Why I’m just a bit sorry for pale stale males

It’s a very strange moment when, as a hip young lefty feministy type, you realise you’re feeling sorry for middle-aged white men. In truly woke circles, that’s about as scandalous as admitting you drink Starbucks pumpkin spice lattes.

Right now it’s very off-brand to sympathise with pale, stale males. They’re currently the butt of every joke and/or the balding harbinger of an impending moral apocalypse. And yet I found myself doing it the other day while waiting in line for coffee.

There were two deeply cool women in front of me, blessed with the elusive ability to wear a hat unself-consciously.

‘‘Did you vote in the local council elections?’’ said Hat One to Hat Two.

‘‘Yeah,’’ said Hat Two, ‘‘I just voted for everyone who wasn’t a middle-aged white dude.’’

They laughed and moved forward to collect their turmeric lattes. I laughed too, then felt guilty. ‘‘Actually,’’ piped up the small sensible voice in my head, ‘‘that’s a dumb way to vote.’’

After all, some middle-aged white dudes would be great on council. In my city, if Simon Wilson, the journalist whose prolific career explaining and critiquing the inner workings of Auckland, stood for council, then I’d absolutely elect him.

And that was the moment I realised I felt sorry for middle-aged white dudes.

I’ve always felt vaguely sorry for them, largely due to the fact that their formal wardrobe is oppressively restricted to checked shirts. (Who wants to look like an off-duty lumberjack?) But that was when I realised that the pale stale male (PSM) is getting a thrashing by the young and aloof right now. And only some of it is deserved.

Given how popular it is, now is not the time to realise you’ve got mixed opinions on PSM bashing. But I do. I’m in a weird place whereby as an opinionated, young female I’ve got an in-depth, but deeply divided, relationship with the older male of the species.

On the one hand, I know there is a certain type of PSM who instinctively hates my guts. You can usually tell because they’re angry at the world anyway, but as a young articulate woman you’re a red rag to their misplaced rage.

This is the kind of guy who doesn’t like to be challenged on anything, but really really hates it when it’s a young woman who does it. Largely because they’re carrying a whole lot of delightful beliefs on women which mostly revolve around us being shaggable and silent.

They’re the ones who send 90 per cent of the abusive messages to me, threatening things from the grammatically challenged to the downright illegal. And yet, on the other hand, 90 per cent of my support letters are also from middle-aged men. Smart, funny dudes who’re often raising kickass daughters and are interested in our opinions. They’re also the kinda guys who have mentored me over the years, donating hours and hours to improving my writing.

As a group, they’ve excelled in the art of casual generosity. They tend to be much, much quieter than their angrier PSM cousins, ignoring all this silly social media shouting. As such they’re probably very confused right now as to why everyone’s publicly hating on them.

But if being both an object of hatred and support by PSMs has taught me anything, it’s that being middle-aged, or white, or a man, is not a good indicator of whether you’re a dick or not.

One of the most reliable measures I’ve found is how you respond to people questioning or challenging you. We’re in an age where, thankfully, many more opinions and perspectives are being celebrated. And that can challenge your views of the world, expose gaps in your knowledge and introduce you to people who disagree.

Sorry guys, you just gotta brace yourself; it’s your turn in the stocks now.

Now, Piers Morgan’s kinda man feels insecure about this, maybe even a little intimidated, and so they respond with classic dick behaviour. Which you’re totally justified in calling out. But the other type of PSM, despite maybe having the same gaps in their knowledge, responds to new challenges with, ‘‘Oh that’s interesting, I hadn’t thought about that before . . .’’ And then listens to these fresh perspectives.

They’re the ones I feel sorry for, as they also get all the flak earned by Morgan’s men. And yet, casual society’s never really been interested in analysing the real roots of who’s a dick and who’s not. We’re too lazy for that.

I’ve been told many, many, many times that young women are all gold-digging hoes/idiotic basic bitches/fragile sensitive snowflakes blah blah . . . It’s annoyingly inaccurate, but you can’t do much about it except roll your eyes and compose sassy clapbacks.

So sorry guys, you just gotta brace yourself; it’s your turn in the stocks now.