Post election

Last Tuesday was an inflective moment. Of course for the country, but for me personally, too.

In coming out in favor of Donald Trump, I lost a couple of “friends.” It kinda took me back to the vaccine days, ya know? When I got judged and excommunicated by a dear friend for not vaccinating my son. Demonized by others. I’m human, so yeah, of course it hurts. On the other hand, ain’t fuck all I can do about it. Bye, friends. If that’s ever what we were in the first place.

This past election also gives me time to reflect on who and what Things Men Carry is going forward. Coming out in favor of one of the most polarizing figures perhaps our nation has ever seen was maybe not the best business decision I could ever make. I might not have earned any new readers in other words. Maybe I turned off a future contributor, too, when honestly I really can’t afford to do that unless I want to become what I fear the most: a blog. Worse, a partisan blog. Worst of all, a talking head for one party or the other! Then I’m like most out there when I don’t want to be like most. I’m not like most goddamnit! I voted for Trump, all right? Hesitantly, all right?!

As I’m prone to saying around here, Around here we do shit a little different. This last tempestuous election just seemed like a pretty natural place in which to test that boundary out a little (how many actually came out publicly in favor of Trump?) and see what comes out the other end. Who knows, maybe I’m that much closer to getting a seat at the national table. I can dream, can’t I?

Or not. There’s only one way to find out. Let’s begin.

I’ve been catching some shit for putting what I perceive as the ongoing emasculation of men at the forefront of my vote last Tuesday. This guy on Facebook who I attended grad school with tells me I’m “fragile” for doing that.

That woman over there attributes it to mom/dad issues she says I’m having. I’m not entirely sure what the connection is between the two besides maybe she’s trying to gaslight me? We’ll just leave it at she’s very emotional about the outcome of the last election. That I’m sure of.

Both voted for Harris, as if that weren’t obvious. It’s interesting this man, especially because he does not wish to engage on this subject here or anywhere on the grounds I voted for Trump. I’m not worth his time, he says. I’m not exactly sure how that makes me or my masculinity fragile, but okay.

I don’t need or want to gloat. I voted for Trump, the victor. With great hesitation in case you missed that the first time. No shit, I spent right up until the 11th hour deciding. Inflation. Nuclear war. Immigration. Emasculation of men. I’m not backtracking now. That wouldn’t be very manly of me. I hesitantly voted for Donald Trump, final answer.

I think I have some firsthand knowledge of this emasculation, too. At Things Men Carry we’re not detached from our subject matter. At least we try not to be. Let’s say I pull a common journalist’s tool out the box and cite, say, a subject expert like Scott Galloway, a professor at NYU and regular on CNN, to add a little heft and street cred to my argument. I wouldn’t do that without carrying some firsthand knowledge of what he’s saying. And what Scott Galloway, esteemed professor and frequent guest on CNN, is saying is that men 18-30 are lost. Youtube him.

Young men are feeling disenfranchised.

Emasculated.

Take your pick.

Then take a son of a friend in Texas who’s 30. Maybe not the best example since word on the street is that he’s finally leaving the house and joining the Navy. I text mom a fist bump on the breaking news.

There’s others.

There’s mothers of sons who’ve told me to my face that they’re worried for their boys, end quote.

My son’s 18. Tell me I don’t have skin in this game.

While I’m not in that demographic, 18-30, there’s this type of emasculation for guys like me:

Years ago, at what felt like the height of MeToo, my boss came up to me to tell me there were rumblings in the office about me. The rumblings he said were having to do with a particular co-worker under my charge who was female. “People up in the office are saying you have a different standard for women than men,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s the emails you’re writing.”

“Hmm, I see. Tell ya what, Gimme a few, yeah? I wanna show you something after watch.”

This was around the time Queen Latifeh was doing Bruce Lee scissor kicks on her show. Other men were being chopped down left and right in real life.

It’s been more than a few since then.

Fast forward to today. Girl power remains strong. Defiant. Where once the lion would reign and take care of business, the Lioness does that today. Who even needs the lion anymore, on Amazon Prime or anywhere else.

Laugh all you want. It’s happening. Life does imitate art. Men’s points and counterpoints are and have been forcibly shut. I mentioned my homie who recently at work was accused of mansplaining? What about how many men dodged the question, Who did you vote for, or worse, lied about who they voted for? Because why? We know why: fear. Tuesday, then, maybe, just maybe, was some kind of loud rebuke. Men fed up with shutting up.

And yes, there was more than one issue on the ballot, I know. But emasculation we believe here was a key one.

I hesitate to call all of it a war between men and women, but as ridiculously high as the male vote turned out for Trump, and as pitifully low as the amount of humility and introspection invested by Trump haters is, I just don’t know. The latter it seems, anyway, wants to seriously double down. I’m still fragile as of this writing, it seems. Damn it.

So now what? Shit, my son has skin in this game. I have skin in this game. Listen, I’m first to point out a good looking homie, but not in this lifetime. Unh unh. Not happenin’. Nope. Nein. Nay. Ho. Women only. We gotta figure this out.

It might take me another minute before I’m ready, though:

It was an act of self defense what happened at the conclusion of the accusations against me. I needed to show my boss that I didn’t have a double standard, so I called up other emails that I’d written about other co-workers under my charge who I also had concerns about. These co-workers wouldn’t you know it all had one thing in common? A penis.

It shut the boss up. It shut the office up. Crisis averted. Until the next time I have to defend myself unnecessarily, which, hey, guess what.

And yes, I’m quite angry about it, which, word on some streets is, that makes me fragile too.

-tmc

(I’m sure fathers of daughters look at this through a very different lens. Things Men Carry would love more than anything to hear that perspective. The perspective of a father who has a son and a daughter–even better)