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In writing you might call it structure; in relationships, compromise.
Both are necessary to communicate and deal with other people, not only because no one will ever care as much about what you want as you do, but also because without them the world would be a screaming crowd of unmet needs.
”—as most of her romantic encounters, which might at least be funny, if not revealing of what she believes men are doing wrong, are depicted hazily.
(Nor is there an elucidation of, say, how kissing men is oppressive.) Conveniently, Roberson believes that not proving her points can prove her point.
Empty moralizing about the heterosexual couple as a power dynamic does not make it sound fun to participate in; relationships are work, as the cliché goes, but that’s because there’s supposed to be a payoff.
Sorry, my crushes: as is true of everything, this is all about Blythe Roberson!
” Though a performative hatred of men may lead to a performative decision to abstain from them altogether, Roberson admits she wants to find love—“when I meet a guy so hot that I feel the burning need to go see movies with him for the next forty years,” she writes, “you better believe I feel a ton of emotions about it.” Even so, she senses a tension between coupling with a man and her desire to write about everything that happens to her, which is also her career and her “art.” She suspects men may be threatened, classically, by her ambition, and by her “‘prose before bros’ philosophy,” which includes the fact that she will write about them as ruthlessly as she wants.
The right to say, without personal consequences, that men are trash?
The real tensions between heterosexual desires and expectations and feminism—broad examples include sex, monogamy, marriage, childcare—are not easily made irrelevant through rules and deal-breakers.
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As is apparently required now for anyone writing about how her personal problems are political, Roberson feels compelled to acknowledge that, as a “white, straight, cis, able-bodied, college-educated woman,” she has “a lot of privilege.” Other things we learn about her: She went to Harvard, she has a supportive family and many friends she apparently likes, she works for a late-night television show (the celebrity host of which has blurbed her book), she writes for the New Yorker, she lives alone in a steal of an apartment in Brooklyn, she maintains a packed schedule of comedy shows she often hosts, she is “hot and funny!