Drivel and bilge
Talu
New York
My house is being renovated by a team of Chinese men who speak no English and who smoke non-stop. I suppose people do not say good morning in China, or perhaps it's just me they've not taken a shine to. It's a creepy feeling. I walk into my house, or rather they do, I say hello, to be greeted by a silence to make Harold Pinter cringe. But they're hard workers and the house will be `leady befole election'. (I hope mine, not theirs.) Needless to say, my Chinese visitors have forced me to eat out, and this has been a revelation. Not that I'm exactly a homebody, but never before have I taken lunches by myself next to American ladies who lunch. And never before have I heard such drivel, such bilge masquerading as talk. American women have never been my favourites, but now it's getting ridiculous. In civilised societies such as ancient Athens and Imperial Japan, women tried to make life a little more pleasant and easier for the breadwinners; only in the United States does the male spend his time pampering and, worse, listening to women. I suppose it all went wrong in 1920, when effete American men gave their womenfolk the vote, a mistake on a par with a White Star so-called unsinkable liner speeding through icebergs in the North Atlantic back in 1912.
In return for their emancipation, American women decided to reform their menfolk by assuming manly traits. This makes for some very ugly scenes at lunch. Women, you see, need to connect through emotional bonding, which was once a key to survival for the weaker sex. Now it causes nothing but trouble as women are caught between the demands of their genes — to be feminine, obedient, married — and a society telling them that they are equal and independent. Mind you, some of these women I've been listening to during lunch would make a Panzer division led by Rommel turn tail and head for the hills. Never have I heard such screeching, never have I witnessed such vulgar displays of materialism, not even in Monte Carlo during the month of August. One of these creatures, making a nasal sound which could stop a car salesman at 50 paces, banged on about having her teeth whitened for close to an hour. I wanted to get up and overturn her table, but then I had no tape-recorder. No judge would send me down if he heard what I had to hear.
I suppose that after taming the frontier alongside their menfolk. American women then decided to tame their menfolk. But what about the Jews? There were very few Jews building log churches, shooting Indians and busting up saloons. So I rang my friend Martin Gross, who had the answer. 'Jewish women are as tough as they are because of the Cossacks ... ' It seems that during the Russian pogroms the Tsar decreed that Cossacks should not attack Jewish women, just the men. So the men stayed home and sent their women out to demonstrate for food. In no time there was a role reversal. Jewish men became effeminate and homebodies, and their women turned into ferocious maneaters. Martin's theory makes sense, but, having witnessed some extremely gruesome scenes during my lunches, I wish the Tsar had not issued this particular decree. Just as I wish American women had not tamed the frontier.
In the meantime, Spin Sisters, a book about how women of the media sell unhappiness and liberalism to the women of America, is making a big noise in the Bagel. Written by Myrna Blyth, a former editor of a women's magazine, it's right on the money. Women's glossies in America and in copycat Britain are liberal, anti-man and presume that all women think alike. They concentrate on fears about stalkers, breast cancer, hairy parts, you name it. That they promote a victim mentality is unquestionable. They also promote improvement. Improve your posture, they scream, your derriere, your teeth, your hair, your husband, your lover, your pet, your furniture, your clothes — it's enough to make one buy a large shotgun and start shooting glossy-women's-magazine editors. What no women's magazine ever offers to improve is women's minds. Remember the old joke: what's a Jewish princess's favourite position? Facing Bloomingdale's.
Last week I was in Washington and stayed with my old friend Willy von Raab. His wife Lucy was the proverbial breath of fresh air. She had gone off to compete for the Lavender Cup, in the American Daffodil Society's yearly competition. Lucy won the cup for miniature best daffodil, a feat straight out of Mrs Miniver or State Fair. Now that's what women should be doing. Daffodil competitions, showjumping, having babies, facing Bloomingdale's, being the respite of warriors, but never, ever lunching and screeching about whitening their teeth,
Previous page
