Why #MeToo has made me afraid to be a man
One year on from the hashtag campaign against sexual violence, Nirpal Singh Dhaliwal says it’s all over for dating
Tomorrow will mark the anniversary of the first #MeToo tweet sent by a Hollywood star following the allegations that Harvey Weinstein had sexually assaulted a number of actresses and paid off accusers for decades.
While Tarana Burke, an American social activist, had used the phrase as early as 2006, it was only when the actress Alyssa Milano used it last year to encourage victims of sexual harassment to tweet about it to show how wide the problem was, that it went viral.
But from the very start of the #MeToo campaign, one glaring result has been – and continues to be – the sense of threat many men now feel. Rather than embracing the discussion among women about their abuse and harassment, after 12 months of #MeToo, men have largely retreated from it – to their own detriment as well as women’s.
There is a nervousness among men that I haven’t ever witnessed before. The dating landscape has completely changed. At 44 years old, I’m regularly surprised by a supposedly more relaxed younger generation asking my advice on how to make the first move.
One thirtysomething – a brilliant, handsome star in his industry – goes into panic when sexual possibilities arise. A year ago, the same man was boasting of the three beautiful women he was juggling. Now, he’s so nervous that, when after an evening of drinking and suggestive dancing, a curvaceous peer took him home and leant into him on the couch in her low-cut top, bringing the conversation repeatedly to the subject of her breasts, he couldn’t close the deal. Nor could he relax enough to enjoy the overtures of a game older woman who led him into her bedroom and proceeded to guide him through the high-end contents of her lingerie drawer.
In each case, he stayed rigid and silent – as if under sniper fire – embarrassing them both in the process. Incapable of taking her in his arms, he was horrified when I advised that, in future, he could on such occasions just say that he found her attractive, maybe even that he wanted to kiss her, thinking that even this would leave him open to accusations.
Entering midlife, I personally no longer have the energy for chasing, and my “method” is no more than a genial relenting to those who signal an intention. Be it the doctor who gave me her number after a yoga class, the artist who befriended me on social media, or the writer who “twerked” me at a late-night party, grown-up women are comfortable with making the opening gambit and following through. Post #MeToo, I am also noticing how women are now taking charge much more and doing the romantic legwork, as men worry about making a first approach.
As women continue to as assert themselves, I’m w witnessing two types of male re response. There is, like my fri friend illustrates, a wider m male withdrawal from wo women, many choosing the un uncomplicated release of po pornography that often leads to c compulsive isolation, a phe phenomenon that increasingly afflic afflicts couples, turning healthy relati relationships sexually dead, with the ma man offering no more explanation than “I don’t feel like it”.
The slimiest response, however, has been the emergence of the outspoken male feminist: a politicised version of the creepy, approval-seeking Mr-NiceGuy routine that has always been the ruse of a sexual cretin, and often the mask of underhanded abuser, adept at undermining women in myriad snide and plausibly deniable ways.
Spouting about “toxic masculinity”, he is loud and quick in his judgment of society and men’s behaviour, while his own individual thinking and activity is never in question. Lest we forget, Weinstein himself went on the Women’s March in the same year that he was alleged to be a serial abuser.
I won’t pretend to be a feminist. My genital configuration is the closest thing I have to privilege, and I’m very wary of losing that. But my flaws are on my sleeve, open to painful discussion and correction. And this is what I think women really want from men: authentic honesty, not vapid, often sinister, sloganeering.
Taking a searching inventory of one’s own behaviour, to recognise misconduct with the intention of not repeating it, is among the most pro-woman thing a man can do. In the past year, I’ve reflected on my own relationships as #MeToo has shown how differently two people can feel about the same event. Looking back on bad dates and the bad sex I’ve had, I am confident that in each instance we both knew it wasn’t working and didn’t persist in the matter.
Some male friends don’t feel so comfortable and worry how their past encounters may have been experienced by women; a few complain that #MeToo has become a dragnet and a witch-hunt. There’s also a great anxiety at seeing men vilified for actions that haven’t been proven, but that I think is just anxiety, the counter-swing to the pain of the many women who were not believed when they complained of their abuse, or stayed silent for fear of the public shaming they risked if they did.
People use the recent accusations of historical abuse that Brett Kavanaugh and Cristiano Ronaldo have faced as examples of how these can damage lives and reputations, but the last time I checked, Kavanaugh was still awarded a lifetime seat on the US Supreme Court and Ronaldo continues to play for Juventus with millions in the bank.
There are a lot of incredibly angry women around, which is fine by me. I’ve been hurt a lot in my life, in many ways, and acknowledging and articulating my rage has been vital to achieving and maintaining sanity. Women have to own and express their fury simply to save their mental health, let alone change the world. And men need to be OK with that – even if we don’t like talking about it very much.
I’d never examined my relationships with women until I began therapy over four years ago and confronted the reasons behind my dysfunctionality that played out as selfishness, promiscuity, infidelity and abandonment. I don’t blame my past for my actions as an adult – but nor do I deny the wounds and confusion I inherited that are, none the less, my responsibility to
There’s a great anxiety at seeing men vilified for actions that haven’t been proven
overcome. Others, less introspective and in denial, are triggered into self-preserving panic by #MeToo and often unable to listen to its message.
Given how challenging #MeToo is, it could well alienate them further. This alienation is already apparent among Incels (involuntary celibates), an online subculture of men who, unable to find romantic partners, retreat into shared resentment.
Ultimately, a year on, #MeToo has simply illuminated how messy and suppressed the truth of male-female relationships has been, discomforting men with a reality they’d probably prefer to ignore.
But, as one female friend told me, “it’s time for everyone to get comfortable with feeling uncomfortable”, because women aren’t suddenly now going stop a campaign where they are simply telling their stories.