The day I self-identified as a man
For a man to announce he is a woman gets us into deep water – not just in Hampstead
Over the weekend, I decided to “identify as male”. I would watch a lot of sport on TV, occasionally looking up to ask: “What’s for dinner?” I would think about mowing the lawn, but would decide that the ground was still too wet and it was better to give it another day to dry out. I would check the cricket score and groan. I would ask my other half: “Where did we put my X?” I would open a bottle of red wine to “let it breathe”, and take the Telegraph crossword to the loo for 26 minutes.
I would check the cricket score and pour myself a glass of wine. “Where did we put my X?”, I would ask Himself, who had come in with an ominous number of bags full of new clothes and shoes. “Don’t you mean, where did you put it, darling?” he said. Honestly, no call for sarcasm. Men! He’s been impossible during the menopause.
Naturally, while identifying as male, I would give myself a good couple of hours to mentally prepare for the Champions League final, texting my friend Clare, a lifelong Liverpool fan, and engaging in vital, pre-match analysis. I would raid the larder for snacks. “Where did you put the Pringles?” I would pour myself a well-earned drink after a surprisingly demanding day. “Let’s get an Indian.”
I would watch the match while Himself brought me my Korma on a tray. Later, I would endlessly rehearse the wonders of the bicycle-kick goal scored by Gareth Bale while Himself cleared up after the takeaway. “Darling, where did we put my…?”
Not very complicated this bloke business, is it? I reckon I could fit it in while identifying as female. If the Government has its loony way with the Gender Recognition Act, we may soon have to. Changes could enable people to simply declare themselves to be a man or woman to get all the legal rights of either sex.
Three cheers for the doughty dames who crashed the male-only bathing pond on Hampstead Heath to protest this absurdity, much to the annoyance of the front-crawling chaps.
The group was inspired by #Manfriday, a nationwide campaign by Mumsnet to encourage women to “self-identify” as men on Fridays, thus pointing out the hazards of allowing men to use single-sex facilities. The female protesters had fake beards and one brave lady sported a mankini. They told staff at the pond that, as they now “identified” as male, they had every right to swim there, but were forced to leave when police arrived.
Protester Hannah Clarke sounded distinctly female when she apologised profusely for protesting. “I would hate to think I had upset anybody,” she said. Oh, do man up, woman!
“We want to keep single-sex places single-sex,” Hannah added. “Clearly, it’s not just women that want them to stay single-sex, is it?”
Truly, we live in confusing times for people of both, either or neither gender. In an article on Poldark for
Radio Times, the broadcaster Mariella Frostrup admits with welcome frankness to a double-standard when it comes to women expressing desire for the gorgeous Captain Ross as he emerges from the waves, naked save for a tactical cloth. Just as it is deemed perfectly respectable for women to fall into an ecstatic reverie over Daniel Craig in Speedos briefer than an MI6 code word. In less than a decade, we have moved from wet T-shirt contests (exploitative, sexist, disgusting, misogynistic) to men in wet trunks (Phwoar!). Is this equality?
As Frostrup says: “If a male colleague had penned those lines about any of Aidan Turner’s equally appealing female co-stars, his cries of contrition would be drowned out by twitter’s Troll Chorus.”
Funnily enough, Eleanor Tomlinson, the stunning redhead who plays Poldark’s fiery wife, has just said she expects to be paid as much as the drama’s eponymous star. While, presumably, retaining the right to not be treated as a sex object, which is how Aidan Turner is regarded every time he whips off his shirt to cut the grass.
I’m not complaining. Captain Ross’s lightly glistening pecs are one of life’s delightful diversions. But is it fair that female viewers are allowed to celebrate Poldark’s return, in a spirit of giggly gawping, while male viewers live in fear of expressing admiration for the opposite sex, lest they find themselves falling foul of a furious #Metoo thread?
An American actress complained recently that a critic, who had described her character as wearing “baggy clothing”, was clearly implying he would prefer her to have been in something more tight-fitting. When we reach the point where a simple, factual description of appearance is seen as egregiously sexist, then we are entering a potentially very dark chapter in male-female relations.
The second series of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, just beginning on Channel 4, is a chilling reminder of what a puritan society, drained of all joy and humour, looks like. In the green room at the Hay Festival on Monday, I saw Atwood herself surrounded by girls in the handmaids’ shame-red dresses and penitential white bonnets. The story is said to have acquired a spooky relevance in an America where the President’s advice on attractive women is to “grab ’em by the pussy”.
It might equally be seen as a cautionary tale for #Metoo as it targets men – some monsters, others flawed mortals. This makes many women, who would otherwise be supportive, feel uncomfortable. If the perfectly natural admiration of the female form is suppressed, and compliments are seen as oppressive not charming, then how long before women are advised to cover themselves as a barrier against desire? We all know how that ends.
The Government must think again about making changes to the Gender Recognition Act. For a man to lawfully be allowed to simply announce he is a woman, or vice versa, gets us into deep water, and not just in Hampstead. Most people don’t mind men’s clubs or girls’ nights. Most people prefer the privacy and refuge of single-sex lavatories. Most people enjoy the snap, crackle and pop of difference between the sexes. Most people don’t identify with any of this stuff.
When I tried to “identify as a man”, I found myself resorting to gender stereotypes (apologies, male readers). A woman should be allowed to be however and whoever she wants. So should a man. No need to “identify” as the other.
Now, if you’ll forgive me, I must go off and practice my Bale bicycle kick.