Sorry, I Won't Be Bringing My Dick to the Table
Guess what "BRDTTT" stands for? You won't get it, so I'll tell you. Bring Your Dick to the Table. Apparently the artist—and I use that term loosely—believes women can keep these expensive little pet cocks in their pockets to grab on to when they lose confidence in, for example, themselves in a business situation with men. A whole inch and a half of penile self-confidence right in the palm of our small, feminine hands.
The story is that she was engaged in a difficult business deal with men, grabbed her lip balm in her purse, and received an almighty epiphany about how holding a tiny penis in her hand would help her pick up her balls and behave like a man. Take hold of the masculine power she deserves by reminding herself to laugh at sexist behavior.
The artist writes:
There are negative voices in our society, our culture, maybe even your own family that can corrupt your inner monologue. If holding a small bronze dick and laughing at those voices, those fears helps you overcome them, then why not?
This is not a symbol; it is just a humorous talisman to remind us sexism is ridiculous."
Ugh. Seriously? What poppycock. Sexism is ridiculous? Has she fucking been paying attention? Sexism is responsible for the millions of hungry women and children who live below the poverty line; for women's wages, which still don't nearly equal men's for the same jobs—if we can get the same jobs; for rape culture and all it entails, including rape; for slavery; for the bruises and black eyes we hide from our children; for Elliot Rodger's manifesto ...
For fuck's sake! Why would holding a tiny $150 dick in my secret hand make all of that funny to me? How would it give me courage? Would this tiny talisman really make me giggle instead of tensing up when I have to pass a man on a quiet street at night? Will it make me snicker because I'm in what's still considered a female profession, and even with a master's degree and years of experience I'm lucky to make minimum wage if I do my job well? Will it make me smile when I read about the women Elliot Rodger murdered because he was a virgin?
Several readers sent me links to this very expensive pocket rocket. I tried to find the humor in it. Really I did. See me trying? But I don't think sexism is absurd—at least not in the ha! ha! sense. And I certainly don't think the answer is to hold a little dick in my hand to remind me to fucking laugh when I encounter it.
Right this minute, I'm like a lot of my friends: I'm pissed off that I'm still having the same conversation about sexism and rape culture and nice-guy syndrome and how men hate women who won't fuck them when they demand to be fucked, and I'm still hearing the same response. I'm still hearing "most men aren't like that, so there's no problem here. Move on, ladies."
Guess what. Bullshit. Instead of carrying around a tiny penis to remind us to tee-hee at the sexist behavior that permeates every facet of our lives, women want men to examine their own behavior to see if, in fact, they are part of the problem. We want men to stop telling us they know better than we do how other men treat us. We want men to call other men out when they treat women like objects. We want to tell our stories and be believed. And we want to own our own bodies once and for all ...
I do not need a penis in my pocket to be a complete human being. I need autonomy over my own body, my woman's body. I already have a lovely vagina and that should be enough to make me an equal adult member of the human race.
Obviously this is a gimmick to make money, and not something serious, but I'm feeling raw right now, along with many of my women friends. I do not find sexism a laughing matter. So keep your golden penis and give me my human rights.
Originally posted here: Reticulated Writer