A tale of a girls’ tennis team, a locker room, and a high-school hiring dispute.

First, the view from afar, all rather fragrant and elevated:

And,

The words “transphobia” and “hate” were of course deployed.

And now the view from close quarters:

See? All totally innocent and above-board. Not weird or creepy at all. Oh, and then there was the time Mr Yates followed a sixteen-year-old girl – a girl he wasn’t coaching – into the girls’ bathroom, otherwise unoccupied, and attempted to strike up a random conversation, resulting in the girl’s alarm and some hurried texting.

The reprimand mentioned above – or rather, reprimands, because, well, what’s behaviour without a pattern? – did not seem to deter Mr Yates. Nor did the provision of private bathroom and changing facilities, typically used by sports officials, including coaches. Direct appeals from the girls also failed to discourage him from parading around their locker room in a bra-and-panties ensemble and various states of undress. Such that the girls were left in little doubt that their cross-dressing coach was, as one board member put it, “still fully a man.” And all while seeking out details of the girls’ menstruation cycles and their preferences in underwear.

Indeed, when subsequently challenged, Mr Yates, seen here, invoked “discrimination” and insisted that he is entitled to use “any bathroom.” The school is currently weighing the views of parents against the prospect of legal action and accusations of “transphobia,” with another meeting on the matter scheduled for September. Mr Yates is, he says, “completely overwhelmed with how the community is coming out and supporting me.”

At which point, readers may wonder whether such overwhelming support, largely from progressive women, is actually part of the problem.

Above, Mr Yates, being supported.

Update, via the comments, where Nikw211 adds,

Well, one might think so. And yet here we are.

Still, it’s interesting to see how Mr Yates’ supporters – again, largely progressive women – will merrily elevate themselves with the airing of modish views, their displays of compassion and inclusivity, while in effect screwing over the girls. Girls, who, by disapproving, even politely, become low-status.

Update 2:

A decision has been reached regarding the future of Mr Yates’ teaching career. And by extension, his workplace interest in the panties of young girls. See if you can guess which way it went.

Update 3:

The further adventures of our strapping madam.

I’d suggest that this is precisely what raises doubts as to Ms Ashley Markham’s fitness to be a school principal in charge of 12-year-olds.

This is a school principal. These are the people in charge of your children’s education. pic.twitter.com/kJOZtPhmal

— Libs of TikTok (@libsoftiktok) August 21, 2023

To boast of abandoning reality at the drop of a hat – and by extension, coercing others to be unrealistic too – and to boast of creating an environment in which manipulative pretension and mental illness thrive – is an odd moral flex.

Readers are welcome to ponder exactly how “safe” an environment is in which such practised affectations are dominant or mandatory, and in which one can expect to be scolded and punished for not wishing to pretend, for not wishing to become dishonest and absurd.

Oh, and by the way, should you ask Ms Markham about the implications of her position – say, as touched on above – she may make a smug and dismissive TikTok video in which she expects you to pay her $100 an hour, plus an extra $250, for an expert “consultation” on why she is right.

Lifted from the comments, which you’re reading of course.

“But why do you think this is happening?”

Turning off replies may not be the best look for a programme called Feedback https://t.co/pUKQIalSYA

— Simon Edge (@simonjedge) August 20, 2023

Update, via the comments:

Before replies were disabled, “loathing your own audience” was a suggestion offered repeatedly and with varying degrees of liveliness, along with “woke nonsense” and variations thereof. The word bubble was used more than once.

However, a handful of outliers – often academics employed as consultants and talking heads by the BBC – complained that the broadcaster is “a vehicle for Tory propaganda.” A claim that perhaps reveals more than intended.

Of course, it’s not just the BBC. It could be Channel 4. Or The Economist. Or Scientific American. Or Nature. Or the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Or… well, we’ll be here all day.

The sense of there being a gulf – in assumptions and ideology – between what could broadly be called the media class and much of its supposed audience is hardly a rare experience. The impression that said gulf is growing and seemingly irretrievable is also far from uncommon.

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

You want one and you know it. || Well, this is embarrassing. || The thrill of bread-making. || New rhino emerges. || “What kind of meat you got?” || Polyamory tips: Imagine them embracing you instead of that other sad tramp. || Designer piano. (h/t, Things) || Passing fashion. || Coastal retreat, £25,000,000. || Enrichment scenes. || The uprising begins. || Battle bucket. || She didn’t get the job. || End Times ahoy. || “Somebody help me.” || Peekaboo. || Niche A.I. || Incoming. || Well, I suppose it’s alright, if you like that kind of thing. Or this kind of thing. || “Oh, there’s one there, look.” || I think you’ll find that one is already in use. || Lotion sold separately. || The thrill of moisturiser. || He makes his own. || Manhood attempted. || Tapping machine. || And finally, leopard fucks about, finds out.

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Further to this Rachel Zegler interview clip, recently doing the rounds, some thoughts from another “actress/activist”:

Indeed, the other sex often seems replaceable — if you're a young, single, childless, careerist. https://t.co/sx86se38yL

— Geoffrey Miller (@primalpoly) August 13, 2023

Ms Belcamino is “an American actress, musician, writer, and social media personality based in New York City. She is best known for her political commentary and viral dances on Twitter.”

She has a degree in mental health counselling.

Update, via the comments:

Regarding this:

Mags asks,

Readers are invited to ponder the conceit that a massively expensive film based on a classic tale for children should exist chiefly to “empower our movement,” i.e., to affirm the politics of mouthy, ungifted actresses. Rather than, say, to entertain children.

Still, I suppose it’s to be expected that obnoxious, narcissistic women should want to re-write a tale that, in its various original forms, is pretty much a warning against female narcissism and spite.

Update 2:

Min points us to this video by The Critical Drinker, titled, “How To Destroy Your Own Movie.”

It is, it has to be said, a strange way to promote an upcoming remake of a children’s classic – to wheel out an actress who boasts of having “hated” the original film, made by the same studio, and who disdains much of the story on which it’s based. And who does so seemingly on-message. Especially when the future of Disney, its very existence, is looking uncertain.

And as The Drinker and others have noted, the glib and joyless ‘strong female character’ trope now sounds much more hackneyed and cringeworthy than a tale in which unlikely friends are made and love is found, and in which a malevolent, magic-wielding queen is chased by dwarves and an entire forest of critters, before being crushed under a giant boulder, rightly, and then devoured by vultures.

The merits of the remake remain to be seen, of course – though given the star’s pronouncements, and Disney’s current trajectory, hopes of a triumph, a film that will be remembered fondly for the better part of a century, seem misplaced. The 1937 animated version may, however, reward rewatching. Seen as a child, the Evil Queen’s comeuppance – very much deserved – is quite something. Not least the vultures’ look of delight as they circle down towards her crushed remains. A pointed, lingering shot that slowly fades to black – now securely lodged in the memory.

Also, open thread.

Come, huddle round. Let us poke at the Guardian:

The parenting pages. Let’s start there.

Providing the sperm. A joyous and maternal turn of phrase. Also of note, the idea of wanting a baby, but with only a third or a quarter of the responsibility. A kind of low-commitment parenting. Bodes well.

Eleanor Margolis, the lady keen to redefine the family unit completely – which also bodes well – details some of those implicit obstacles:

Look, when you’re redefining the family, and redefining it completely, website design matters.

It gets worse.

I guess that can happen when you wander off the beaten track, away from the tried and tested. People at the margins tend to meet other marginal people.

I say again, redefining the family. By harnessing the untapped power of unrelatedness, diffused responsibility, and a total lack of attraction. And it’s perhaps worth noting that, throughout the article, the potential child is referred to only in terms suggesting some sort of task.

It turns out that “co-parenting dates” are not without issues:

You see, the person with whom Ms Margolis and her lesbian partner plan to have a child – on what seems to be a time-share basis, via “contact with someone’s sperm” – should at least be tolerable. And not overtly monstrous.

Take that, conventional family structure.

The subject of “queer, platonic, co-parenting meetups” is also raised, along with its complications:

At which point, further comment would seem unkind.

Still, things are not, it has to be said, going entirely to plan:

However, Ms Margolis remains optimistic, her dream of parenting differently – much like sharing a villa in Spain – still intact:

Albeit among people with whom the author doesn’t gel, and who often exude, and I quote, a “distinct creepiness.”

Readers are invited to ponder the appeal, for any gentleman with fatherhood in mind, of effectively becoming a sperm donor who is also expected to perform household chores, for many years, and to pay child maintenance. In a sexless relationship with random lesbians who may find him barely tolerable, a necessary complication. But this, it seems, is how one “redefines the family unit completely.” It’s “the ideal parenting setup.”

Oh, and one final conundrum:

One more time:

I think the word that applies here, to all three groups, and which is nonetheless being danced around, is women.

Ms Margolis lives in London. Pronouns “she/her.”

Update:

Apparently, it’s a thing:

And because you want to know:

Not merely a woman. He is women.

Update: via the comments:

Mags notes this,

And replies,

Well, it is an odd thing to be proud of. A bit of a stretch, really. It’s not clear to me why autogynephiles should be entitled to pride any more than devotees of any other fetish. Should we applaud and affirm people who like to be spanked, or to wear nipple-clamps, or rubber hoods, or who like to visit schoolgirl sniff parlours? And what about those poor downtrodden members of the eproctophile community?

And yet there are activists who struggle to comprehend why ladies on the whole would rather not have their toilets and changing rooms invaded by porn-addled, cross-dressing misfits.

The kind of men who think that womanhood is ALL ABOUT THE STOCKINGS.

Via.

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

From Montreal, via the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, another feat of unrelenting pretension:

The proud author, Ms Julia Wright, a student at McGill University, is, we learn, a them – a paranormally ungendered being. And all is not well:

As one might, all things considered.

Well, as possibilities, the words neurotic and aggravating come to mind. And we could perhaps throw in hysterical, as a bonus, what with the whole hyperventilating-and-vomiting thing.

As for rudeness, pressuring others to pretend things on demand, despite the reality right in front of them, is not the most obvious recipe for civility and mutual respect. Some, for instance, will have come to realise that The Pronoun Game, so very much in fashion, is often a way to exert power over others, by making them say things, publicly and repeatedly, that they don’t for a minute believe to be true. There is, after all, the issue of probity.

And once you start playing The Pronoun Game, a game of pretend, it’s by no means clear how you might stop pretending before things veer into farce. Which, as we’ve seen, they very often do.

And then of course there’s the fact that the Pronoun Game is by definition a game all about you, but which others are expected to play, or are coerced to play, albeit in small, supporting roles. Not an altogether thrilling prospect.

However, Ms Wright appears unconcerned by such details – which affect other people, people who aren’t her. Instead, she returns to a much more engaging subject – namely, herself and her extensive list of feelings:

Again, as so often, one has to ask – exactly which player in this drama is doing the misgendering? The unnamed presenter who sees a young woman named Julia and refers to her as she; or the young woman named Julia who expects to be perceived as something other than she is? Indeed, as something that doesn’t exist. The kind of young woman who tells us, with an air of triumph, “I had been thinking about my pronouns daily for over two years.” As one does, when one’s mental wellbeing is not at all in question.

But ours is an age in which self-preoccupied young women are encouraged to boast, in print, of their unhappy compulsions, and to bemoan the fact that they appear to be what they are – no more, no less – and consequently struggle to seem complicated and fascinating. Specifically, a miraculously sexless being, “neither a man nor a woman.”

Probably. Not everyone wants to play.

Perhaps the word fad would be less offensive. Or tedious status-game played by the pretentious and insufferable. I’m open to suggestions.

It occurs to me that being surrounded by students and professors, for whom faddishness and contrivance are often the stuff of status, may not be entirely helpful on the mental health front. If everyone around you is playing the same game, and pretending the same things, and doing it competitively, you could easily lose your bearings.

Ah yes, the woe of not being immediately and telepathically perceived as “non-binary,” and thus being denied the status of terribly interesting. As agonies go, it’s pretty niche. But given Ms Wright’s apparent lack of interest in how her Game Of Self may impose upon others, I’m tempted to suggest that respect, a reciprocal virtue, may not be the most apt card to play.

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

Morning meditation led by Padre Guilherme Peixoto, prior to Holy Mass for WYD.pic.twitter.com/HxyCIWg6IS

— Bree A Dail (@breeadail) August 6, 2023

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

When you browse the website of Portsmouth’s Mary Rose Museum, looking for information on artefacts from Tudor England… and this is what you get:

Because when you look at a sixteenth-century mirror salvaged from a warship belonging to Henry VIII, the first thing you want to know is how it might induce psychological crises in the sexually dysmorphic.

And,

It’s quality stuff. Just like being there, in the mists of history. And not at all inept, or jarring, or comically incongruous.

The word indirectly is, I fear, doing an awful lot of work. And thanks to peering through this “Queer lens,” readers will doubtless find that their understanding of Tudor history has been enriched no end.

We’re told – indeed, assured  – by Hannah McCann, of the museum’s collections and curatorial staff,

A comfort, I know.

Exactly why such “queering” is underway – what its relevance might be – is not, however, made clear. An explanation for this bolting-on of irrelevant, flimsy tat – in the name of “queer theory” – was not, it seems, deemed necessary. Nor is it entirely obvious how such “queering” of museum contents benefits those who wish to know more about Henry VIII’s favourite warship.

Update, via the comments:

Regarding the mysterious purpose of all this “queering” of sixteenth-century objects, Rafi adds, drily:

Indeed. That does seem to be the primary objective. That, and the modish tactic of identifying a thing that people find interesting and then inserting one’s own rather narrow and tedious politics, and by extension oneself. Looking through the catalogue notes, no other obvious benefit, for visitors, springs to mind. Unless we include the exercising of eyebrows by moving them up and down.

And the effect, the incongruity – the sheer cack-handedness of it – is quite bizarre. It reminded me of the ‘adverts’ in The Truman Show, in which Truman’s wife and neighbours suddenly, rather desperately, and often mid-sentence, draw attention to some cleaning product or chicken dinner.

Welcome to the world of queered history. It’s like actual history, but less so.

Update 2:

In the comments, John highlights a few lines from the Telegraph’s coverage of the story:

Well, you’d think that might be a more obvious line of historical enquiry, albeit more difficult to verify.

And it occurs to me that the contrived witterings quoted above – and the museum’s urge to share them as if they were scholarly and profound – says rather more about the state of our cultural institutions than it does about anything else.

Via ripx4nutmeg.