Self-Made Man: One Woman's Journey Into Manhood And Back Again (2006) - Plot & Excerpts
Full disclosure: I've cross-dressed once. I passed. I didn't change any of my mannerisms or jewelry. I wore my regular glasses and my regular jeans. People see what they expect to see. Wish I could upload the photo so you could see it too.In regard to Norah Vincent's Self-Made Man, let's begin by saying: girlfriend has issues. While she was ostensibly going undercover as a man to research how men (read: white heterosexual lower middle-class men) really are, a whole lot of the book is concerned with the Big Reveal -- telling the people she's duped that she's really a woman and that she intends to write about their misguided attempts to relate to her as a man. This is barely justified as a postmortem of how well she passed and how she might do better at it. Mostly it just seems mean.For instance, in the chapter on dating, she goes on at some length to paint the straight women whom she met online as damaged, distrustful, manipulative, self-deceptive, and needy. After she reveals herself as just another predator, several of the women still consent to have sex with her. I'm confused how the "psych!" makes the world a better place, or why she proceeded to mercy fuck the women who'd liked her because she was such a good listener. What exactly does that have to do with men?Perhaps my favorite part of the book was the chapter called Sex, in which Vincent trolls around the diviest strip clubs she can find. She repeatedly buys herself lap dances, then puzzles over what it is men get from them. She finds them embarrassing and degrading for both members of the transaction. Um...might I suggest that you don't have the equipment to fully appreciate the situation? In fact, only one of the dancers actually comments on her limp dick, and Vincent doesn't extrapolate that they probably all have discussed the creepy lurker who can't get off. The lack of self-awareness in the chapter was breathtaking.The book reads very quickly, which was a bonus. In the end, however, I didn't pity Vincent, who drove herself into depression after her year of using people. I also didn't feel the pity she did for the men who seemed so worn down by trying to live in the confines of their white heterosexual lower middle-class world. I felt sorry for the people who trusted her: welcomed her into their monastery, their self-help circle, their bowling league, their bedrooms. It would have been one thing for her to explore their milieux, gone on her way, and written her book. People come and go in one's life all the time. For her to insist on revealing herself time and time and time again, to rub people's faces in what fools they had been, seemed unnecessary and cruel.Perhaps the most telling part (and least explored by Vincent) was her desire at the culmination of the men's retreat to be cut by one of the men she'd befriended. She wanted to be physically hurt, to be punished for her deceptions. I couldn't help but wonder if she'd set up all of her investigations as a way to get herself bashed, either as a gay man who couldn't behave appropriately in the homophobic situations she enabled or as a transvestite woman breaching communities which have consciously and intentionally withdrawn from women. Was her depression at the end of the experiment simply the suffering she felt she deserved and couldn't find at anyone else's hands?I don't have any answers. This is merely my analysis of a flawed ethnography by an admittedly deceptive and captivatingly myopic narrator.Mostly I'm curious how she scored such a media coup when the book was published.
For some reason my mother thought that a 'mushroom' cut was a good hairstyle for me when I was younger. For some reason I agreed. Keep in mind that in seventh grade I weighed approximately 20 pounds MORE than I weighed at the END of my pregnancy. So think 'ROUND'. Round face, round belly, round butt, round haircut. I indeed had curves, just none of them that made me feminine. A totally devastating moment that has been permanently burned into my brain occurred when all the seventh graders got to vote for the 'hottest' guy and girl. Who ever go the most votes would be awarded permanent popularity at the next dance. I'm sure they are all still basking in that glory. The oh-so-smug student body officers went from class to class and passed out pink and blue ballots. Girls voted for boys, boys voted for girls. Then they waited at the front of the class and collected the ballots before moving on to the next classroom. Here's the devastating thing: I was handed a ballot to vote for a GIRL. They thought I was a boy!!!! I cannot fully explain the extreme panic that went through my head: Do I say something and call attention to the fact that my gender was mistaken? Do I just vote for a girl and hope no one noticed that I turn in the wrong color ballot? Do I leave the ballot blank? Do I just not turn in a ballot? I could have died right there. I finally decided to say something and hopefully people would think that the student body office was an idiot instead of thinking that I was a boy-girl. So I said, "Uh, this is totally the wrong ballot! Duh." and I was handed a correct one. That is not the end of the story.What if someone looked at who I voted for? I was totally torn. I was in love with several boys, none of which were 'cool' guys. I wanted Eric Hughes to win sooooooo bad because he was the hottest thing around. And Corey Davis and Zach Sinounou were close seconds. My heart still gets pittery-pattery just thinking about when I saw them in the hallway between classes. But would people think I was less feminine if I didn't vote for the popular 'hot' guys? In my mind there was a distinct possibilty that that could/would happen. So I made a decision that I still regret. I voted for the popular dudes: Brock Johnston, Brad Wojecowski, and Andre Dyson. I think it is telling that Andre Dyson went on to play in the NFL, probably due to my vote. And Eric Hughes still works at Blockbuster, 15 years later, probably due to not getting my vote. I still regret that. As for the book that I am supposed to be reviewing, it was painful to read. Painfully boring! Instead of telling the interesting details of pretending to be a dude, she just tells generalities like 'He took me under his wings as if I was his son." Oh yeah, how? Also there is a hell of a lot of swearing in this book. Rather than using polite words like poop, hoo-ha, and boobies, the author uses swear words. I felt embarrassed to be feeding my baby (with my boobies) while I read this book! What disgusted me the most was when the author spent a whole explicit chapter telling about how she went to strip clubs in order to learn about how "regular" guys act. Oddly, this was the only chapter that actually gave the details that I was wanting...except that I did not want THESE details!! Ew!
What do You think about Self-Made Man: One Woman's Journey Into Manhood And Back Again (2006)?
Авторката на книгата решава да се преоблече и да види какво е да си мъж в днешно време - и понеже е висока, лесбийка и добра актриса - и се удава доста добре в продължение на година и половина. Тя се записва в боулинг-клуб, намира си мъжка компания с която запива, посещава стрийптийз клубове, даже ходи на срещи с жени за да види как е романтичната страна на живота от гледна точка на мъжете.Изводите й са малко шокиращи за голяма част от обществото, особено "либералното" и феминистично настроено такова, както ще успеете да видите, ако прочетете ревютата на книгата в този сайт, особено тия които са с 1 звезда. Там обидени феминистки и борци за "социална справедливост" оревават света, че изводите на книгата не били правилни, че била плитка пропаганда и т.н. Което са глупости, разбира се - фактите са си факти и ако ги наричаш "пропаганда", проблемът вероятно е в погрешността на собствените ти идеи.А фактите, както ги вижда авторката от живота си в мъжка кожа са, че на мъжете изобщо не им е толкова лесно, колкото тя си е мислела доскоро, и колкото повечето жени, особено феминистките, си мислят. Че да си мъж означава да се съобразяваш с много повече неписани обществени правила, отколкото жените, да имаш много повече задължения и да отговаряш на много повече и на много по-строги социални очаквания.Книга, която много може да отвори очите на някои хора.
—Петър Стойков
I abandoned this earlier this year, for some reason this morning I picked it up and started reading it again. It took me the day to finish, so I didn't give it my most earnest attention.It was a hard book to like because there was just so much vulgarity about it. On the surface I was expecting a deep incite into a female perspective of the male world. The book does deliver some really interesting stuff, but it is not whole. The book does not offer a well-rounded look at the male world, instead it tackles the really seedy stuff.I found the chapter discussing the inner workings of a strip club, even to the point the the author had a few lap dances, really depressing. It was a sombre section of the book, but I don't think it required a female to tell that story, and that is the big problem I have with the book.The author, a lesbian and feminist, paints with broad strokes. I read about how her male persona (Ned) hits up strips joints with a friend. The friend has a wife and kids at home, and I can't help but feel this is what she expects of all men.She joins a bowling league, goes on lots of dates, spends time in a monastry, joins a weird mens help group, and takes a job as a hardcore salesman. These are testosterone filled groups to be sure, but hardly representative of men as a whole. I struggled greatly with this.I really took great issue with the lives that she messed with as well. Dating women, even getting into the bedroom before revealing herself to be female. Something about all of it bothered me.She ends the book by checking herself in a mental hospital (which I just noticed is the subject of another book). I just don't get what is good about any of this.
—Cass
Although an interesting experiment, and probably one that many of us have given some thought to performing ourselves had we the right body types, mostly what Vincent achieves here is to expose her own prejudices. In trying to gain some insights into male culture and attitudes, she chooses three of the most extreme--and hence, non representative--examples she could have chosen, and invariably discovers that the men she meets are flawed people with a great deal of personal baggage that may, or may not, be products of their maleness, but that could be products of any number of other circumstances as well. Within the expose she cites exactly two pieces of outside research; both of the references are from linguists, but only one is from a sociolinguist. For this project to be at all worthwhile as more than a curiosity or conversation piece, Vincent should have greatly expanded her research and her research method.
—Wendy Perkins
