Sister solidarity and its downside

In my last post I drew attention to a phenomenon I referred to as 'the feminine regiment'. Feminists bang on about some bogus patriarchy conditioning them and keeping the sexes in stereotypical roles, but it seems to me that the strongest influence on women is peer pressure. If women really do want to work as auto mechanics, play drums in rock bands and fly jumbo jets, then I contend that the thing holding them back is not male discrimination or even fear that men will look at them in a funny way (which is pretty fucking scary, I grant you). No, it's a fear of other women's disapproval.

Female peer pressure works both ways. It's a solidarity thing. My observations have led me to believe that women expect empathy from each other in a way that men don't necessarily. Being a woman seems to involve a sort of code of sisterhood by which one knows what the other's going through (and expects this) by virtue of shared womanhood. It's something about the womb, the cradle of life that they have in common.

Men are more individualistic. Knowing you have a cock and balls in common with other men doesn't make you feel all warm and brotherly towards them. It makes you wonder who's got the longest cock and the biggest balls. One woman saying about another, 'I don't think she ever did anything for another person in her life' is fighting talk, insulting the object of the criticism by casting doubts on her empathy, and thereby her femininity. The same statement about a man has no such impact. Not being burdened by feelings for others could be interpreted as a masculine strength, even the source of a competitive edge.

Real women care. They're sympathetic to each other and kind to small furry animals. Real men don't give a fuck. They keep each other at arm's length and eat small furry animals as a mid day snack.

The sisterly feeling has a negative counterpart. If a sister doesn't live up to the code, she's ostracised as a pariah. It's like all that sisterly love and solidarity turns to a river of piss.

Tamara knew about Cindy before we fucked and does a mild little song and dance about it, but knows she can't really make any demands. But when Cindy finds out about Tamara, there's hell to pay. Not that she knows Tamara, or learns her name. She's only aware that there's another woman on the scene, which I haven't attempted to conceal. I've never promised her anything. In fact, I've made it clear that I don't do monogamy, so I cordially invite her to take the charge of 'infidelity' and insert it where the sun don't fucking shine. She does this, as far as I can tell, after some door slamming. She's practically smoking with rage, but I'm not really the object of it. No matter how treacherous and immoral she considers my behaviour to be, she doesn't really expect better. I'm a man. That sort of explains everything. Her girlfriends will comfort her, stroke her ego, tell her she deserves better than that asshole. But it's the other woman that gets the real scorn. "I'm so pissed off that her. That slut! How could she do this to me, to another woman?" The girlfriends will shake their heads and wonder the same. They will reduce the unnamed other woman to the level of pond life. Even worse, they'll feign pity, casually diagnosing her promiscuity and lack of solidarity as the result of abuse or neglact in her upbringing.

Liberation must be difficult when you've got the wrath, indignation and disapproval of all womankind poised to make you a leper for challenging norms and stepping out of line. No wonder feminists would rather blame men, The Patriarchy, glass ceilings or any other bogus shit for their conformist timidity. Their sisters wouldn't forgive them for telling the truth.