Archive for May, 2016

Take Yer Shirt Off!!!! Come on, Take It Off!

May 29, 2016

So I’m standing on the putting green this morning, about to tee off, when one of the guys in my foursome steps up to me, and, with a conspiratorial air, says: “Hey, we should get up a collection to raise enough money to get that Wendy Rhoades on your show to take off her shirt!”
It takes me a moment or two to process what he’s said. To actually absorb and make sense of the words that just came from this grown man’s mouth. This fellow isn’t some internet troll. He’s not a seventeen year-old high school junior looking for something to say. This is a peer of mine, in a sense—a fifty-one year old business man with high schoolers of his own.
I imagine he expected to get a smile out of me, or the old wink wink nudge nudge. Or maybe he figured I’d come back with an even racier comment of my own, and we’d end up arm in arm, just a couple of golfers talking smack about women as we walked to the first tee.
Instead, remembering the promise I made to myself when I wrote this piece two years back, I say the following: “That’s why I love country clubs. There’s nothing like some casual misogyny first thing on a Sunday morning. The actress who plays Wendy Rhoades, Maggie Siff, is a good friend of mine and a coworker. She’s a brilliant actress and woman. You should know it’s not okay to say something like that.”
I was met with silence. And then a half-chuckle. And then more silence, and we walked to the tee to play our round. Eventually, I made a joke about someone’s golf handicap, and the rest of the round went off without incident.
The most troubling part of this, to me, is that the man who said it isn’t a bad person. By that, I mean, he’s kind-hearted, good to his family, easy to smile. And he’s not an outlier. That comment or one just like it must be made on every golf course and basketball court and tennis court on a daily basis. And it’s this that troubles me: no one treats it like a big deal. In fact, my rebuke to him was probably much more a subject of conversation after the round, once I’d left. I can hear them, “Koppelman has a stick up his ass. Fucking Hollywood liberal. So, don’t play golf at a country club.”
This is all fine with me. I’m an adult. I can handle the cost of my words. But I really can’t handle anymore the easy and glib way in which men talk about women. Had he merely commented on Maggie’s beauty, or even if he’d said he wished he could get with her, I’d have told him no chance, but I wouldn’t have held it against him. Or us. But when you add in that this man proposed, as a joke, raising a fund whose purpose would be to lift her blouse, the entire exchange reaches the land of the disgusting, the cruel, the clueless.
And to me, it explains much of Donald Trump’s appeal. White men want a world wherein they are unchallenged, can buy any woman they want, can, out of the corner of their mouths, reduce women to objects whose breasts will be made accessible for viewing just as soon as a reasonable price is agreed upon.
As a white man, I broke the rules today. I refused to laugh along. I said something. But what I know is, I accomplished absolutely nothing except making myself feel better for about five minutes. After which, I have mostly just felt sad. The gulf is so huge. The misunderstandings so great. The chasm not one that can be crossed quickly, easily or without massive structural change. There’s no way that the gentleman who wants to pay to see Maggie Siff’s breasts has any idea why I got upset, why his expression of this desire is harmful, what it perpetuates. And I am certain that even if he were forced to sit in a seminar, he’d come out exactly as wrongheaded as when he went in.
The world he and I live in was built for us by people like us. It was protected for us by people like us. It is being guarded, even now, by people like us.
I guess the only solace I take is this: I found myself actually shocked to hear those words. That may be because I mostly spend my time with artists and writers and creators. Or it may be because I live on the ultra liberal Upper West Side of Manhattan. But it’s something. And it’s pretty much all I can hold onto now, while I wait for my generation of men to change or die off, and for the generations that follow us to find a way to be better.


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