Not all men are predatory sex pests and not all women are unreceptive to physical displays of affection from men - it just often depends on how attractive they are
Far be it from me to condone unwanted groping, or fondling, or any other sort of ‘inappropriate’ behaviour, whether in the workplace, at the Lib Dems’ HQ, the BBC, or the precincts of the Catholic Church. I agree with all my fellow female columnists: it IS outrageous for anyone in power to harass their subordinates, be they men, women, priests or children.
But as the rage over past and present sex scandals carries on boiling over, like milk in a pan, I’m going to come out and say something else too.
Not all men are predatory sex pests. And not all women are unreceptive to physical displays of affection from men, be they sex pests or not. Their reaction can often depend, in fact, on the ratio of power to attractiveness, of money to youth, of age to beauty, on any number of factors that determine where each party is placed in the all-important socio-sexual pecking order – let’s call it the Pester Curve™.
So it is worth pointing out, early on, that if the man who is ‘hitting on’ the woman does not look like a bloated homunculus but is swooningly attractive, a rock star, a billionaire – imagine it’s George Clooney suggesting a spot of how’s your father on Lake Como – then often the target female finds it within herself to manage the situation, and rarely describes herself as a ‘victim’. The higher the man is up the Pester Curve, the higher his chance of success, and a clean getaway.
If, however, the man in question is a boss or a politician and a goatish Billy Bunter to boot, he is lower down the Pester Curve. He has to play dirtier, and that is bad.
More... RACHEL JOHNSON: You can rule the world, girls: just don't forget to have babies too Ed Miliband’s mansion tax could ruin me, but I deserve it! It's time for us baby-boomers to pay our duesThe man has to deploy his position and status to further his sexual goals, on the basis of the dwarfish Kissinger’s optimistic assumption that ‘power is the ultimate aphrodisiac’ (and also ‘the best alibi’, according to the tagline of the new Richard Gere movie, Arbitrage). And he has to apply the modus operandi of professional lungers everywhere, which is that if you proposition ten women, three will be so surprised by the unsolicited approach that they will submit.
T. S. Eliot captured this stunned passivity in The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock: ‘The young man carbuncular continues his advances on a woman: Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; Exploring hands encounter no defence; His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference.’
Actually, most women feel more than indifference – it is actively unpleasant and creepy – when a man they don’t fancy, whom they haven’t invited to do so, especially one who has sway over their future, makes a move. But it is actively pleasant when a man you have been secretly lusting after does exactly the same, and do let’s hold on to that.
So I would like to reassure chaps that most women are only too thrilled if a man shows the slightest interest in them, as most men so rarely do. To generalise, Englishmen are already so timid, so determinedly non-verbal, and so understandably terrified of rejection, that the poor sausages have to have downed several pints of Dutch courage before suddenly shoving their brogue against your stockinged foot under the table, or falling into your lap as the taxi bowls around Hyde Park Corner.
In France, men openly appreciate women of all ages, and flirt with them on the street, and in cafes. In Italy, a friend of mine with a sticky-out ‘booty’ was waiting to cross the street, and the man behind her cupped a buttock in each hand and wheel-barrowed her across. I was once at a ‘jump-up’ (street party) in St Lucia when . . . actually, I’ll stop there – this is a family newspaper.
And I’d like to stress that life here will be much diminished, and women and men will fail to ‘hook up’, let alone form lasting relationships, if men are so terrified by the revelations of sex abuse, complicity, omerta and cover-ups in our institutions that they stop making passes at women, without having gained prior consent.
Of course, it may be upsetting to be propositioned by a man you wouldn’t go to bed with even if he were the last man on Earth. But as Mae West said, it is better to be looked over than overlooked. And women can always say no. It is possible, after all, to treat men, even very cocky ones, like puppies. If they keep bounding up and trying to hump your leg, a smack on the nose and a sharp ‘no’ generally works.
Of course, in a perfect world, gentlemen should always wait for the answering gleam, the green light before continuing their approaches. But whether the approaches are undesired or wanted, women can’t expect the opposite sex (obviously, predatory bosses, brutish pervs, serial office lechers, and Lib Dem ‘octopus men’ etc form a separate category) to make all the running – the calling, the fixing of dates, the dreaded ‘first move’ – and then complain when it goes a bit wrong, as it so often does. We can’t always have it both ways.
Although sex pests exist everywhere, and should, of course, be held to account for their vile suggestions, wandering hands and disgusting behaviour, the vast majority of men are neither manipulative nor abusive. They are your husbands, fathers, sons, brothers. And sometimes, even a female columnist has to stand up for them. That’s all.
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Watch out for the 'Weightrise' perks, PippaI have enjoyed working for Waitrose on occasion, so my nose has been put slightly out of joint at the news Pippa Middleton has a new writing gig with the chain’s magazine. Part of me wishes her every success.
Another part of me is hoping that she will find the lavish comestible perks at our poshest supermarket irresistible and she will soon be regretting her move to the grocery store she will learn to call ‘Weightrise’.
Pippa Middleton might find it hard to resist scoffing food from Waitrose, now that she's landed a gig writing for the supermarket's in-house magazine
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Oscars without endThe Oscars was the evening that comedy, fashion and Hollywood all dissolved into a medley of frat-boy ‘humor’, haute couture and ‘humblebragging’.
Unwatchable it may have been but, chez moi, Gongs of Praise started in the small hours of Sunday, continued on Monday night with 90 mins of highlights, and then even limped into Tuesday when my son found the highlights on TV and watched them instead of writing an essay. When my husband came home from work he almost broke down.
‘But the Oscars can’t STILL be going on,’ he said, looking at the time and date on his watch wildly, then back at the screen, as Fantine screamed her scream as time went by. Awards season has gone on even longer than Les Mis. Can it please be over now?
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Such a relief that Channel 4 News has stopped its presenters repeatedly warning: ‘This film DOES contain some flash photography.’ It just shows a box containing the words on screen. Channel 4 – always so daringly unconventional!
