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Unfunny conservative rejects liberal women, liberal women rejoice

By Amanda Marcotte
Wednesday, October 28, 2009 23:17 EDT
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Reading this entire rant about how conservative women are hot while liberal women are trash (via), I was suddenly put in mind of this classic rockabilly song by Billy Lee Riley. Except “Red Hot” has lyrics that make more sense:

Well I gotta gal, six feet four, sleeps in the kitchen
With her feet out the door, but
My gal is red hot – your gal aint doodley squat!

Except then I felt bad, but “Red Hot” is a cut as sweet as the name would imply, and this essay is a mish-mash of stereotypes of homely liberal women (which causes me to wonder how it is that this stereotype meshes with the belief that all of Hollywood is liberal?) and hot conservative women (which causes me to wonder, aren’t you the people that think that sex is a dirty thing only to be shared with someone you love?), and incredibly fucking tedious. Why do so many conservative men obsess over comparing the physical beauty of “ours” versus “theirs”? A few reasons:

1) It sends the signal to all women—including conservative ones—that they are valued strictly for their looks and their subservience.

2) It’s hard to disprove or prove, since it’s subjective. Since there are teeming hoards of women out there, you just need to do some cherry-picking, deny that any liberal women are attractive, and voila! What are the liberal women going to say? Are too pretty? Who wants that debate?

3) Judging women is one of the myriad ways to prove you’re a Real Man. Conservative men appear to spend most of their waking hours attempting to prove their masculinity. It’s a task that Sisyphus would find horrifyingly dull and repetitive, but they can’t let go.

Apparently, we liberal women are supposed to be all butt hurt that Ian Robinson doesn’t want to marry us, which of course is like asking us to be sad because no one wants to take a piss in our eyes. He suggests that all liberal women wear Birkenstocks while all conservative women wear Jimmy Choos.

The only sensible footwear you’ll find in a right-wing woman’s closet are the Nike cross-trainers that go with her gym membership.

Everything else has a three-inch heel. Minimum.

Interestingly, this sort of enthusiasm for shoe designers is the sort of thing that a man trying to prove his masculinity in the eyes of the patriarchy should avoid, I’d think. See how impossible proving your manhood is? You have to like it when women mutilate their feet, but noticing how they do it is Teh Ghey. I’m personally not a fan of Birkenstocks, but nor am I as sold on the idea that what constant high heel wearing does to your feet is as hot as Robinson thinks. Bunions, yum.

But what really sells Robinson on right wing women’s hotness is that they’re so good at being cheerful, efficient servants for men.

A right-wing woman hits the gym, swings past Sobey’s and has dinner on the table by the time you get home … while her left-wing counterpart is still stuck in traffic listening to Sarah McLachlan on her iPod and feeling morally superior about her carrot choices.

And when that plate of food is put in front of you by the right-wing hottie you had the good sense to marry, it will be 100% tofu-free. If you’re lucky, she just remembered to buy steak and forgot about the carrot entirely.

They are also praised for their ability to raise children without requiring help or a break, run the family budget, and I’m sure give good foot rubs while wearing nothing but lingerie and Jimmy Choos, though an unloving editor decided to take that out. Too bad. Again, I’m not really understanding why I’m supposed to be insulted by being told that I don’t have the skills to be a right wing man’s sex object/housekeeper. That’s like telling me that I don’t have what it takes to be a chicken sexer, and therefore I’ll have to accept a career in the go-nowhere profession of being paid a mil a year to be awesome. Okay, I’ll pretend to cry, as long as you don’t renege on the deal.

Amanda Marcotte
Amanda Marcotte
Amanda Marcotte is a freelance journalist born and bred in Texas, but now living in the writer reserve of Brooklyn. She focuses on feminism, national politics, and pop culture, with the order shifting depending on her mood and the state of the nation.
 
 
 
 
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