Good women. They are nowhere to be found. They were either born to remain beyond reach, or – and this is even more probable – they were not born at all.

I know for sure I am not one of the good ones.
Another thing that I do know is that there is a frightening uniformity of thought among women, which – please trust me on this – expresses anything but solidarity. And there is also a frightening uniformity of look among women which expresses anything but aesthetic agreement.

I know and I sense that there is something deeply wrong with this inability of making a difference as a woman in a late modern world. Deeply wrong and extremely hypocritical!

Although, over the years, women gained a sense of vanity, of competition and existential despair that were once specific to men, they rarely do anything interesting and original with these. They get to ask themselves “what do I really want?”, and then they end up becoming oversimplified cliché-examples of a feministic ethos.

So she is never herself. She loses herself and she also loses, in the process, her kindness and her strength. She becomes, instead, weak in the heart. She thinks she is proud, but she has become a coward. She thinks of herself as some kind of Amazon woman, but the truth is she has become just like everybody else: selfish, depressed, unhappy, on and off Prozac.

Whatever might have been different and unique about her has been (successfully) erased. No, this is not self-loath, it is self-deceiving.

She thinks she has finally reached a point where she can safely say that she has “embraced” her body and mind, but – make no mistake! – the exact opposite is true. She has no contact with herself! She does not approve of her own physiology, she feels trapped in every way by her own metabolism (from the way she stores fat to the unfortunate ability of carrying children). She is exasperated by the way her brain engages in decision-making and problem-solving, and she cannot stand her underdeveloped muscles. When she goes to the gym late in night to lift weights after a hard day’s work in a man’s career field, she knows she does the right thing: she is strong and getting stronger.

She is so free, she does not live in her body and mind anymore; she only lives outside herself, outside herself, spending her days and nights camping on a battlefield. She has completely forgotten how it is like not to be at war.

She misunderstands her own physical appearance and her innermost will. She is too fat or too skinny for her own taste (depending on the ideological model du jour), and she never ceases trying to overcome her need to “compromise” herself by meeting a man halfway.

She is not human because she has no genuine human experience. She is a woman because she transcends every human limitation. And no one f***s with her. Or with her cause.
That is why her solemnity looks fake; her children (if she has any) – disordered gamers; her husband – porn-addicted; her designer dress – meaningless; and this text – a failure.

failing(Foto: Dead-end Street/Adela Toplean)

What Goes Around Comes Around

A couple of weeks ago I bought my first pair of leather pants in 17 years. Behind the curtain in the changing room, I felt strange, almost like I was tricking myself into believing I am not ridiculous.

By the time I am 50 I will probably be looking for my very last pair of leather pants.

And my daughter will buy her first.

It is unlikely I will see her wearing her second pair.

The circularity of fashion is some kind of tactical, delicate approach to two of the women’s most pressing questions: „What am I going to wear today?” and „Is my body still good enough to successfully meet my growingly complicated requirements for graceful living?

When you wear that denim shirt you used to love in high school it is like you are trying to resume your position in the whole universand the role you play in your own life project.

Sadly, by wearing that denim shirt that became fashionable again you cannot quite get the consistent look you want. However, the trying alone is enough to make you feel strangely connected to the present world; yet hopelessly disconnected.

There are no fashion choices that are not in accordance with an internal drive. All fashion choices actually try to fulfil a real or an imaginary agenda.

After all, you do mix fashion edicts with existential choices. You have this instinct for blurring the distinctions between the first and the second, so that you will not get too affected by these two terrible antipodal threats: the lack of meaningful progress in your existence and the excess of structure and predictability of fashion. Very few of us women know how to control such de-phasing without erasing it.

All in all, you get to wear the same trendy piece of clothing at least three times in your lifetime. Then you just stop being trendy because you either stop caring to adjust to the new spring collection, or because, well, you die.

You’re too young. Then you’re too old. And in between, you think you’re being fashionable 🙂




(To be read by men only)

Worthless things seem to gain in value once they enter the area of a woman’s interest.

If it’s about the lamest man alive or about a Louis Vuitton replica purse, women love to make the worthless seem praiseworthy and the other way around. Nothing excites her more than making up strategies and tactics for turning cheap into dear, and gold into trash. She is the acknowledged governor of all understatements, and the crowned queen of all overstatements.

She can make everything happen, in any (im)possible way. More precisely, she puts a great deal of wit and a generous piece of passion in making up a new reality, conformable to her wish.

It doesn’t matter how striking the dissimilarity between her PR tactics and the actual object is, she’ll do everything to enforce her own truth on the most skeptical people.

Her determination is perplexing yet pathetic, puerile yet perfidious, and, above all, frightfully efficient. Trust me with this one: even often than assumed, the whole world ends up believing what she believes.

Dear Sir, for your innocent eyes, it may look comfortable to let her talents guide your views, because she gladly bends the reality until it suits your expectations. Yes, she’ll do that for you. If she really wants to. But she’ll tear everything down and declare it null and void the minute she changes her mind, leaving you aimless, overwhelmed by contradictions.

It is her natural condition to constantly work for you or against you; so don’t worry, or watch out. Nothing warms a man’s heart more than noticing how – if the woman wants it to be so – his mediocrity turns to sheer wisdom, right under his very eyes. Oh what a treat. Oh what a threat.

monkey business


The Valentine’s in the details

Throughout centuries and millennia, so many imposing, memorable things were done for women!

Wars, castles, cities, poems, novels, church reforms, pop songs.

What have women done (for men), in return? Everything that was left to do:

They wrote in their hearts every single man’s unwritten biography, they recorded and indexed in their detail-oriented minds every single picture of men waking up, going to bed, agonising in their self-absorption, shuddering in their orgasms.

They’ve arranged millions of family houses, and they’ve invented quadrillions of lullabys, they’ve hated their children without nobody even knowing it, and they’ve killed all their rivals without a single blood-drop to be wasted.

They’ve led men to death and they’ve led men to fame, they’ve led men to marriage, and they’ve led men to bankruptcy, they’ve kissed strangers mutely and they’ve cheated without making a sound, they’ve played the victims and they’ve played the witches, they’ve seduced their little boys and they’ve envied their little girls, they fed everybody without bothering to cook, they took care of everybody without bothering to care, they loved „power” best from the „power of love”, and they loved „love” best from the „God is love”.

Woman is the world’s most sophisticated thing. And wherever there’s anything to be entangled, you will find her there, entangling; and brewing and spell-bounding; making fine little useful pieces of Everything, out of a huge, terrifying Nothing.