In these mixed-up, misandrist times, there’s no shortage of articles claiming men are “broken” or lacking. And, surprise of surprises, the solution is always for the fellows to listen to feminization-prescribing social engineers and become more, well, like women. The latest example is “James” Barnes, a woman masquerading as a man who writes, “I’m a Trans Man. I Didn’t Realize How Broken Men Are.”
Now, what follows should be prefaced with: If you look for the brokenness in people, you’re sure to find it. Since we’re all part of a “broken” (i.e., fallen) race, anyone accusing others of brokenness will surely, in principle, be correct. The problem is that Barnes does not critique man, but men; and she doesn’t prescribe God, but gobbledygook.
Barnes begins with her “story.” This is a common literary technique — employed by women more than men — that’s designed to make the reader connect emotionally with the writer so that he’ll then be more likely to accept the former’s assertions regardless of their validity. In Barnes’ case, this includes asserting that she always felt like a boy “on the inside.”
After making her case that she really is male, deep down, Barnes writes at Newsweek, “When I enthusiastically started the transition process at 26 years old, I thought I had prepared for all the significant side effects: Acne, sweating, having an enormous appetite, and everything else that comes from testosterone” (note: the most horrible ones she perhaps omits).
She then continues, “The one thing I didn’t prepare for was how lonely it is to be a man.”
In reality, of course, Barnes could only have prepared for how lonely it is to be a woman pretending to be a man.
Barnes, who does appear a good simulacrum of a male, proceeds to say that she’d had warm friendships with both sexes before her MUSS (Made-up Sexual Status, aka “transgender”) interventions. The process made her relationships more “distant,” however, and it alienated some friends; moreover, many “women didn’t know how to talk to a guy about our regularly discussed topics,” she writes.
“Men started treating me like their guy friends, which was exactly what I wanted,” Barnes adds. “What I didn’t know is that male friendships aren’t as deep.” Actually, though, they are deep — but different. (More on this later.)
Before proceeding, note that as is common today, Barnes’ fallacies are enabled by pseudo-facts. First, her basic thesis — that men endure loneliness more than do women — is belied by research showing that females are actually the lonelier sex. One wonders if Barnes would have written her article knowing this (answer: probably).
This finding is wholly unsurprising, too. It’s one reason there were mountain men living in solitude and not mountain women. It’s why wives will often resist their husbands’ desire to relocate to the country, as they prefer urban living, around friends and acquaintances; and it’s why they’re generally more keen on hosting guests than are their husbands, who are more likely to find visitors a burden. It also explains girls’ greater susceptibility to social contagion (e.g., embracing MUSS “identities”). Females are more social, creatures of the flock — and they’re more likely to experience loneliness when their greater need for social connection goes unfulfilled.
Barnes then uses her misconception to explain a problem relating to another misconception, saying she believes this male “loneliness” is “why the suicide rate in men is so much higher” — four times as high.
In reality, though, women are more likely to attempt suicide — three times as likely (they’re also more prone to depression). But men are more apt to succeed because they generally use more violent means (e.g., guns and not pills).
As for relationships, some commenters under Barnes’ article pointed out that she was merely projecting her (still) female mindset onto men. As respondent Dyson Freeman wrote:
Yes, men and women are different. If you were a man you would understand that our friendships aren’t “deep” in the sense that we don’t have long, tearful conversations about our feelings with other men because we don’t want that!
Having the opportunity to live as a man gives you some insight into our differences, but you conclude that men need to be more like you, a woman. And while I do think men could use a little more empathy, both internally and from others, you should also realize that many of us are happy the way we are.
We are wired differently, and don’t require the same emotional support and connection that women do.
I can vouch for this anecdotally. My best friend (who has, sadly, passed on) was like a brother to me, and in our mid-teens and beyond we’d sometimes have conversations that would last hours, discussing politics, social issues, religion, philosophy, and life, the Universe, and everything. It was deep, very deep, but feelings weren’t a big topic — unless it was the philosophy of feelings (emotion). We didn’t want to or even think to discuss our own very much. We were seeking Truth.
This accords with what we know about sex differences, too. When men hear about problems, they instinctively try to find and offer solutions. When women discuss their problems, they often want something else: an ear to bend, commiseration, and empathy. They want someone to cry with.
Speaking of which, and lastly, Barnes presents a dearth of male tears as a defect. Well, another anecdote: As a boy, I would sometimes cry (usually out of frustration), as children will do. But a little ways through adolescence — it coincided with my voice changing — this ceased. No one told me to “man up,” mind you; the tears just no longer came as easily.
It’s plain to me that this was part of testosterone’s masculinizing effect; it’s called becoming a man. And as I explained in “The Security Sex,” a manly man is precisely what women want.
In reality, many gals may say they want Barnes’ conception of a man, but the truth is that even feminist women won’t respect such fellows. They instinctively crave a man who’s strong — this includes emotionally so.
So, guys, you can take your lead on being a man from someone who doesn’t even know she’s not one. But word to the wise: Soy boys quickly become tiresome, discarded toys.
