Shaming Casanova. What I learned from years of being Slut-Shamed.

My duty as a gentleman has never interfered with my pleasures in the smallest degree.

Oscar Wilde

Slut.

Whore. 

The only intention for these words to exist is to control a woman by shaming her with her sexuality and make her feel inferior as a human being. The idea is to guilt her into dressing how you want, restrict her access to birth control, to punish her for having premarital sex, or, at its most horrible aspect, to take the blame away from the attacker and punish the victim of a sexual assault. We usually see slut-shaming used to bully women for owning their sexuality, for choosing  how they dress, who they hang out with, or who they sleep with. 

But men? Men can’t be slut-shamed. Guys are players by nature, right? We hold as a badge of honor all our sexual encounters; hold as our champions the guy with the most notches on his bedpost. Since nice girls would never give in to us, it’s our obligation to “convince” them otherwise. Am I right? Not really. 

A real gentleman dedicates all his attentions to a single woman, showing her absolute affection and attention. That’s how a real man acts. That is the only acceptable attitude a good man should have towards women. So go out and find yourself that single woman, or else you’ll never be a real gentleman. Now I’m right, right? Not really either. 

Disclaimer: I want to make some things absolutely clear. Shaming in any form is simply wrong. How a person leads her life, as long as it does not hurt others, is none of your business. People should never use sex as a substitute for confidence or self-esteem, either. Also, before this even comes up, I hold no respect for the “Pick-Up Artists” (PUA) community. These are broken little boys who have no respect for themselves or women. I have already expressed my opinion of this cheap imitation of manhood here, so if you are interested, give it a read later on.

Let me start out with the not so obvious. Men have always been slut-shamed, just in a different way. Look at history, how society tends to view romancers. Men like Giacomo Casanova and Oscar Wilde were accused as corruptors of the youth and damagers of the virtues of women. Both were forced to flee more than once, live in exile, haunted by lost lovers, and hunted by jealous husbands. Their only sin was to live intensely. They were hedonists looking for enlightenment. And for that, Casanova’s name would forever be tainted with everything that is wrong with the womanizing ways of men. 

So why is it ok for a woman to be empowered by her sexuality, yet a man can’t? Why can’t a man be fascinated with the “fairer” sex without being condemned into the same cesspool as “pick-up” artists and douchbags? Women want a man who knows how to inspire passion within their bodies, their hearts, and their mind, yet how do they react when confronted with such a man? He is dismissed as a player. And this is especially true if the gentleman in question has a “reputation”. 

As a young artist, I found my muse in women. Lines were smoother and brush strokes were flowing. For me it was not about sex that drew me in, but about drowning my senses in their femininity. Nothing caught my attention faster than the sound of High heels on marble floors. Nothing made me breath deeper than the scent of perfume in the air. Nothing filled me with inspiration faster than the hinted smile that escapes a woman’s controlled facade. 

That led me to develop a “reputation” during my teens and early twenties. Phrases like “You are trouble in all the right ways” might have sounded like a complement at first, but I soon learned to dread them. I was labeled with a stamp as obvious as the Scarlet letter of old, and whatever I did from that moment on was assumed to be part of some imaginary game. "Is he a womanizer because of insecurities?" "It's that he is secretly gay." "He hates women, that's it" I was confronted with all kinds of absurd accusations. You might think the easy solution would have been to “stop being a man-whore”. Sounds simple enough, I just had to change who I am to make others happy. Because that seems to work great every time. 

After a while, I just gave up, and simply embraced the role that was thrust on my lap. I was tired of trying to prove to everyone that the stories where not true. And you know what? It was liberating. I had never given up my moral or my ethics, but I refuse to try to live up to the molds set up by others. I was still a Gentleman, just a gentleman who enjoyed life. It took me a while to make peace with it. I hung out with people with reputations just as bad as my own; the artists, the dancers, the misfits, the musicians, the writers, you know, the true rebels of society. And it was a hell of a ride. During the time it took me to make peace with myself, I learned a few helpful lessons, some good and some bad, that I now hand over to you.

1.  You will be made feel that you deserve a horrible life because, you know, Karma is a Bitch.

It will always be assumed that you leave a trail of broken hearts and shattered women in your wake. Most people will assume you are a lying manipulator because, in their small world, there is no way you could attract women without tricks. Any complement will be seen as suspicious, and any noble act will have questionable intentions. They will rejoice in your misery and will be angered with whatever success you have. So after a while you might think you deserve whatever bad comes your way. If you are not hurting anyone, why do you need to hurt yourself?

2.  People will attack you just to feel better about themselves.

You are seen as scum by some people. So these same people will think it’s perfectly acceptable, and even morally required, to use you as a step ladder. They will feel better about themselves every time they hurt you, since you ARE the devil incarnate in their eyes.

3.  People will be incredulous of everything, except rumors. Those are always true.

Think about it. Have you ever tried to convince someone about something you did, or didn’t do? Have you ever tried to prove a point with facts? Now try to do that when people automatically think you are lying. People will refuse to believe anything and everything, except when it’s some wild accusation or rumor, spouted by someone who has no facts or proof to back it up. People will believe THAT, because it’s easier to believe bullshit stories.

4.   Your friend’s Girlfriends will hate you.

They will see you as a dangerous threat, more so than any woman hitting on “their man”. They will view you as a bad influence, as the main reason their partner might stray. To them, you are constantly tempting their boyfriends with offerings of easy women and stripper clubs, even if you've never been to one. Nothing will strike fear into their hearts as “Guy’s night” where you are involved.

5.  You will be expected to accept however badly your girlfriend treats you.

So you settled into a relationship. The lady IS doing you a favor by simply being by your side, because you know you don’t deserve a “Nice” Woman. You WILL be reminded of all the insinuations and accusations she will have to deal with, all your lies and cheating, and whatever it is that the PUA guys do. The fact that you don’t do any of that is irrelevant, and you should just be thankful she even paid attention to you to begin with. Right?

6.  You will attract women for all the wrong reasons.

For all the stories and myths that develop beyond whatever reality might be, you will notice how some women will actually seek you out. It’s not that they want to know you as a person, or they are genuinely interested in you, or that they see past the rumors. They just want to know if the rumors were true and have a story to tell their girlfriends. Since you will “chase after” every single woman out there, the fact that you might not be interested in them will be seen as a personal attack and insult to her.

7.  Nothing says "Gay-Man" like being attracted to women.

Maybe it’s the idea that some men hide their sexual insecurities behind womanizing, maybe it’s the guys envious of the stories they heard, maybe it was the women you rejected in item 6, or maybe it was that you could care less about the sexual orientation of your friends, so for you there is no such thing as "gay" friends but rather just friends. For whatever reason it was, you will hear accusations of being gay. LOTS OF THEM. But never from gay people, just from uptight repressed "straight" people.

8.   You will learn to avoid making judgment calls and learn to accept everyone as is.

After living under social scrutiny, judgmental stares, and hypocrisy; you realize that every time you do the same to others, you become what you hate. As soon as you remove that “holier than thou” attitude, you learn to view everyone as your equal. You will realize that nobody is beneath you or above you. Some of the most interesting people in the world are those cast out by the mainstream crowd. These people chose to follow their own path, or were able to survive the path thrown to them by life. Learn from them and learn from their struggle. They will teach you how to live with your cracks and scars as badges of pride.

9.  “Fuck It” is an absolutely acceptable response.

People will talk about you, people will judge you, and people will hate you for no apparent reason. This will eat you inside and destroy your soul if you let it. That’s till you understand that if you remove the sense of injury, you remove the ability of others offending you. Trust me; you will lead a fuller life than those who chose to judge others instead of living.

10.  And as a last note, I leave you with the most important lesson of all, one that you have to carry with you every day, and most fill everything you do. The greatest gift you can offer anyone is to treat them with Dignity and the greatest complement anyone can pay you is a Sincere Smile.

 

Slowly dies... A Gentleman's poem not by Pablo Neruda

One of my favorite poets has always been Pablo Neruda, specially his "Slowly dies". It's not about love, or beauty, or fantasy. It's not even a lamentation of failed dreams. It's a warning, a battle cry, about how easily we can die. Even if we are among the living, we can still be dead. Like the lion caged for so long that you can see his soul dead when you look into it's eyes.

Unlike many who started reading Neruda either after hearing of him in HIMYM or after some comparative literature class in college, I had to study him as part of my regular education in High School. I might have complained then, but now I appreciate how I was exposed to him, to Cervantes, to Unamuno, to Borges, to Garcia Marquez, to Ayende, and to many others.

So I held this poem in great regard an as an inspiration for life. And then it happened. The same powers that the internet has to promote and turn all those Cat videos into international sensations, also tend to work wonders and magic in a positive way. And so it came about, Neruda was not the author, but Martha Medeiros, a Brazilian poet.

SLOWLY DIES (English translation)

Slowly dies he who becomes a slave to habit, repeating every day the same routines , who doesn’t change brands, who doesn’t risk to wearing a new color, and doesn’t speak to who he doesn’t know.

Slowly dies he who makes television his guru.
    

Slowly dies he who shuns passion, who prefers black and white and dotting their I’s to a whirlpool of emotions, precisely those that recover the gleam of the eyes, the smiles from yawns , and the hearts from the stumbles and feelings.

Slowly dies he who doesn’t turn away from the desk when unhappy at work, who doesn’t risk certainty for uncertainty to go after a dream, who is not allowed, at least once in life, to flee from sensible advice.

Slowly dies he who doesn’t travel, who doesn’t read, who doesn’t listen to music, who doesn’t find grace within himself.

Slowly dies he who destroys his self-love, who doesn’t let others help him.

Slowly dies he who spends his days complaining about his bad luck or the incessant rain.

Slowly dies he who abandoned a project before starting it, not asking a about things he does not know or not responding when asked about something he does know.

Let's avoid death in soft quotas, remembering always that being alive requires a much greater effort than simply breathing.

Only a burning patience will let us conquer a splendid happiness.

MUERE LENTAMENTE (Spanish, the one running around online)

Muere lentamente quien se transforma en esclavo del hábito, repitiendo todos los días los mismos trayectos, quien no cambia de marca, no arriesga vestir un color nuevo y no le habla a quien no conoce.

Muere lentamente quien hace de la televisión su gurú.

Muere lentamente quien evita una pasión, quien prefiere el negro sobre blanco y los puntos sobre las “íes” a un remolino de emociones, justamente las que rescatan el brillo de los ojos, sonrisas de los bostezos, corazones a los tropiezos y sentimientos.

Muere lentamente quien no voltea la mesa cuando está infeliz en el trabajo, quien no arriesga lo cierto por lo incierto para ir detrás de un sueño, quien no se permite por lo menos una vez en la vida, huir de los consejos sensatos.

Muere lentamente quien no viaja, quien no lee, quien no oye música, quien no encuentra gracia en sí mismo.

Muere lentamente quien destruye su amor propio, quien no se deja ayudar.

Muere lentamente, quien pasa los días quejándose de su mala suerte o de la lluvia incesante.

Muere lentamente, quien abandonando un proyecto antes de iniciarlo, no preguntando de un asunto que desconoce o no respondiendo cuando le indagan sobre algo que sabe.

Evitemos la muerte en suaves cuotas, recordando siempre que estar vivo exige un esfuerzo mucho mayor que el simple hecho de respirar.

Solamente la ardiente paciencia hará que conquistemos una espléndida felicidad.

A MORTE DEVAGAR (Portuguese, the original poem)

Morre lentamente quem não troca de idéias, não troca de discurso, evita as próprias contradições.

Morre lentamente quem vira escravo do hábito, repetindo todos os dias o mesmo trajeto e as mesmas compras no supermercado. Quem não troca de marca, não arrisca vestir uma cor nova, não dá papo para quem não conhece. 

Morre lentamente quem faz da televisão o seu guru e seu parceiro diário. Muitos não podem comprar um livro ou uma entrada de cinema, mas muitos podem, e ainda assim alienam-se diante de um tubo de imagens que traz informação e entretenimento, mas que não deveria, mesmo com apenas 14 polegadas, ocupar tanto espaço em uma vida.

Morre lentamente quem evita uma paixão, quem prefere o preto no branco e os pingos nos is a um turbilhão de emoções indomáveis, justamente as que resgatam brilho nos olhos, sorrisos e soluços, coração aos tropeços, sentimentos.

Morre lentamente quem não vira a mesa quando está infeliz no trabalho, quem não arrisca o certo pelo incerto atrás de um sonho, quem não se permite, uma vez na vida, fugir dos conselhos sensatos.

Morre lentamente quem não viaja, quem não lê, quem não ouve música, quem não acha graça de si mesmo.

Morre lentamente quem destrói seu amor-próprio. Pode ser depressão, que é doença séria e requer ajuda profissional. Então fenece a cada dia quem não se deixa ajudar.

Morre lentamente quem não trabalha e quem não estuda, e na maioria das vezes isso não é opção e, sim, destino: então um governo omisso pode matar lentamente uma boa parcela da população.

Morre lentamente quem passa os dias queixando-se da má sorte ou da chuva incessante, desistindo de um projeto antes de iniciá-lo, não perguntando sobre um assunto que desconhece e não respondendo quando lhe indagam o que sabe.

Morre muita gente lentamente, e esta é a morte mais ingrata e traiçoeira, pois quando ela se aproxima de verdade, aí já estamos muito destreinados para percorrer o pouco tempo restante.

Que amanhã, portanto, demore muito para ser o nosso dia. Já que não podemos evitar um final repentino, que ao menos evitemos a morte em suaves prestações, lembrando sempre que estar vivo exige um esforço bem maior do que simplesmente respirar.