‘Partner’; it’s a modern expression that is commonly used to describe your misses/fella/girlfriend/boyfriend. I think it’s an expression that’s been partly introduced to accommodate the gender-diverse relationships in contemporary society, but also it’s used as a marker of the degree of respect that men must now have for the aspiring, independent modern woman. Let’s face it, I don’t think the men in the lives of women like Katherine Bigelow, Angela Merkel, Christina Fernandez, Kate Blanchett or Fatima Whitbread would get away with referring to their other halves as ‘Er indoors’ or ‘Mi bird’ for too long. And I guess if you’re all hip and bi-sexual like Jessie J, or just weird and try-sexual like Alex Reid, the old traditional terms would be a bit limiting as a reference for the other person that you are… well, whatever it is you now call the monogamous ‘thing’ that you’re having with another person. Personally though, I hate it. It’s so… dare I say – unromantic. It’s devoid of any passion or emotive sentiment. It’s a term that conjures up images of practical, organised, convenience rather than hot, sexual abandon, or deep passionate, desire, or the warm, fuzzy, heart fluttering of lurve. Put it this way, I don’t want to be in a partnership with someone who I also want to sit on my face. I don’t want to be in a partnership with someone who I cuddle up to in the morning, or divulge my innermost fears and desires with, or dribble uncharacteristic sentiments to when we both see a beautiful sunset. I suspect in business that most partners tolerate each other for mutual benefit, like Clegg and Cameron, or the business beggars and those sharks on Dragons Den – someone is getting a better deal than the other but, ah well, at least it’s something. That doesn’t really sound like the stuff that loving dreams are made of. But perhaps that’s as good as it gets in a modern relationship.
I had an ex-girlfriend who I thought I loved. She was in her mid-twenties. We shagged each others’ brains out at every opportunity. We went partying and got drunk and high and danced the night away. We went for days out in the countryside when it was sunny and picnicked on the grass. It was great – for a time. I love the ‘honeymoon period’ and confess to having trouble moving beyond that period. But this went beyond the honeymoon period and when the bitch dumped me I was pretty broken up about it. I just couldn’t get those good times out of my mind. However, when I stopped floundering pathetically in the lovesick headfuck that being dumped causes and started to think rationally about what our relationship actually was, I eventually got over her. You see, the truth of the matter was, aside from the sex and the fun, she didn’t really contribute much. I couldn’t tell you what her opinion was on anything, because in-between shagging and partying she was a catatonic spectator on the sofa. I couldn’t tell you about an instance she comforted me in a time of need, because whenever I had a time of need she didn’t want to see me because I was being miserable. All I can tell you is how much she could drink and how much fun we had when we went out; ironically it was the rest that was a blur.
In recent news a headmistress at a girls boarding school condemned Kim Kardashian as “almost everything that is wrong with Western society”. When reading the feature and looking at the two women, a cruel, shallow part of me couldn’t help but think that the lady who looked like David Rappaport’s identical twin sister was just jealous of the lady who looked like the woman you close your eyes and visualise when you’re having sex with your ‘partner’. Kim Kardashian is what you would call ‘hot’, there’s no doubt. And although I don’t know the woman, my male instinct says “Yes, I would like to pound the living daylights out of that ‘bootay’ and everything that is attached”. But no matter how great she is to look at, if she was shallow, characterless and intellectually vapid, she would not last beyond a dozen good sessions before I’d get bored and start looking at her sisters – maybe even her mum. Beauty is more than skin deep – you have to have a great body under that skin too, and Kim definitely has – but just being a sexy bitch doesn’t cut it. So although Kim Kardashian isn’t the first sex kitten to be built up by the media as a female icon of sexual perfection, I’m inclined to agree to a degree with David Rappaport’s sister.
Sex sells and contemporary young women do often demean themselves by reducing their worth to the sum of that part between their legs. They (and the media) know that most men think with their dicks, and provided she is accommodating in bed a modern women thinks that she has control over her man. But what many women fail to understand is that a penis is a fickle beast. That old saying about men wanting a womanto be ‘a chef in the kitchen, a lady in the living room and a whore in the bedroom’ isn’t far from the truth. But a man also wants a best mate who he can have great sex with without being gay, and in my own personal experience of the modern woman, they seem to think that it’s just the ‘whore in the bedroom’ bit that counts. Not so. When I think back over my relationship with my Ex – indeed, many of the relationships I’ve had – it was me breaking the sweat in the bedroom, it was me who served up the best culinary delights at tea time, it was me who drove us to the countryside and bought the meals and the drinks. In retrospect it seemed to me that they just hung around waiting to get laid and entertained. Which, to be fair, is pretty enjoyable if you like entertaining; but only to a point.
It has been suggested to me that I’ve been going out with the wrong kind of women, but I’ve been out with all kinds of women. It’s been suggested that I’m too fussy, but with only one life to live fussy doesn’t come into it. It’s been suggested to me that I’m just a twat – that may be true. All I’m saying here – and this isn’t directed at all women – is if modern young women were to take their head out of those bullshit magazines and concentrate more on what their own man wants rather than what the fictional Cosmo / Marie Claire / Elle magazine man wants, she might be surprised at just how easy it is. The women who edit those magazines have the luxury of status and a great pay package to keep them warm and happy at night. The men they’re talking about are fabricated from other men based of polls from other magazines made up from opinions expressed by other contrived opinions created by magazine and media editors – in short, they don’t exist in real life. Neither does Kim Kardashian – even if she is in a reality TV show; a show that shows a reality that isn’t real.
I’m aware that the traditional role of a man is that of the arrogant, ‘two pumps and a squirt’, unreliable, philandering, twat; but I’m not that man, and I know a lot of guys who aren’t that bad either (but if you are one of those other guys, you need to up your game Brother!) But by taking her cue from the media, the modern young woman seems to think that the key to independence is all about being sexy and having fun and all she has to do is ensure that she looks good, sucks good and fucks good, and she is fulfilling her end of a relationship. Well to be brutally honest, a regular hooker can do that too, she’d probably work out a lot cheaper in the long run, and you wouldn’t have to put up with her shit.
I know those of you with ovaries who are reading this will be cursing me as a chauvinistic prick, but flattery will get you nowhere. And besides, I’m not the one who’s selling you the false dreams, just take a look at some of your modern icons – from Madonna to Ga Ga, Beyonce to Minaj – all they promote is booty, breasts, fake tan, clothes and surgery. None of that shit makes me love you any longer than my erection lasts, but during that erect period I promise to promise you the world. However, if you bring something more lasting to the party then I might give you something more lasting back in return.
Despite what I said at the start, relationships are a partnership of sorts, so if your man isn’t keeping his end up [so to speak], tell him. That’s where the independence comes in; you can now demand your respect and make the choice of walking away. Equality isn’t about having the freedom to do all the bad things men are traditionally known to do, it’s more about freedom of choice. So choose to do what you want to do, not what a magazine has advised you to do. Men are very complex creatures with very simple needs for the most part, and I assure you that no matter how good you look, suck, or fuck, he will eventually just prefer you could cook.