaneously falling off. To say nothing of how often these preoccupations bedevil ladies who are employed, or have been employed, as public-school educators.

I should add that the links at the end of the post are but a small sample. I can’t monitor Scary Mommy around the clock. And frankly, I wouldn’t care to.

It’s rather like the now-defunct Everyday Feminism, a publication once very popular among the super-woke, with over four million monthly visitors, had an extraordinary number of articles, several every week, on the subject of living with mental illness. From delusions of witchcraft to serious Cluster-B personality disorders.

But among progressive women, there is, I think, a pattern. One that’s fairly hard to miss.

Though doubtless many try.

Lifted from the comments, a difference of worldview:

From subsequent rumblings in the linked threads,

Some replies bemoan patriotism and a sense of affinity with one’s country, while others denounce “supremacist systems and the myth of meritocracy.” At which point, readers may object that being born in a relatively congenial part of the world is not a “privilege,” or by implication a basis for guilt, or a Gotcha! to be exploited by others. Any more than being born somewhere less congenial is a sin, a thing for which to atone.

Readers may also note how an alleged randomness, in which differences in outcome can only be explained by pillage and oppression, and in which nothing has ever been earned, can, for some, be ideologically convenient. And a habit of mind.

“I think they know they ‘got lucky’ but don’t really care,” chides one of the subsequent commenters. “Everything is luck and random chance,” insists another. Note the implication that the comfort and agreeableness of a society is merely a matter of chance, of luck. As if the preceding cultivation of values and behaviour played no part whatsoever. As if culture and civilisation didn’t matter.

You can of course say that a newborn played no part in preceding events and cannot take credit for them. But those preceding events were in large part a product of collective effort, of a preference for one kind of society over another, and of people, including one’s ancestors, behaving accordingly. The “relative safety” of the country in which one is born is not some arbitrary, unrelated thing. It doesn’t arise simply by “random chance.” A person doesn’t just happen to be born into a context that their parents also just happened to be born into.

I could not have been born to Mr and Mrs Jeong in South Korea, any more than I could have been born to a Yemeni peasant couple, or a Californian billionaire. Much as I – the person talking to you now – could not have been born in 1652. The newborn me was a result of a particular lineage, of choices made by specific individuals and the genes of those individuals – who can of course say the same thing about themselves. To imply that anyone’s birth is a random thing, as if it could have happened anywhere, at any time, as if the particulars were immaterial, is, it seems to me, a little odd. Indeed, arse-backwards. And I doubt that many parents see the birth of their child as some random occurrence, unmoored from any context or preceding events. I’d imagine it wouldn’t seem random at all.

Or, as Mr Burkett puts in in the thread linked above,

Unless you imagine a queue of souls waiting to spawn in some small but arbitrary body on a continent chosen by the spin of a wheel. Or cosmic bingo balls.

Update, via the comments:

Ian adds,

In one of the threads or sub-threads on X, Geoffrey Miller and others point out that civilisations are built by, among other things, lineage, ancestry, and no small effort over vast stretches of time. Often with a view to posterity and giving one’s offspring a better life. This prompts someone to reply, rather sniffily, “It’s only by chance you were born to said ancestors.”

As if one could have entirely different ancestors who are entirely unconnected to the ancestors one does actually have. As if, while having entirely different ancestors, you could somehow be exactly the same person you are now, and not someone else. A hypothetical being. The assertion – that a specific person being born in a functional society was some random, meaningless occurrence and somehow unfair – is often deployed by people whose goals are rather questionable.

One commenter, a “pansexual she/her,” insists that civilisations are built by “stealing and oppressing other people.” Other, more edifying variables are not deemed interesting. I’m guessing that our “pansexual she/her,” the one who doesn’t think that lineage and genetic continuity play a role of any importance, isn’t herself a parent. And therefore hasn’t had the strange pleasure of seeing her children develop the features and attributes of various relatives. A sister, an uncle, a grandfather.

Regarding which, commenter Uma Thurman’s Feet adds,

Which is sort of why the Rawlsian tosh mouthed above, and mouthed so triumphantly, with such self-satisfaction, is ultimately unconvincing. Not only is it glib and arse-backwards, it also rather jars with the imperatives and experience of parenting.

Consider this an open thread.

A while ago, following this display of progressive parenting, I wrote,

A quip that resulted in some rumblings on the topic of marriage and shared surnames, or the lack thereof. In the comments, Steve E noted,

And Ray added,

As I said at the time, I don’t have strong feelings on the subject, but it occurs to me that not taking your husband’s surname, ostensibly as some Assertion Of Progress And Enlightenment – while retaining what is presumably your father’s surname – does create complications.

For instance, having different surnames can confuse people as to whether you’re married or not, and if so, to whom. And any children with hyphenated surnames – a fashionable statement of the aforementioned Progress And Enlightenment – will then face the issue of what to do when they get married, especially if it’s to someone whose own name is also modishly hyphenated. Do they ditch some of the accumulated names – and if so, which ones? Or do they go for multiply hyphenated surnames, which would very quickly become a bit much?

Say, if Derek Williams and Sarah Anderson get married but retain their own surnames, and their children’s surnames are hyphenated as Anderson-Williams, they may enjoy a sheen of modernity, and perhaps connotations of aristocracy and status. But what happens when little Annie Anderson-Williams grows up and wants to marry James Houghton-Clompington? Do we get a brood of Anderson-Williams-Houghton-Clompingtons?

I’m exaggerating for comic effect, of course. But only slightly.

As a new, supposedly more equitable tradition – at least outside of the Spanish-speaking world – it seems scarcely less prone to complication and trade-offs. When hyphenated offspring come to name their own children – and if they follow the same rules as their hyphenated parents – the whole thing rapidly becomes unworkable, and, at risk of causing offence, names will have to be cut. Lest each child sound like a law firm.

Though I suppose one could take it as a kind of unintended symbolism, a measure of modern progressivism. In that, the problem it allegedly addresses doesn’t seem to be much of a problem for most of those it supposedly oppresses, and the solution offered is somewhat short-sighted and soon results in something close to absurdity.

In the original thread, pst314 added,

Also, among gay couples. Though gay couples tend not to result in children, thereby sidestepping the issue of escalating hyphenation and a society-wide overhaul of stationery, due to the need to enlarge the ‘print name’ and ‘signature’ boxes on every official form.

What brought to mind the above was this:

1) A family is a unit and should all share the same name, however that’s decided. You could choose the mother’s name or you could choose a random name, I guess, but they need to share a common name.

2) There’s a strong case that you really want to throw dads a bone with respect… https://t.co/xjCFIctVop

— wanye (@wanyeburkett) April 22, 2024

And subsequently, this:

Anytime I hear somebody say within earshot of a new father anything that sounds even remotely like, “he doesn’t really look like him, more takes after his mom” I’m filled with the sense that we have lost touch with some very basic and important loadbearing structures.

— wanye (@wanyeburkett) April 22, 2024

According to Finnegans Take, above, “equality requires sacrifice,” and it’s “honestly insane” that the husband and father’s surname is commonly the one taken. A convention that is, we’re told, “obviously misogynistic” and “obviously a practice to move away from.” “I’m proud to say my child will be taking her mother’s name,” he adds. Which, while aired in overheated terms, at least avoids the Looming Hyphenation Crisis.

Though I’m not sure why pride should be a factor, or why perpetuating the mother’s surname – but not the father’s – should be construed as any more equal, or somehow more fair.

Update, via the comments:

In the Atlantic article that prompted the exchange embedded above, its author, Michael Waters, notes,

This is announced almost mournfully, and the term “habitual and unconscious” is deployed, much like the claim by Finnegans Take that the matter “gets basically zero attention,” as if people getting married never, ever consider the issue at all. Rather than the possibility that many people do consider the matter, but may simply arrive at conclusions that suit themselves and their families, rather than pleasing an Atlantic columnist whose “constellation of personal obsessions” include “queer history,” and who, inevitably, lives in Brooklyn.

This is followed by the sombre news:

Failed, you hear. Failed. How disappointing you people are.

We’re also told that “the rate at which parents are choosing not to marry has risen dramatically over the past 50 years.” With one quoted sociologist adding, “I think you can say with a very high degree of confidence that unmarried parents are less likely to pass down the father’s last name.”

So there’s that, I guess.

As suggested by Wanye Burkett, above, the mother of the child is generally rather obvious. The identity of the father, however, his connection with the child, is sometimes less so. As a result, some nod of affirmation – or papering over the cracks – may be in order. And given current rates of fatherlessness, and the typically suboptimal consequences, publicly affirming a connection of child and father, or step-father, or adoptive father, doesn’t strike me as an obviously bad thing.

Or, as Mr Burkett puts it,

Again, this is not a subject on which I have strong feelings. I don’t spend my evenings being vexed by it. But it seems to me that the custom isn’t “obviously” without a function, or that it’s “obviously a practice to move away from,” or that its existence is “insane.”

As a footnote of sorts, it may also be tricky to deviate from such a tradition without the risk of that deviation being construed as rather pointed, perhaps even insulting. Not unlike the young, progressive woman, featured here recently, who, at her wedding, didn’t want her father to walk her down the aisle. Because that would look too patriarchal and old-fashioned, and insufficiently progressive. While still expecting him to pay for everything, obviously.

Also, open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

Academia’s Clown Quarter, I mean:

The meaning of the term “marriage fundamentalism,” a term used repeatedly, isn’t made entirely clear, and its allegedly racist and life-crushing particulars are, inevitably, “hidden,” “invisible,” and conveniently vague – despite the loudly announced use of “an intersectional lens.” But it seems to mean something like the tendency of many adults to see marriage as of mutual benefit and an optimal way to raise children.

However, our stipulator of pronouns and lecturer in Critical Praxis in Education prefers a more dismissive formulation:

Well, statistically, and by almost any measure, it is superior. Hence, presumably, the espousal.

Stripped of contrivance, I’m assuming this is a roundabout admission that, on average, people who find marriage an alien concept and much too demanding, and who opt instead for transient partners, fatherless children, and unstable relationship trash fires, tend to do less well in life, along with their offspring. And quite possibly, in turn, their offspring too.

Though I’m not sure why the response should be to blame those who get their shit together, marry, and raise children more successfully. As if their competence in this matter, or good fortune or whatever, were somehow lamentable, and racist, and a basis for indignation. And from the child’s point of view, other, more credible candidates for resentment may come to mind.

A conclusion that is simply untrue. With the benefits of stable two-parent families – an exclusively “white” phenomenon, according to Professor Letiecq – actually extending to all racial groups:

The author of the study quoted above, Brad Wilcox, can be seen being interviewed here. An interview in which he points out,

Buy hey, let’s not let the numbers get in the way of our radical posturing. Instead, let’s offer the young and credulous really perverse advice, and bitch about marriage as merely an act of complicity in “white supremacy.”

And yes, we’ve been down this path before.

Update, via the comments – which you’re reading, of course:

Regarding this,

EmC replies, tersely,

Well, if little Don’t-Know-Who-My-Dad-Is is starting fires at school and looks destined for a life of delinquency and crime, this is not obviously the fault of the happily married Mr and Mrs Jefferson and their two non-fire-starting children. And no amount of chest-puffing about “heteropatriarchy,” “unequal power relations” and “white supremacy” seems likely to alter that fact.

A child in an unstable home and consequently on an unhappy trajectory may have things to grumble about, in between the brawling and disruption, and starting fires in the toilets. But those grumbles have little to do with other people’s parents making better choices. The grumbling, it seems to me, should probably be directed closer to home.

FredTheFourth adds,

That’s this argument here, for those who may have missed it. I recommend reading the linked post in full – there’s much to chew on, and much of it mirrors the assumptions aired by Professor Letiecq.