The Public Persona Of Camille Paglia: A Case Of Intellectual Fraud
Copyright © by Ben
This choppy piece of
writing began as a challenge I posed to a friend.
One was offered the opportunity of counting the number of cases of lying,
dishonesty, misrepresentation, false claims, stupidity, and general
disingenuousness committed by Camille Paglia in several hours of footage of her
recorded public appearances. Since
this is foremost a mere listing of such incidences, one should not expect an
exegesis of the good lady’s works. Although
I may pursue such an examination of her works in a manner not too unlike my
current study, such will certainly be of a higher caliber, and will avoid the
constant repetition of noted offenses the current writing provides.
I, in fact, look forward to it. From
what I have seen of her works so far, her writings are even more egregious in
their lack of integrity than her speeches.
I should say that, despite my utter contempt for the woman, I consider
her a fine adversary, perhaps for the many traits and interests we share in
common. We both celebrate the
irrational, the imaginative, in addition to the outright intellectual.
We both share an interest in sexuality and gender differences.
We both have an interest in feminism, though we are on opposing sides in
this war. If she were not guilty of
many flagrant acts of lying I might even respect the lady.
To give you an idea of the path this examination, I should give you a
couple details about Paglia, her work, and her tendencies.
First, at the age of forty-three, Paglia’s main work was published, Sexual
Personae. It is an examination of the history of Western art in
relation to sexuality, or so I’m told. Already
I have seen quotes from the work that attempt to reach far beyond the bounds of
reality, generally a series of claims that could never be defended,
intellectually or otherwise. Now,
it is important to know that although Dr. Camille is a natural liar, her ideas
can sometimes sound attractive, especially to women. But even the girls need to step back and think about the
things the prof proffers in her frantic rants.
One of the most bizarre of phenomena that Paglia (pronounces, by the way,
Pah-lee-uh) seems to consistently manifest is self-contradiction.
As we get into the ugly detail, all shall see what I mean.
Since this writing is meant to be a mere numbering of her untruths and
stupidities, I will not get too detailed before the counting begins.
So the reader knows what to expect, I will attempt to counter many of her
misunderstandings and more egregious acts of ingenuousness with my own
understanding of the subject where possible.
And as a warning, you will encounter innumerable incidents of repetition;
this examination is based on hundreds of pages of notes from which certain
repetitions have been expurgated, though some have been untouched, if just to
show her consistent flaws of contradiction, untruth, and poor thinking.
The numbering system is included merely to show the sheer volume of her
flagrant falsehoods and foolish intellectual faux pas.
appearance on Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher
We’ll begin our evaluation of the vacuous enlightenment of Professor
Paglia with her two-day long exclusive appearance on this old show.
Let us note that Camille always speaks in a neurotic and rapid chatter,
which as one writer has commented, “sounds like Woody Woodpecker repairing
your roof.” This show hosted by
the political comedian (a double-hack, by my evaluation), Bill Maher, usually
followed the format of having four guests every night, who spent half an hour
arguing over the latest political mumbo-jumbo; Bill made an exception for Paglia,
whom he obviously found both appealing and controversial, having her on without
additional guests two nights in a row.
Camille comes out swinging, with her declaration that she hates dogma in
any form. She is opposed to what
she calls the Stalinist feminism of the 70’s.
As we shall see in this seemingly endless critique, she often makes such
claims, yet she never once proposes that we eliminate the man-hating laws that
have entered into the legislation of both states and the nation with the help of
feminist lobbyists, including man-only domestic abuse laws, which land the man
in jail no matter who be the abuser, restraining orders that leave the man
little, if any, chance of defending himself from accusation, and child custody
laws that not only assume the mother to be the parent preferred but often deny
visitation rights to the father, meanwhile requiring the man to pay either
alimony, or child support, whether or not he has visitation rights; in other
words, a man loses his family but must still support them.
By this very lack of mention of such one-sided laws, Paglia reveals
herself as a shill for feminism, whether witting or not.
For all of her talk and chatter of reform, she has not achieved a single
one, and she appears to have no interest in doing so.
One of her favorite canned anecdotes involves her love of the Rolling
Stones, whom most feminists her age and older considered sexist, specifically
their song “Under My Thumb,” a song that is clearly about a man who has a
woman in his pocket, has control over her every action in fact, while he goes
about his wanton life, sleeping with whomever he prefers at the time and living
the life of the proverbial philanderer. Now,
Camille, in her attempt to dismiss the one-sidedness of the relationship clearly
described in the song, latches on to the fact that she “once had him down,”
which actually turns his activities into an act of masculine revenge against a
woman he considers a bitch who needs to be punished by way of his extreme
attractiveness, an attractiveness, of course, brought on by his rock
stardom—the song is obviously about Mick or whichever band member wrote the
lyrics; all are equally attractive in their rock star glory.
Yet Camille swears there is a dynamic in the song because of this line;
she swears that this week he has her down and next week she’ll again have him
down. Nowhere in the actual lyrics
is this even implied; it is actually understood that now that he’s a man of
real status, she’ll either have to put up with his rules and their
double-standard or buy her ticket home. The
implication she so desperately grasps for while declaring it with such bravado
does not exist. She is simply wrong (1).
When asked what kind of music she likes she mentions Guns N’ Roses,
Metallica, and Van Halen as masculine types she adores, and further comments
that she dislikes the P.C. grunge, meaning by this that grunge music is a
pussy-whipped sort of fair that is the result of bad feminist political
correctness. Now, if grunge music
consisted merely of Pearl Jam, Nirvana, and Soundgarden, she might be correct in
her swift assessment. They indeed avoid the near-misogyny of an Axl Rose, the
womanizing of a The Rolling Stones, and similar primal approaches to sex
relations. But if one simply looks
through the history of rock music, most does not take that approach.
Metallica, whom she mentions, doesn’t even write love songs or songs
about conquests of women; likewise with many other bands.
Then there is the more romantic approach of innumerable pop rock singers,
who actually sing of love and lust without any of the darker manifestations of
those things. And then there is
something else in grunge music that Camille knows nothing of; as usual, she is
not well-versed in what she speaks of. Unfortunately
for her theory, a little band called, Alice in Chains, is also considered a
grunge band, and as anybody who has heard their music knows, much of it is
anything but P.C. It is in fact
sadistic, psychotic, controlling, dominating, and abusive, with an ambiguous,
even ambivalent, relation to the female gender, which is often the target of
threats of murder. Additionally,
though somewhat off topic, Alice in Chains puts Guns N’ Roses to shame in
terms of drug references and their accuracy.
To be more specific, it is Layne Staley who writes most of these songs
that are far from being genteel, that do not come close to the worship of the
feminist woman. So, in this way, in
her lack of comprehensive knowledge of her subject, she is wrong (2).
She is not such a music lover after all.
Next, we encounter a phenomenon particular to this pseudo-intellectual.
She resembles a politician in these cases more than a professor. She actually claims that “regular, everyday people” (i.e.
the working class) stop her in the street and shout, “Give ‘em hell,
girl!” The implication is that Joe Blow knows who she is and identifies with
her. The odds are calling to me (3). How many working class Joes do you think
thumb through her books at night? The
idea is ludicrous, yet she wants you to eat it whole.
Now she shows her colors as a wannabe anti-feminist, instead revealing
her utter hypocrisy, bragging about her earlier life. She says the time for confrontation was the 60’s and
70’s, then, unexplainably, brags of her violence toward men. She kicked them, punched them, and even broke an umbrella
over one man’s head. (Remember
the umbrella, just as the Rihanna love song occurs to you.)
Now what is so morbidly hypocritical about this is that if a man had done
the same to her, even in the 60’ and 70’s, before feminist law was firmly
entrenched in the loathsome books of socially acceptable behavior, he would have
been, if not imprisoned, reprimanded severely. Imagine little old me, large enough to kill a woman easily
with a couple blows, breaking an umbrella over some girl’s head in public—or
even in private, really (4).
Now this woman, who brags of being a strident bisexual, who even claims
that all of us are bisexual (as you’ll see shortly), claims to be “an
open lesbian.”(5) You’ll see a
consistency to her self-negating contradiction as this study progresses, a
again her words do not match her lack of action and her real alliances.
We call this belying one’s true allegiance.
She confidently announces, “The time for hostility toward men in
feminism is over. It’s time to reconcile, to find common ground.”
As if there were ever a need for women to be hostile toward men.
As well as tempting cliché, she does not acknowledge that such
reconciliation, and such reaching of “common ground” is not possible until
the double standards legislated in stone in most of our institutions must be
rectified, rescinded, removed, before the talk of truce in the gender wars can
even begin. But what does she care of any of this reality that must be
addressed by mankind? She’s
a fucking happy lesbian. As long as
she has another clit to lick, what does she care of beings with dicks? (6)
She choses to take up the subject of men again, a subject she knows a lot
about for someone with her track record. She
declaims that it’s the “21st century—time to let men find their
voices.” She also thinks the
piddling men’s movement (which most men have never even heard of and which
most men would be disgusted by) is a good thing, prattling, “It’s up to men
to define themselves.” And what
is worse, in her attempt at proclaiming herself a lover of the manly man, “We
do not want men to be like women. We do not want castrated men.” Dear woman, who but a castrated man could deal with a violent
woman (like yourself) without landing behind bars? (7)
(By the way, my lovely readers, we haven’t reached the deep end yet in
terms of her brazen dishonesty. The
greatest claim though is not too far away.)
Like some sort of illiterate poet, she is in love with the mythological
character of androgyny, and lays claim to it as one of her own dominant
qualities. Of course, this is just
more balderdash, but that later. Says
our great professor, “The 60’s generation was about androgyny.
We thought we could blur the sexes.”
They thought, as she states, that the idea of male and female was somehow
anachronistic. They were going to
demolish these “patriarchal conceptions,” “demolish them.”
Of course here she actually admits to being wrong, so we can not
reprimand her for that. But what is
a matter of some controversy and even mystery is the idea that the 60’s
generation “was about androgyny.” Who does she think she’s talking to? Unwittingly she is telling a generation of people who more
and more accept androgyny about how androgynous their phony parents were while
they were dropping acid and trying to comprehend a single passage of the Bagavad
Gita. So, in other words, she
is simply overstating her case. The
truth is that people, namely intelligent people, with whom Camille seems to
share little exchange, have become much more comfortably androgynous than their
ancient 60’s forebears. I’m
counting this as a case of a lack of knowledge and research (8), and dramatic
Paglia, or should I say Palia, laments, “Feminism has not brought
sexual happiness. The division
between the sexes is even more fierce.” Well,
what the hell do you expect? Half a
generation of women turned into nagging psychos by feminism, many of them with
more penis envy than Andy Warhol (one of Camille’s greats, yes), and you
expect a friendly response from the greater sex?
How ingenuous is this vacuous ejaculation of an ironically clueless mind?
She’ll never admit the role feminism, her secret prize, had in this
friction between genders (9).
And, although this won’t count against her filthy integrity, everybody
should know that when Camille drinks she is “very malleable.”
I think she meant agreeable. She
just talks too fucking fast. We
can’t expect her troubled brain to keep up.
A grand claim is brewing, and here it comes. Says she, “In my deviant
mind, I’ve always been able to understand rape, murder, and so forth.”
Then, “I see with the eyes of the rapist.”
Here she’s trying to claim some insight into what it means to be a
disturbed man. Now, since she
spends so much time with healthy men—no, no!
She doesn’t even understand the mind of a sane man, much less that of a
man insane. I think she deserves
the electric chair for this act of patronizing assumption. Later we will find
that she doesn’t even have a good grasp of crime in general, despite the fact
that she at some point claims to own four TVs; there are how many true crime
shows on cable television? Now
there is even at least one station completely devoted to true crime shows; so
all one needs to do to study crime is to turn on the television and sit and
watch hour after hour to get the gist of what crime, including rape and murder,
is all about. The understanding of
crime and its various motivations has come a long way.
The patterns have been thoroughly studied, even by amateurs like yours
truly. And asking about a man’s
motivation is like asking, “What’s it like being a man?”
Well, what’s it like being a woman?
Although I would never believe for a moment her response to this
question, I must let this one go. No
She says she looks up to gay men because they don’t complain about
dates, don’t cry date rape, and so forth.
My reason for holding this against her will be shortly more clear to the
reader. And she says these sorts of
things quite often. Camille’s
claim to love and identify with gay men is like a claim to love a fiction (10).
Another grand claim with no foundations. She thinks she knows more about
young people (the date-rape crowd) than those “effete literati” in New York
who’ve never taught a class in their lives.
Why? Because she teaches
freshmen. Well, did it ever occur
to her that many of those big city literati have college-aged kids of their own?
Or maybe they even have personal connections with young people of the sort she
is speaking of. Two areas in which
she seems to have no experience. No
kids, no friends (11).
Now her ideas on date rape that run counter to the mainstream of
feminism. Let me first say that it
doesn’t even matter, for she has no interest in changing the official policies
of institutions. You’ll find me
bringing up the Duke lacrosse fiasco in response to her claims about date rape
and her claims of her “reform” feminism conquering the “old” feminism.
“In this period after the sexual revolution—we’re in a period where
it’s not clear . . .” Yes,
sexual liberation and obfuscation, two of a type.
“Everyone” (girls, you mean?) “has to be very clear about
communications, not just verbal ones (no means no—a stupid idea). How you
dress, your body language.” Again,
she speaks strictly of young ladies. All
the feminist assumptions are there, assumption being an important foundation for
feminism. Yet she claims to be
beyond the old guard. Then she
tries to shock feminists even more with the claim, “You meet somebody . . . in
a bar and go to his house—you are consenting to sex.”
Yet, if Camille’s brand of feminism has won, this brand she so aptly
describes, then why the Duke lacrosse mess?
These young men were convicted before any kind of trial and defense, and
then they were exonerated. Where
was the reformed feminism that should have been telling the girls (or girl,
singular?) that they should have expected sex?
That’s not how it worked, and you’ll never hear Camille speak of this
scandal. Again and again, what about the evil spread by feminism in
the form of unjust laws and patently false accusations? There is still no punishment for false accusation.
Why? “To protect the
victim.” My Lord and Savior,
false confession is indeed not a victimless crime; the one accused is, in fact,
the victim in such a case. So,
where is his protection? The media
is all over him, he is convicted in the news, and he even has the honor
(according to Maude, in Harold and Maude) of spending time in jail.
Once again, what a hypocrite bitch (12).
The reader will find that at times I must use reference to a speech
viewed later as evidence of Paglia’s current ingenuousness.
This is such a case. And
originally I was going to let this comment pass as innocuous.
Not now. She states, “I
believe in seduction—going from a no to a yes,” only slightly disagreeing
with Bill. The problem in this
statement is in its acknowledgement of male power; although she doesn’t
mention that it is the male that is the seducer, that is what she meant in the
context of their converse. Well, at
another time she argues that women have a definite power over men, even that men
flee from this power to paint a canvass or write a story, or maybe to
masturbate—who knows? This power
that women have over men, a form of seduction no doubt, proves the superiority
that women have over men. But if
such a hierarchical relationship exists between men and women, in the exclusive
way she prescribes, how could a man convince a woman to go from a “yes” to a
“no?” Inconsistency arrived at
through lack of integrity (13). Now,
she goes on to acknowledge that she learned a lot about sex from the movies—no
doubt she means heterosexual sex, right? No.
At times Paglia makes the claim that Hollywood taught her all about
Because both sexy men and sexy women are depicted on the screen and some
actors are even somewhat androgynous (Marlene Dietrich, one such
example—really?). Yet she also
claims that an Ava Gardner scene in Show Boat made her a lesbian.
So which is it, Camille? Bi
or dyke? No answer, just the whirl
of words that jaculate contradictions from her mouth (14).
Foreign films especially taught her sex.
And, like her criticism of grunge for being P.C., she criticizes Maryl
Streep and Meg Ryan, whose careers found their greatest success in the early
90’s—maybe a bit before and after—for what?
For being so much less than the old-time beautiful and glamorous women of
the big screen. Yet I find Meg Ryan far more sexy and fuckable than a
Katherine Hepburn in her prime. In
fact I find Ryan’s play at innocence and disinterestedness more attractive
than Hepburn’s acting either the same or flamboyance and faux-intellectuality.
I see Meg Ryan, and I want to make her cry in love with me.
This, by the way, is a lesson for Camille as well as points against her;
dear professor, you do not understand men, those simple creatures you think they
are. The dirt on Hepburn’s (and
therefore Camille’s) coffin is that Hepburn was far outmatched in her every
play when pitted against a star of the charismatic caliber of a Carey Grant (in Holiday,
for instance). This may be why she
was later often paired with her (rumored?) illicit lover, Spencer Tracy (15).
I might also mention that Streep, in Woody Allen’s Manhattan, actually
resembles Dietrich in her cold and measured female sensuality, playing the bitch
ex-wife. Her blank facial
expression is a similar drag queen vogue (that of the model’s cold
countenance) to the old Deutsch Dame’s. Although Streep may not be quite as sensual as Dietrich, say,
in a similar minor role such as hers in Touch of Evil, Streep nails the
sexy bitch type nevertheless, and someone like myself would like to fuck such a
dyke out of spite, something I’m sure Camille would appreciate.
But has Paglia, queen of pop culture and Hollywood analysis even seen Manhattan?
If she did watch the movie was she hung up on what she considers Woody
Allen’s ‘sensitive male’ persona, a false identification; in fact, Woody
Allen, in many of his roles tends to play the beta male filled with a masculine
aphrodisiac, attempting to compensate for his lack of appealing physical
attributes with his perspicacity and cleverness, and his characters generally
show a male lack of feminine sensitivity and sensibility.
Now, take a breath here. We have a million miles to go.
Paglia claims (see a pattern here?) that fashion models have replaced
Hollywood actresses as the new transmitters of glamor.
Can anyone else name any number of Hollywood actresses that purveyed
glamor in the past thirty years, despite feminist ideology (16)?
Here even Camille contradicts herself; she is a lover of the great
classicism of one Sharon Stone—yes, you movie-lovers heard that right. So I
guess Camille forgets herself at times.
Camille claims to be bisexual but admits she’s best with women. I would
argue that she is only with women. She admits to being a lesbian more
often than she claims to be a bisexual (17).
What is half a bisexual? Unisex.
Figure that one out, if you will. She
goes on to say, “I sleep with men, but I don’t fall in love with men. I’m
lascivious.” Okay, she makes the
grand claim again. Somebody smell
something bogus? I do (18).
And, lascivious? Too bad no
one but your female students (or their equivalents in the world of art) finds
you attractive. There’s even a
funnier twist in the Bob Costas interview. Just wait.
The two of them, Bill and Camille, discuss Hollywood couples and Camille
is asked to choose between the man and the woman. Guess who she chooses almost every time?
Yep, the man. Tom Cruise over Nicole Kidman?
What kind of dyke are you? Oh,
Nicole must be unglamorous. Even
“the gays” are gaga for Nicole; many of them might even choose Nicole over
Tom. I’ll let this one go, since
it is based on the presumption of truthfulness.
Yeah! And Camille likes the
louche, gigolo style of men. She
doesn’t like men. Sorry, liar!
You see, she assumes somewhere inside her feeble mind that we know she is
lying. Say she, when she was a
young student, she couldn’t find a date—they were all dogs, adds Camille.
Note here that she is speaking strictly of women, dykes in particular,
thus belying once again her claim of bisexuality (20).
She then offers that many young girls now are jumping on the grenade and
going down on other girls, almost glowing with pride.
Then she mysteriously states: “I miss the golden age of lesbianism.”
So, was the golden age the time you couldn’t get laid or some other
time you haven’t even spoken of? Why
would someone say something so blatantly foolish (21)?
Another Paglia claim—isn’t her ass sore yet? No, she pulls out another: “Women are naturally more
bisexual than men. It’s a lot
easier for women.” Okay, now
I’ll have to bring out the old anecdote machine.
Yes, confession time for yours. Although I have at times pursued women
exclusively, there have been times when I jumped ship and fired my cannon for
the other side. (I am one who must
break every rule.) And I’ll tell you, men of many stripes (but not all, as
Camille would have you believe) are capable of “getting gay,” of falling for
the charms and attractiveness of another man.
Perhaps if I were born more malformed none of this would have come to
pass? But let it be known, a man
must not be gay to engage in homosexual activities.
Men are just as capable as—I would say more capable than—women of
being bisexual. I would argue that
men are even more attractive to their own sex, perhaps because of their physical
endowments, their anatomy. And, by
the way, even Camille prefers to watch male gay porn rather than female gay
(lesbian) porn. This dyke is very
much in love with the penis, in addition to her suffering of major penis envy.
It’s funny later that she belittles the cock, when many times she
admits to as much as worshiping the cock. Was
it in Chasing Amy, Kevin Smith’s movie, that the buddy character says,
everybody needs deep dicking? It is
Faith No More, in their song “The Gentle Art of Making Enemies,” who argue,
“You need something wet in your mouth!”
Yeah, Camille, that’s you (22).
Quote: “I don’t think a lot of this current homosexuality is
necessarily positive homosexuality. A
lot of it is being caused by alienation between the sexes.
I want women to turn back to men. I
don’t want them to be exclusively with men. I want them to remain bisexual.”
Now, there are so many problems with this statement (and I’ll count
every reason as an act of dishonesty, or stupidity). First, as we’ll see, Camille does not even believe in
positive or healthy homosexuality (23). She
believes it a freakish phenomenon caused by psychological disturbance.
Next, the idea that homosexuality is caused by alienation between the
sexes is unfounded, other than in the case of feminists, who may turn to women
because of their hatred for men (24): the fault of people like Camille herself.
Then I’ll give her a point for immediately contradicting herself—I
want them to be with men—no, bisexual (25).
“Men are shrinking,” bemoans Camille, as if she had any investment in
the matter. “The more they do
what feminists want, the more they shrink.”
Not only does this fly in the face of her own theories of female
superiority by their ability to control men through their sexuality (26), which
will later be addressed in full, this is a boldly delivered false claim.
The idea that flimsy, wishy-washy men, like Kurt Cobain and Eddie Vedder,
for instance, are the result of feminism is patently false.
I argue that there have always been such men.
As an example, Jimmy Stewart comes to mind (27).
This is not taking away anything from these three talented men; it is
just an evaluation of their public character.
So, contrary to Camille’s claim, I would argue that, while women grow
more aggressively anti-man, men, instead of bowing to these loathsome creatures,
try to make their way in life just the same.
The sensitive man is a myth that the media tried to use to infect actual
men, and it didn’t work.
Here are her ideas of (exclusive) homosexuality (I’ll count each for
its lack of verity). She does not
see throughout history evidence of exclusive homosexual relationships among
adults. Okay, if we don’t count
the 20th Century as part of history (and Camille doesn’t when it
comes to the arts, her supposed forte), we first have Sappho, again one of her
favorites, who is not known as a bisexual but as a lesbian.
In fact, the island of Lesvos is known for its history of harboring
lesbians, it being the eponymous mother ship of lesbianism.
Next, those men who she is claiming to be bisexual instead of homosexual
before the 20th century, famous men such as Socrates and Oscar Wilde,
were all but required by social norms to marry despite their inclinations.
Are you going to tell me that Oscar Wilde was not gay? And what about Rimbaud?
Michelangelo? There is only
evidence for them having been homosexual (28). What is worse, she goes on
to pathologize homosexuality, but that in a moment. She continues, telling us of ancient Greece and its men’s
love of female prostitutes and boys (not mentioning that some of these boys were
prostitutes); she goes on to extend this phenomenon to most of the history of
the world (29), which leads it to become a fiction. Next she exults that she celebrated the glory of the penis on
British television—this despite her participation in a movement that
celebrates male-dismemberment or mutilation and the hatred of men, despite all
her claims to the contrary (30).
Now to art history, which, she claims (notice the pattern again?) tutors
one in the beauty of bisexuality. Why
would she make such a claim? Simple.
Both male and female bodies have been depicted as beautiful in works of
art. Non sequitur, anyone?
But that’s a matter of logic and argumentation, far below her dignity
(31). Michelangelo, Sistine Chapel,
a nude man reaching for God. Evidence
Then let fly is a quote from one of her works, something to the effect:
Exclusive lesbianism is emotional retardation.
Let the pathologizing begin. Now
Dr. Paglia is a psychologist of sorts, no doubt luxuriantly seated atop her
armchair, and her defense is that it is not an exact quote.
So, let’s get this down with mathematical precision.
Lesbians are emotionally retarded. You
regularly admit (notice, I didn’t say claim) to being a lesbian.
So what are you (32)? An
emotional cripple who sat on a cock once or twice . . . a long time ago.
Add to this that she is disappointed with lesbian feminism.
This from a lesbian feminist (33).
Maher gets in on the gay-baiting and is especially disparaging of male
homosexuality. Her response is
nothing—this even though she often claims to look up to gay men (34).
This one really deserved two points.
She continues with her theories. She
doesn’t for a minute believe that anyone is born gay.
Her working hypothesis is that homosexuality is an adaption to
environmental pressures. This from
a woman who at various times makes reference to physiology, hormones, brain
science, and inborn gender traits. My
argument against is that I have heard mothers who say that they knew their child
was homosexual long before the onset of puberty.
Apparently this is another case of Paglia’s lack of research, in
particular her ignorance of what has been broadcast on television—and she has
four of them (35). What kind of
environmental pressure makes a man want to suck a dick? Hormones, physical and
emotional attraction? The need for
something wet in ones mouth?
Then she drags out her imaginary Freudian psychology manual, and speaks:
“I don’t know a single gay person, male or female, who doesn’t have some
peculiar relations to [his or her] parental figures.” Pathologize, yet truths you obscure. If she were capable of decent intellectual obfuscation, other
than the mere lie that is, I might buy what she’s hawking.
This is pulled out of space, the space between her, um, sideburns.
So, every gay man has odd relations to his mother or father. I’ll save this one for peer review (36).
This type of blanket statement is belied easily by the fact that
different members of a family, even twins at times, end up on opposite sides of
the gay/straight line. I wonder if
she’s ever heard of the infamous Kray twins?
And then the mandatory self-contradiction. She says she’s celebrating homosexual expression (37).
And she’s part of the Stonewall movement (38).
Then she pulls out a piece of mysticism, declaiming curiously that
she’s tired of blaming George Bush for everything “that comes down the
pike.” Odd choice of words, lady.
What? (39) (Nonsense point.) On
another unrelated note, she believes in self-knowledge like Socrates.
Then continuing with her pathological expertise, she prescribes all gay
people to question, “Why am I alienated from the opposite sex?” (40)
Wow, if she’s successful in her mending of the ways of queer folk,
every hair dresser and his sister is going to get a nice piece of putang every
night. No more alienation, people!
This must stop! Can you
imagine all the best lady softball players going from eating pussy to sucking
dick overnight? If Camille had her
way . . . You know I’m right here. Okay,
now to Stonewall. She says that
post-Stonewall the gay roles (i.e. top and bottom, butch and femme, or whatever
other names you can offer) were not as important.
(This is another one of those unfounded claims .)
What else? She exaggerates
the drag queens’ role in the riots. Her
attempt at a form of hyperbole (42)? But
she should know, considering she is Italian-American and the Stonewall Inn was
run by the Mafia. Drag queens vs.
the police. She repeats herself
about the gay roles, “the butchy-femmy thing,” that became somehow more
“androgynous” after Stonewall. But
now she claims it’s making a comeback (43-44).
Does this woman have any friends? Any
You Hillary Clinton fans (I know there are many of you) will be happy to
know that Paglia was a fan for years, until Hillary turned into a sort of despot
or autocrat. (What country did she
rule?) Then Camille gets a little
dirty and says Hillary rode her husband’s coattails into power, and even gets
indignant, asking, “Who elected her? Why
was she put in charge of such a massive thing as healthcare reform?”
(Of course, the Clintons failed miserably and ended up passing more
conservative and globalist-friendly legislation than they did any liberal thing
at all, but what is reality to Paglia?) Alert!
There’s been a change of tune in no time flat as Paglia tosses off,
“I think there’s a lot of Nancy Reagan in Hillary.
In fact, they’re [the Clintons] a great power couple.”
Yes, they worked as a “great unit.”
Did she say unit in connection to Bill Clinton?
Then a random ejaculation—from the mouth (you wish, Paglia): Men need
to be censored [ . . .} There’s always a great woman behind the throne.”
Okay, you’ve gone too far in to spite yourself (45), full circle,
although with an irrational touch. Then
to add pointless affirmation of her helter skelter ejaculations, she asserts
with confidence (bravado?) that French courtesans were running the French court.
When, exactly? She speaks
with that machine gun fire delivery. And
let us not forget that all the kings had syphilis.
Wouldn’t this also mean that the courtesans had syphilis?
I mean, I’m not an M.D., but . . .
Next, Camille belies her opposition to stereotypical feminism.
“I believe in all forms of power. I believe in the bitch.”
Yes, we know you believe in yourself, you fucking megalomaniac (more on
this later). (46)
She wrote an article called, “Kind of a Bitch: Why I like Hillary.”
She can’t make up her mind on our dear Secretary, the psychopathic wife
of a great psychopath. Twins they
My notes at this point suffer some of the delirium that Paglia inspires.
She says something about sexual power and attraction, then says she’s been
talking about this since she came on the scene (a favorite boast of hers, this
coming on the scene). Unfortunately
she prattles on about how feminists are not fair to men. At this point one should realize that Paglia is a feminist
shill. She tries to paint a
friendly face for ‘the new feminism’ that she advocates with no success and
no intention of success. Paglia doesn’t give a damn about men (47).
And it gets worse.
She mentions that poor sexual performance by men (i.e. the inability to
‘get it up’) is not okay with women, not acknowledging that women as well
are capable of poor sexual performance, whether because of frigidity,
inexperience, or some other cause (48). Then
she plays her sympathy card on men (49), saying she also has difficulty dating
(women, that is: 50). She continues
in her patronizing attempt to win men over to the ‘new’ feminism, offering
that ’95 is the year of the penis. She
wants to bring phallic worship back (51)—following the gay male model (52).
Well then, worship that cock, bitch!
News alert: Camille loves gay male magazines and gay male porn, this
despite the fact that she can’t validate such individuals (53).
Why? “Because it shows the
beauty of the male body and the penis (in all its modulations).”
Does she suffer some sort of heterosexed voyeurism aimed at homosexual
men. Let’s pathologize like her.
“Lesbians are incapable of doing hot porn.”
(Too much. You earned it this time: 54)
Now “the battered woman syndrome” which she thinks fembots, or
feminists, have made “too simplistic.”
“I think there’s something going on both sides in a long-running
psychodrama—women should have a sense of pride. The moment anyone hits you, you walk.” First, you have the typical situation cut off from reality;
more women abuse men physically than men who abuse women (55).
Second, you already spilled the burning beans, revealing that you
yourself have been known to attack men (even with umbrellas: 56).
To add insult, she reminds women, “Take the kids with you (57).”
Here she reveals her true colors as a typical feminist; she does toe the
party line. She’s a shill who
can’t even consistently maintain her phony positions, her poorly manufactured
personae. Yes, take the kids, send
him to jail, get a restraining order, make him pay for your motherhood, and deny
him visitation rights. Role call!
Yes, Paglia is an ugly feminist of the only variety there is.
She and Gloria Steinem, despite their need for backbiting, are in bed
together. After all, she does
mention calling the cops (58), knowing full well that even if the woman attacked
the man, he’s headed to jail. Oh,
the laws of feminist origin she does not oppose, despite all of her claims that
the public and private life should be separated, the private life remaining
exactly that (59). Next, Paglia
plays the exaggeration card, warning the poor victimized woman, “You have a
stage play going on . . . that’s going to result in your extinction (60).”
Yes, because O.J. Simpson kills an ex-wife every other day.
Reality getting in the way? Call
Camille; she’ll help you overcome such obstacles.
Then, as if to mollify what she’s said, she remarks that the woman is
complicit in such situations. She
never once, in all of her talks, mentions the brutal laws that have been lobbied
into law by feminists, to destroy the lives of men; this omission is an
admission to her guilt as a shill, the pretty face of feminism.
To put it in her terms, she’s like the batterer coming home promising
not to do it again (61). Camille
loves tabloids. Not interesting,
but no points for being boring.
After her prior talk of men’s abuse, she brings up one of her favorite
fantasies, men’s helpless subordination to a woman’s sexual power.
Ever heard of a little book called, Cary Grant Fucked Every Femme in
That’s because he was discreet. Woman,
you are so full of contradictions. If
women were so sexually powerful, why would they need the help of outside agents?
How is a victim in power? By
this standard, Nicole Simpson’s sexual gravity resulted in her own death.
Interesting idea. Who wins
in that case? O.J., perhaps?
No, he is still under the control of her sexual power; does he visit her
grave a bit too hot below? Anyway,
as a man, bastard creature of no merit though I am, I have had sexual power over
many a woman. But that’s
anecdotal evidence. Oh, evidence,
something you don’t provide (62).
Boring aside. She likes football. I
guess she thinks that makes her manly. But she studies the plays.
Yes, she is a man.
Now on to the C-Span interview.
Depth With Camille Paglia (C-Span)
“I’m one of the aboriginal feminists of my generation, the
Just before this she mentioned Amelia Earhart. What about Mary Wollstonecraft?
And her daughter, a certain Mary Shelley? And so many more (63). The
main part of the word, ‘aboriginal,’ is, ‘original.’
You claim makes no sense.
After she mentions that her family was mostly conservative and Republican
and from upstate New York, she argues that she is unhappy with the polarization
of liberal-conservative. She
thought the 90’s would have us going beyond that.
Says she, “these designations have long outlived their usefulness.”
Really? So, if I’m
conservative, I shouldn’t mention as much (64)?
No, perhaps I’m something else entirely.
And indeed I am, but you’ll never hear Camille speak of such things as
the opposition of individualists to collectivists. I am an individualist; Camille is most likely a collectivist.
If you’d like to know more about collectivism, look it up on Google;
maybe watch a lecture or two. Let
it be known here, simply, that both major American political parties are agents
of the collectivism of globalists, thus cancelling any individualism, if it
existed at all, in the system of Capitalism, of Democracy and the Republic. Oh no. Running
with the idea, Camille claims that the Monica Lewinsky scandal re-polarized the
nation. Wrong (65)!
And stupid. Now healing,
“The nation’s divided down the middle in a way I think it will take decades
to heal.” All because of
little cock-hungry Monica? Or is
this another of your self-contradictions? Hmm,
does she mean the first or second statement? Or both? What’s to heal, Camille?
Do you know, my vixen, who the most undecided voters are?
What they are? Oh, you’re a libertarian and you want more
sophisticated labels. Which is it,
again (66)? And she despises the
current direction of the Democratic party.
We’ll give her that. And I
won’t even hold her to her word when she acknowledges being a Libertarian
Democrat. But she voted for Clinton
twice and then Nader. Liberal!
Guilty (67)! Then she offers
one of the stupidest pieces of political commentary ever: “The Democrats’
opposition to the Republicans is creating a culture war.”
I could just as easily say, the culture war is creating opposition
between Democrats and Republicans (68). The
purveyors of truism must be revealed for the phonies they are.
Moving on, Camille tells us she was in love with heroic male characters.
In passing she let’s out that her father was a high school teacher,
never whispering a word that he was also a college professor.
We’ll let this lie by omission go.
Looking through childhood photos, it is interesting to note that she
holds an umbrella in one, an object she later used as a weapon against a man.
She blames in puerile fashion the failure of her comic-book-based
childhood production of Hamlet on the lead player, who kept forgetting his
lines. As this desultory path
continues, we learn that Keith Richards was an idol of hers.
Yes, that and, the 1950’s was a great time of sexual repression.
Oh, and by the way, her father encouraged her to be whatever she
pleased—and he taught her to defend herself.
Where is your great oppressor, Camille?
That will have to wait. But she wanted to achieve for women; she didn’t
like the subordinate, deferential role; she liked the way men could speak out
and challenge. She here lays claim
to a constant clash with gender roles. Then
she gives us a point, claiming that she identifies with transgenders of
today—she understands what they’re going through (69, finally).
No, you don’t. Your
self-proclaimed androgyny was not androgyny but lesbianism and penis envy.
There, an accurate case of pathologizing.
She adds fuel by alleging that her book (or books) is a form of sex
change (70). Beyond bizarre.
A cornucopia of ‘automatic speaking’ which includes such jewels as
her love of English and the image, her experience in Catholic churches and an
admiration of their iconography, her love of iconic expression and of Hollywood,
the hundred voices with which she writes, the one with which she speaks, Sexual
Personae as a monument of women’s achievement (more appropriately,
Camille’s achievement); she gabs on that women don’t aim high enough (a
criticism of the lesser sex as a whole: 71), that “men have for too long in
history been the ones who make the epic statements”: then she asks, why are
men better rockers?
Everyone should know Harold Bloom oversaw here dissertation in college,
the kernel of her later book, Sexual Personae, which “took a level of
persistence or mania I think few women have.”
(Again a broad stroke against women: 72; even I am not this
misogynistic.) She snaps that too
much of academic feminazism was suppressing aesthetic qualities in art; what she
means is that such feminazism didn’t recognize aesthetics; if art lacks
aesthetics that means it is not even art.
Dear, Ms. Paglia, you are so easy to despise. Watching your concatenations of lies that you call speeches
and interviews, I feel a complete lack of faith in mankind.
You have no integrity, no sense of honesty, no dignity, no stance of
responsibility—all you have is a brutally untruthful sense of self and
success, a prevailing megalomania. Although I know you a complete phony, I feel I must share
this understanding with others. I
want them to know you are little more than a sly shill for feminist ideology,
for the dogma you claim to hate. I
vomit your name, with g included, with a sense of hard-fought freedom.
Your lack of good faith and accountability is worse than any mere
journalist whom I know. I hope you
die with a flaccid penis in your mouth and a hammer up your ass, you lying dyke.
The ice pick in your eye almost slipped my mind—what kind of aesthete
can find any pleasure in such a hackneyed Hollywood turd as Basic Instinct?
Grand proclamation. It turns
out back then Camille was a controversial figure in feminism (apparently she
hadn’t yet let on to others that she was just a shill, in addition to being a
hack). But now, oh now,
practically all of her ideas are “part of the cultural landscape,” thanks to
a younger generation of fembots who agree with her (73).
What feminist positions does she hold?
Pro- sex, pop, and rock. And
women are not victims. All kinds of
things now that people just accept (74)—if she were talking of people other
than feminists, I’d agree; in fact, people accepted these things long before
her kindling reached the bookshelves. More
assertions by birthright: she created a “storm of controversy,” she admired
Gloria Steinem when she came on the scene (who came on the scene, I’ll let
go)—Gloria had a very “telegenic” face for Nazifembotism.
Feminist supremacy of the 70’s turned against men—now you just turn
away? Steinem inoculated women with
anti-male bias while she was sucking cock.
Says she something to the effect, to have men impugned as sexists and
racists and brutalizers and oppressors was a terrible way to educate women.
Yet you are a feminist, and this is still the way most feminists
think—around the world (75). And
yet my parents fell in love and got married during this period—I guess they
didn’t give a flying fuck about femi-culture.
As a note on the oppression Camille faced from feminists (76), they
showed up to her early speeches to silence her, even throwing things at her,
while she entertained her audience. As
she would have it, people were tired of the P.C. of the 80’s and turned up at
her speeches because of it—what of the continued P.C. beyond even the 90’s
(77)? And where did all of these people go from there? Space?
Ms. Paglia then goes on to declare, as is usual for her, that she is
against dogma, yet she offers it in spades, from her theories on homosexuality
to her general condemnation of art beyond the 19th century to her
persistence that everyone is bisexual (despite her own lesbianism) to her claims
made ad nauseam. What about her
claims that essentially the old feminism must go down in flames as she re-erects
the same feminism with her name appended thereto (78).
She’s also anti-ideology, with a free mind and voice; she doesn’t
belong to any group (feminism?) or circle whose ideology she’s trying to put
forward (79). A real individualist?
Okay, now we have what has come to be known as her big quote on a
female-run society; it goes something like: “If civilization had been left in
female hands, we would still be living in grass huts.”
Now how does she explain away her finely tuned misogynistic masterpiece?
Not always in the same way, for the quote comes to the fore quite often.
This is how she tries to explain it away this time: Women are close to
nature (and men aren’t?), ecological, from the beginning.
We would be in dwellings made of perishable materials (don’t you love
the literalism with which she addresses her own obvious hyperbole), organized
around the hearth. “The whole
impulse to build in stone, the impulse to break boundaries in the extended
family, is coming from men,” men, bringers of the great migrations, the great
monuments, the great risks. Yes,
Camille, quite literal your interpretation of yourself.
She is very much the fundamentalist preacher here, digging for holy
bones. About as ingenuous as it gets (80).
Now, in case you didn’t know, Camille has a thing for Madonna.
Here she alleges that a young generation of women came forward influenced
by the slutty diva, who embraced their sexuality, fashion, and beauty.
This is a tacit declaration that such “embracing” doesn’t happen
naturally for women (81), as if this is something that must come from outside
the girl or woman. If anything,
Madonna—not to be confused with her lesser namesake—encouraged women to be
more slutty, to wear their genitalia on the outside, as it were.
They (her and Madonna) threw out the anti-male and anti-pornography,
implying that pornography didn’t do so well in the 80’s (82). Another unfounded declaration.
And, by the way, all “they” were trying to lynch poor Camille in the
early 90’s for is over; the younger women have won. And what was the prize (83)?
A message to the fairer sex erupts: Women must take responsibility for
their own behavior if they are to be emancipated. What are the odds, Paglia?
I’m afraid the brain isn’t wired that way. For women to take
responsibility they would have to feel that they were responsible for something,
anything (84)—and we’re not talking megalomania here, darling.
Oh did you know we’re over the time when the girl gets her brother to
come to punch out her date—yes, we’ve moved on to the police, you
mealy-mouthed disinformation agent (85). Then
she denies that women still run to the authority figure.
What the fuck did I just say (86)? Oh,
and women should be prepared to defend themselves—what about men defending
themselves? Yes, that’s not
allowed, you hypocrite twat (87). Dating,
again? Women should be aware of
what they’re advertising by the way they dress and behave; and she thinks
women are taking responsibility. I
think we covered this (88). Now, what does she think is seen as the sensible
view? Free women must, again, be prepared to defend themselves. And men can expect a night in jail no matter what (89).
Then she shifts the subject in a way she so loves to the
psychopathological consideration, telling us that there are people like Ted
Bundy, rapists, murderers, and what is worse, charmers (90).
Again (my goodness!), with freedom comes responsibility—and, yes,
she’s talking to women (91). It hasn’t dawned on her that women in our culture get
freedom free of responsibility, that, in fact, it is the exceptional woman who
holds herself to such ideals.
Get this, Camille thinks Ann Coulter is a brilliant lady (92), proving
again herself stupid and dull-witted. She’s
uncontainable, trashing genteel ladies on TV, over their inability to stomach
Coulter (93)? What is worse, ladies
and gents, she wishes Coulter were a college professor.
Dumb to stupider (94). She
then admits her ambivalence over the Clintons, adding that she liked Hillary’s
book—while admitting that Hillary wrote it with help or didn’t write it at
all (95). Yes, you would celebrate such dishonesty (honest when it
comes to her love of the dishonest). But
another of Camille’s quotes comes to light: “Anyone who stays married to an
infantile serial groper deserves what she gets.”
Guess what she does? Yes,
you are correct. She talks her way
out of it, claiming that she doesn’t care about people’s private lives,
backing down completely from her statement (96).
(Notice later when she declares that this was not a case of ones private
life because Bill played hanky panky in his office. Yes, I am warning you of an impending contradiction.)
Then Camille admits her adoration of Dianne Feinstein, a 3 1/3 term
senator who has been not only the chair of the Select Committee on Intelligence,
but who sponsored PIPA (bad taste, poor judgement, love of corruption: 97).
I must admit at this early point in the evisceration of Paglia that it is
unfortunate that I did not come out solitary, sans enemy, with my own thoughts
on women, feminism, and the gender game. I
find it important to unseat this fraud, but I have my own pontifications (a word
that implicitly contains the idea of dogma) on the subjects that run through
this extended essay. As a man who
has spent his few decades in close company with women, I have gathered plenty of
insight into the female mind and even the female body.
Camille, you will find, despite her lesbian/bull dyke status, seems to
know little of her own sex. She
knows even less of men. My
experience, sexual and otherwise, with both women and men far outweighs that of
Paglia, and unlike her, I am a man capable of insight and reflection.
Additionally, as you will come to learn, I believe compassion and empathy, as
they are usually understood, are particular to men and the exceptional woman.
It is, in fact, unfortunate that no one has taken the time to truly
analyze the woman’s mind to discover its distinctive features, its very
feminine attributes. It is
unfortunate that I’ll be required to define what a woman is not, while not
completely delving into what I know a woman to be.
At this point I’ll just leave it at this: the woman, to the chagrin of
feminists, especially dykes, are hardwired for the purpose of maternity. Women
are creatures of the world, meant to bring up children, and they are
understandably quite shallow or superficial; all of this aids in the creation of
their interest in and skill at bringing up children.
The whims of women are much like those of children, as is their more or
less monistic concentration on the self in considering all things. I’ll go
into more detail when it is called for. But I warn you, you may prefer
Paglia’s ingenuousness and lack of integrity to my frank approach to the
female mind at some point, and you may be likely to call me a misogynist for
speaking my piece, despite the evidence that it is Paglia herself who suffers
Really, if Camille were to approach the subject in good faith,
considering all of her assertions and claims, she would advocate an end to
feminism; she does not do so because she has an interest in the power structure
of the movement. She does not wish
good on men, for that is not her area of concern, despite her talk of liking men
and giving men a place in the world. She
wants to be in a position of power from which she authorizes the free actions of
men; she’d like to give her blessings from on high, her sanctions from a house
of power. But we’ll find that
Camille does not want to redress the legal wrongs that have been made the burden
of man. Additionally, her hopes for women are in vain, based on her own actions,
which themselves are always overvalued, exaggerated.
Let me end this little train of sundry thought with this note. Hillary
Clinton, who holds the highest office of any woman in our country is not capable
of regular accountability; she is silly and cannot contain herself even when she
addresses serious international issues; she is lacking in insight and integrity.
She cannot even pretend to possess the masculine traits of her male
peers, however corrupt they be. Enough.
We’ll condescend here and allow Paglia’s pronouncement of herself as
a pioneer in web-tech. She
contributed articles to more than one online publication.
We’ll also assume the content of said articles to be the tripe she
propounds in her speeches. Soon, in a later work, I’ll show her published
books to be frauds as well.
A Camille staple, she demands that the private and public spheres be
separate, yet her group, the feminists have lobbied successfully for legislation
that not only intrudes into a man’s private life but can indeed take that
life, his family life, that is, away (98).
A caller into the program brings up the image of feminism she
propounds. Let us agree, for lack
of evidence to the contrary, that Camille’s influence on feminism is null
(99); her ideas, or at least those she holds out as her own have no appositeness
to the actual world of the feminist. She
merely attempts to impress the reasonable among us of her fairness, without this
fairness touching feminism itself. Again,
she makes no attempt to redress all of the one-sided laws passed in the name of
her movement, the movement she claims to have reformed, falsely.
Here is another favorite of Paglias that we could perhaps go into more
detail about, prostitution. Sex-workers,
whores, prostitutes, call girls, what have you, are, in Pagia’s mythological
dynasty “demonized.” With such
simple and nearly meaningless answers we must enlarge upon very little.
Yes, prostitutes it seems are rather harmless.
But to say they are demonized, we must also admit that their clients, or
“johns,” too are demonized (100). They
certainly have the law thrown at them when possible.
Okay, Paglia also stands “in solidarity with prostitutes.” Yes. Do
you stand in solidarity with the men who pay, who support them for their
services rendered? Yes, these johns
are demonized as well, both socially and legally.
Paglia will take this argument even further in other talks, asserting
that these dames have a sexual power over men. This is a favorite meme of hers,
women having sexual power over men, and men fleeing from such power—as if they
couldn’t just apathetically walk away from such phony power.
This sexual power, which stems from the “mystery” and maternity of
women, is so bogus in the form she presents that I must show how empty-headed is
such an application of logic. First,
both men and women have their innate sexual powers, which of course stem from
sexual attractiveness, which itself comes in many varieties—the case of a
Woody Allen should suffice for an anomalistic example.
So, each sex having a varying set of attractive traits, no one sex can be
said to be dominant when it comes to the heterosexual landscape. There are, for example, men who have fucked thousands of
women; are you actually going to, with a straight face, tell me that such an
incredible harem had, each member, power over this stallion?
Of course not. Likewise with astoundingly beautiful women, who, whether or
not they fuck a thousand and one men, have a palpable sexual power.
To state my side of the argument more bluntly, do you really think
groupies have power over rock stars? Yes,
I’ll wait while you search for an extreme anomaly.
By the way, she would argue this absurdity.
Next we have the incredible (please read that literally) case of the
“Sexual Revolution of the 60’s.” Here
I’d like to connect this revolution to others of its sort, like the French
Revolution and the American Revolution (for independence), two battles that
involved the slaughter of nameless and numberless enemies, while our Sexual
Revolution involved pulling down your pants and perhaps wearing no underwear,
maybe even some change in fashions and customs, and of course a healthy dose of
illicit drugs. Paglia admits
regrettably that the decade went “madly out of control”—again, bodies in
the streets. There was, we shall
agree, a conservative reaction, with the election of Nixon (not to mention the
beginning of the neoconservatives, which Camille will never come to recognize).
Soon, feminists and conservative mouthpieces joined hands in
anti-pornography campaigns. There
were even feminist ordinances later declared unconstitutional—no, really?
Camille calls this movement, which insisted that porn causes rape, a
“strange eruption of aboriginal puritanism,” thus avoiding any condemnation
of her own church (101), and thereby creating an unforgiveable oxymoron, no
something beyond that, a mere moronic phrase.
To explain my condemnation of her bad usage of the language, aboriginal
peoples had and have taboos involving sex but are not so against sex outright as
the puritans were. The Christian
insistence of head (or heart) over loins is a later development.
“The New England puritan tradition” stated mere would be preferable.
She goes on to describe the variety of puritan traits, and muses that she
has no idea how we’re going to escape them.
Hard work, discipline, rigor, and sexual repression—hmm, it would seem
some of us have escaped all of that, at least the worst part—and some the
When she speaks of gay marriage (remember that she cannot even bring
herself to legitimize homosexuality) she resorts to the usual liberal rhetoric,
declaring that the use of the term ‘marriage’ is a mistake because of its
religious affiliation; like all knee-jerkers she prefers, civil unions or
domestic partnerships. Explain the
difference, my dear demagogue (103). She
should not even be speaking on the issue, considering that she denies reality to
exclusive homosexuality (104)—even though it exists.
And by the way, this canned liberal response to the question of gay
marriage presupposes that gays should have nothing to do with religion, and also
denies the great changes that have occurred in religion, Christianity in
particular here, over the centuries (105).
It assumes that gays can never be accepted into the body of religious
persons, which is funny because in some churches they already are.
In an attempt to justify her response (i.e. to try to separate herself
from the flock that repeats the same thing consistently) she demands that
religious intrusions into government process must be removed.
Too late, Camille, you’re nailed to your Catholic cross already—look
to your left, you may see Madonna crucified beside you.
Not to stray too far, but it just occurs to me, why Madonna when there
are far more sensual and authentic lady musicians out there, like Tori
Amos, who all but penetrates herself on her piano while pouring out her
Dionysian heart. Madonna is, was,
and will always be everything Camille later accuses Lady Gaga of being, a
choreographed artistic phony replete with artificial sensuality.
I admit Madonna had her more authentic moments in the 80’s, but really,
who is this femi-lesbo kidding? Not
done with gay marriage yet? I guess
not. “The government should have nothing to do with this
And, no special benefits. She
is still trying to reconcile her knee-jerk position (106).
The benefits of marriage, Paglia, have everything to do with
government—and business, under the laws of government.
I’ll use the word, claim, again. She
claims that gays are making all kinds of unfounded claims, about living wills,
about being escorted from the hospital or whatever premises. Her experience, I suppose, does not bear this out—wait!
Has Camille had a dying lover? No!
Must I call your bullshit here (107)?
Oh my, just wait to hear the lies that fall from her face. . . .
Now the Paglia gets personal. She’s
with a younger woman, an artist named Alison Maddex, who gave birth to their
son. She talks about the valiant
way she’ll bring up her son. She
talks of Alison’s wonderful book, Sex in the City—I am not kidding.
But its subtitle is An Illustrated History of Sex in New York, so
. . . okay. Camille wrote the
introduction. But stop everything!
What we will later know is that Camille splits with Alison, making her an
ersatz deadbeat dad, or maybe a mom-dad of distance (108).
Why doesn’t anything ever work out?
Now, what are the laws of visitation for mom #2?
For Camille did adopt the child. So,
dykes cannot be men in any of the better senses, but they can be like men in the
bad senses. What happens to a child
that grows up with only one mother? You
did it to yourself, lady. Let’s
not miss a beat though, for soon Paglia speaks of liberals and conservatives in
the typical way, thus contradicting herself
(109). Quit polarizing!
Oh, “liberalism developed from the early 90’s doctrinaire beliefs to
the more recent renewed liberalism.” What
are you talking about? She supplies
no details to back up her assertion, of course (110).
How many grand claims? Did
you know that Alan Bloom (singlehandedly?) inaugurated the cultural wars (111).
Although she agrees with his choosing of great works in teaching,
“Bloom is limited in his belief of what culture consists of.”
That is to say, he doesn’t throw in Madonna and Sharon Stone with
Michelangelo. And, on another
scholarly note, Camille appreciates the National Association of Scholars’
fight against political correctness, she is not a member; instead she is a proud
part of the Media Ecology Association. Nice
Meanwhile Camille has a habit of dismissing Europeans from the American
culture, the Germans and French, more specifically the Frankfurt School and the
Deconstructionists. This wouldn’t
be a problem if she also excluded a couple millennia of the best European
artworks—not to mention a character like Simone de Beauvoir, hero of so many
feminists (112). The fact that this
never occurs to Paglia in her mentions of recent Europeans (and she does make
some valid points) says something about her comprehensive mental abilities.
I’ll say it, she’s not retarded, she’s just a girl.
No doubt, I’ll face charges of domestic abuse by the time this essay is
completed; maybe I’ll even get a restraining order against me when Camille
decides to come after me with an umbrella.
The sad thing is, the entirety of academia is filled with such frauds as
Dr. Paglia. Her mentor Harold Bloom
is one, Alan Dershowitz another, the entirety of artists and writers who
consider themselves creative while holding to a college gig, and the rest.
But let me concentrate on one phony at a time here.
As an alternative view of the progression of American history, relating
primarily to feminism and homosexuality, between the 40’s and 60’s, I’ll
offer a couple of brief notes. First,
we’ll go back in time to the 20’s, where we see that homosexuality was more
in the open in the speakeasy culture. Because
do many crimes were already being committed, homosexuality often fit right in.
By the time America entered WWII, many gays and lesbians went to war with
other citizens; some of the female units were even known to be composed
primarily of lesbians. Additionally
some didn’t even hide the fact of their homosexuality while at war, although
the expression of this must have been very limited considering most were just
trying to survive the conflict. Throughout
the war women in the country went to work, in factories and elsewhere, becoming
largely self-sufficient. This is in
fact a turning point in American culture, when certain men of questionable
motives realized that the pool of American workers could largely be increased if
women were encouraged to leave the home and go to work.
Despite this, and despite a very short period of increased liberalism,
there was a conservative response to the end of the war.
Most women returned to the home, and men went to work, some of them
receiving free education and training with the help of the military.
Then comes McCarthy and the Communist scare.
But notice that when the 60’s hit and things began to change—a
liberal backlash, more or less—suddenly feminism hits the scene and takes on
the mask of Gloria Steinem, a woman known to be a CIA asset for a good portion
of her career. Just to give you some idea of how much money the CIA was
giving to Steinem, Ms. Magazine, one of the early feminist publications, was a
large magazine with no advertisements—this clearly indicates that she
was receiving funding from parties with a vested interest.
What would their interest be? Well,
go back to what I said before. The
corporations realized that by encouraging women into the workplace they could
double their number of employees and therefore their production; additionally,
the government realized they could vastly increase the amount in taxes they
would receive. If this is not
evidence of a conspiracy, for which feminism was a front, than no conspiracy has
ever been carried out. Everything’s
coincidence, right? No.
Things happen because someone wants them to happen; change comes by the
use of will in manipulating its subjects (or objects, if you prefer).
Feminism tries to force itself into the crowd of truly oppressed people,
blacks and other minorities, homosexuals, and the poor.
They tried as hard as possible to force themselves violently into the
civil rights movements, and did so successfully. But just compare the words of
the early feminists to those of the black movement; you’ll see a gap in the
reality of the two movements’ complaints. Why was the CIA supporting the rise
of feminism while the FBI attempted to destroy the black movement?
Compare the woman’s movement to the gay movement—it’s ridiculous,
the reality of the latter and the hysterical fantasy of the former.
To be homosexual was anathema, while to be a woman, with a job or in the
home, was just the regular state of affairs.
It is interesting to recognize that gay and lesbian literature continued
throughout the 50’s, despite the severe oppression. Were heterosexual lady writers opposed during the same
period? Just to use one example, Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, a very
popular book from that time to the present day, was published in 1957.
Simone de Beauvoir published five books during the 50’s and five during
the 60’s. Even Gloria Steinem herself published her first book in 1957.
When Lawrence Ferlinghetti published Allen Ginsberg’s Howl and Other
Poems in 1956, the small time publisher was charged with the crime of
obscenity. Though Ferlinghetti was
found not guilty, one must assume that the work’s homosexual content was a
large part of the reason for the charges. Of
course feminists like to think that their movement encompasses homosexuals and
even other minorities, but such is far from the truth; they stand for women, and
only women who agree with them.
The late sixties brought the reaction to the prior conservatism in the
form of hippies and free love and whatever other elements.
During this time fashion became more free, although one could not deny
trends within the movement—people were generally not wearing just anything.
Gays, once again, were allowed to be more gay during this period.
Then Stonewall, which Paglia wishes she could claim as her own.
Was she in New York City at the time?
Likely not. Anyway, the
Stonewall rebellion, in which gays, lesbians, and drag queens—not just those
who were in the Stonewall Inn, by the way—fought back against police, who had
the habit of raiding gay bars or clubs, and thus began the gay movement with a
landmark event. According to
sources, only four police were hurt in the riot, which was violent.
The Gay Liberation Front was then established. Finally, a couple years later, homosexuality was no longer
considered an illness by psychiatrists and psychologists—gays in fact attended
psychiatric events, dancing and displaying affection in the midst of these
professionals, and finally the establishment gave in.
Women, lesbians and straight, who didn’t agree with the feminist
organization NOW’s stance that women were victims were generally expelled from
the movement; this aspect of feminism, which Camille complains about, of casting
out those who don’t toe the party line, was there at the beginning.
But Camille, as a shill, puts a prettier face on feminism, swearing
she’s against so much of it without changing anything about the movement.
What does it matter if Camille does not dislike men when her movement
hates them? I t is interesting to note that Bette Midler, early in her career,
performed at gay bathhouses. Women,
especially lesbian feminists, like to believe that before the 70’s women
didn’t have opportunities, but if one simply looks through the history of the
20th century this is far from true. Perhaps more mediocre female
talents suddenly had more opportunity—I’ll give them that; the standards for
women went down, so they could now join mediocre men in history’s house of
shame. No longer did a novelist
need to be a Jane Austin or Emily Brontë.
Oh, that’s right, the standards had already been lowered; anyone heard
of Agatha Christie? One of many
female fiction writers before the 70’s who wrote works far from good.
Just place her work beside that of Edgar Allan Poe and Arthur Conan
Unfortunately for the gay community, then came AIDS, which according to a
science, which still gropes in the dark concerning the disease, is spread
through sexual contact. Now,
President Ronald Reagan had no place in his heart for the failing health of
homosexuals—yet he hailed the diagnosis of Robert Gallo and Luc Montagnia.,
which, much like the Holocaust, is never be questioned, for fear of chiding if
not career suicide. Does not one
find it odd that, for someone so interested in sexuality, Camille seems to have
no interest in the AIDS phenomenon. The closest she comes to mentioning it is
laughing about the French nobility having syphilis. As usual, it took a famous person’s, Rock Hudson’s, death
to really make the media take the issue of AIDS seriously.
AIDS was a setback to the gay movement, no doubt, another reason to
persecute homosexuals, male homosexuals in particular.
While we’re here in the middle of a gay paragraph, is it not funny that
Christian organizations aim to keep homosexuals from having equal rights in the
way that feminists aim to keep men from having equal rights?
Clinton, Paglia’s on-again/off-again hero, signed the Defense of
Marriage Act; in fact most of the legislation he put his cum-stained hands to
was conservative in nature. Let us
remember that Camille, despite herself, recognizes the resilience and fortitude
of gay men, who have faced, by my estimations, more oppression and persecution
than women and Jews combined; and we’re talking a much smaller population, so
I’m saying much more than you think I am.
Of course I mention women and Jews because they are the whiniest bunch
that mankind has ever produced; meanwhile feminism and Zionism have more
political pull than most corporations, this in a capitalist state that leans
more and more toward the values of the fascist, values which make corporations
an inseparable one with the state. Let
this brief interlude end with this: I, unlike Camille, not only recognize the
uncanny strength of the gay man, I also validate the fact of his existence as a
This brings me to Camille’s theory of gay men and their relationship to
“parental figures.” Now, say for instance that what she says is true, that
gay men are such because they had no positive role model, or because their
mothers were overbearing, or their parents had something against their child’s
opposite sex, or that these homosexuals were even molested; does this knowledge
make a person’s adult existence merely pathological, invalid, immature, as
Paglia would have it? Even this
notion is a non sequitur. Now
let’s agree, if for the moment, that some of us were not born inherently
bisexual or heterosexual, but homosexual. This
would ruin a few of Camille’s theories; thus she has a vested interest in
discounting the legitimacy of the exclusive homosexual.
Now, how does she arrive at the conclusion that we are all either born or
brought up to be bisexual? Because
she herself at an early age tended toward bisexuality, perhaps?
Before she turned to exclusive lesbianism.
What if, like Bill Maher told you about himself, a person has no interest
sexually in his or her own sex? Does
this invalidate them in some way? And
if it does, why don’t you pathologize when besmirching their character?
The truth is that Camille has an ambivalent relationship with gay men;
she both adores them (is fascinated by them) and denounces their ‘choice’ of
life and living. This almost
religious ambiguity, the love and hate of gay men—forgive the use of hate, for
she after all loves them—leaves out the existence of exclusive lesbians
(although she considers them, herself included, to be emotionally retarded) and
heterosexuals. The fact that she admits to an adoration of the cock and of the
male body leaves the story of her life even in a more ambivalent state. Why, for instance, does she deny herself the pleasure of
coitus and of sucking dick? What
about anal sex? All of these
sources of pleasure, of getting off, that she has forborne.
A man could make her climax in far more ways than a woman could, but she
resists. So, my conclusion is that,
if pathology exist, it exists in her in particular, not in the gay man, not in
the heterosexual, not in the mysterious ‘lesbian other.’ Not even in the true bisexual, which she is manifestly not.
She loves pornography; let’s see on the cover of her next book a scene
in which she has a dick in her mouth. Until
then . . . ambiguity, ambivalence, and egregious self-contradiction win.
Back to Paglia’s conversation, she bemoans the decline in education.
Her concern is for the basics, reading and writing, and the book and
painting. What could be mentioned
here is that the US does not follow the European system of the hierarchy of
education; in such a system, students are required to reach a high standard at
each level of schooling. Students
are introduced to the classics, to art, and to the sciences.
Why would an American professor be unsatisfied with the quality of
education her students received before reaching her classroom?
Our system, instead of emphasizing excellence, traces the path of the
normative. To excel in the American
system is almost as discouraged as is falling behind.
If ones potential is ‘too high,’ he must pursue it on his own.
But this is America, formerly at least, the land of the individual and of
ingenuity. For these exceptional
individuals high school, and sometimes even college, are not of the greatest
significance. One could actually
realize another strange phenomenon in connection to European education; because
it encourages the exceptional it also places an unseen limit, a “glass
ceiling,” to borrow an overused phrase, on such exceptionality.
Without limits placed upon the individual, there is no limit to advance.
This said, with the lack of an academic or whatever pre-established
social network, the individual must fight the system itself to find recognition,
for our larger society itself does not regularly reward excellence. This paradoxical mantrap, the fact that greatness is as
frowned upon as wretchedness, is just unfortunate—actually, it is tragic.
Camille, of course, would argue that it took her decades to get
published, despite her status as a professor; while I would argue back, and
indeed I’ll show in my next essay on the lady, that her work is lacking in any
kind of greatness—perhaps it isn’t even good.
Back to the poor state of education, Camille believes in a global
perspective in education—this after her complete dismissal of the Frankfurt
School and the French Deconstructionists (113).
Additionally she is against historical teaching and in favor of the
chronology of education (a near-meaningless distinction), and she also
disapproves of too much TV in the classroom.
Returning to one of her favorite subjects, Hollywood, she connects
Katherine Hepburn with another of her passions, feminism.
Then she proceeds seamlessly to gay men (114), who are the only folks
interested in old films (115). Well,
if A is always B, I must be B, right? No,
it does not follow that B is always A. The
silly non sequitur again. These
cultural anomalies always love old films? No,
she didn’t even make the original statement.
Nothing against her there. If
Katherine Hepburn was one of the women of the century, what does that say about
women? Perhaps a topic of its own.
But (like Camille) she had no children; she couldn’t bridge the gap
between career and family (she left herself out of the equation:116).
About art say she, this realm is where one explores the ambiguity of
gender. How often is this the case,
my dear queen of declaration (117)? And
the private realm is also explored through art. Yes. She’s not
sure how we can “export this” to the public realm, and she worries as a
student of history that every time a culture gets supposedly sophisticated
(she’s talking Rome here, of course) and open and tolerant of alternative
lifestyles—homosexuality, gay marriage, sex changes . . . Whoa!
When before have societies had to deal with gay marriage and sex changes
(118)? Anyway, such cultures are
usually decadent and on the verge of collapse (again, like Rome).
This is an area of constant interest and questioning in Sexual
Personae, the subtitle of which is Art and Decadence from Nefertiti to
Emily Dickinson. She continues, although she admires decadence as a cultural
mode, when conservatives talk about a homosexual agenda they’re right (119).
Wait, what? Why are you
blaming gays for decadence now? Now she bewails of our lack of biblical knowledge, a
knowledge that seems to be slipping away (120)—she should really get out more.
Of course she means among her students there is a lack of biblical
knowledge. Then she returns to
blaming gays for the ills of society, talking about “these trashy shows,” TV
shows that is, gay TV shows (121) like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy,
which by the way, my ignorant dame, does not at all represent homosexuals in any
kind of meaningful way. I’d say
those men are not even gay; they are eunuchs.
Who would fuck those nancies? Come
on! They needed that show so they
could pay for their sex. Apparently
she doesn’t fork over the extra cash for pay stations; otherwise she should
have acknowledged Queer as Folk and maybe Six Feet Under and The
L Word. Of course she’s watched her share of Will and Grace,
but has she caught up with The Sarah Silverman Program?
And why does she mention the reality TV show that features gays and never
say a word about how trashy all reality TV is?
Yes, back to our old maid, she worries about a massive backlash
(conservative in nature, one extrapolates from this) because Christianity was
that backlash against Greco-Roman Paganism.
She’s worried that a progressive culture cannot sustain itself “in
this flamboyant way.” First
Christianity, which is garlic to my vampirism, was (and even is) much more than
a backlash (122). Also, why again
the emphasis on what is flamboyant? Is
it not you yourself who celebrates bisexuality and androgyny (123), despite
never quite grasping what androgyny really is?
She thinks transgenders and gay activists need to ask these questions.
She warns that “what comes after you may be far worse than what
you’re fighting now.” Here she
is losing it. Do you really expect
gays to sacrifice themselves, what they are, for the future of your weak-kneed
liberalism (124)? Not only does she
overvalue the power homosexuals have in our society, she completely ignores the
ill effects that feminism has had on that same society.
Think before you speak, you undesirable tramp.
She goes on to toe the party line on criticizing W. Bush and his
pointless wars, rebuking those who would make our country be thought less of by
foreigners—as if Bush and his wars were not the very cause of anti-American
sentiments. She cares not about
truth, about the fact that he used the false pretenses of 9/11 and weapons of
mass destruction to start the wars (125). What
a typical coward. How many remember
the lack of criticism from the media during the earlier months of war? Not even
comedy shows would question Bush’s bellicosity, after their prior lampooning
of his obvious idiocy. Camille
suggests this same silence should be maintained by academics and intellectuals
(here she’s speaking even of foreigners).
Maybe she could up the anti with her queer-baiting as a substitute for
political commentary, much like comedy shows did. In this same strain she criticizes the criticism of the Dixie
Chicks (126)—how very intellectual of you, Prof. She even goes on to blame anti-Americanism on Foucault’s
influence (127), Then the good old “love it or leave it” sums up her further
remarks on the unpatriotic (perhaps, true?) intellectuals (128)—who enjoy all
the amenities without sacrificing their intelligence, I gather from her
After so many of Camille’s claims to be a friendly witch, we still have
man falso damnati crimine mortis. Man
shall suffer eternally for sins he never committed. And Paglia gives not a care.
The fact that she does not identify openly this dark side of feminism
should be enough evidence that she is trying to skirt such issues.
Man is always guilty ex ante facto.
No trial is needed; he is the oppressor, the violator, the beast, the
guilty—no charge necessary. Yet Camille heaps man with praise. But why? Does
anyone really believe that she has no idea about this one-sided legislation with
its double-standards? No, of course
not, she is an educated feminist. So
she plays you for her fool, thankful, I’m sure, that no one brings this up in
her talks. If she were before an
audience of working class men who were directly affected by these laws, who lost
their families because of them, who were all but ruined by them, the story would
be quite different. But she speaks
to the affluent and middle class population, despite her claims that random
nobodies encourage her, “Give ‘em hell, girl!”
All of this is more lying on her part.
Mendacity rules in a world of Camille’s preference, and she hopes no
one like me comes along and points out her endless acts of disingenuousness.
The bitch is guilty of a crime against mankind, of trying to hide the
truth behind her various absurd theories and claims.
Although she is not directly guilty of the criminal laws aimed at men,
she is indirectly guilty of trying to hide those crimes through her subterfuge.
The lordly sperm bank is being robbed of all rights while the
cum-dumpsters win. Yes, her lies
are brilliant in their way, even beautiful, but such action of a representative
succubus should not go without punishment.
Because I hold currency with the devil, I curse her vacuous soul over and
again, wishing her the worst. The
children, for instance, belong to the lineage of the man, not the woman, yet her
and her cohorts in crime, known as feminists, turn reality on its head.
Dear Camille, the patriarch
is a man. What are you? The barren matriarch? What lies beyond your blouse, beneath
your bra? Tits filled with poison
whence your followers drink.
Now remember that Paglia was criticizing those who would question our
President in a time of war, and especially those who would (like the Dixie
Chicks) question the president during a time of war on foreign shores.
Now Camille does what she loves to do—something others have not
criticized her for, by the way—why must I be the first?
Or am I? She turns around
and criticizes the conservatives for saying what she just said (129). I swear,
it wouldn’t be authentic Camille without the self-contradiction, her
immolation through overcompensation.
Now on to comparative religions, a subject dear to the atheistic Camille.
But first (forget that subject altogether for now), she criticizes
Muslims for not protesting the events of 9/11, without the slightest sense of
self-reproach (130). Forget that
the events of 9/11 are completely unresolved, the 9/11 Commission being worse
than the Warren Commission even, magic bullet and all.
Well, why must Muslims mourn the loss of American lives when Americans as
a group have never mourned the loss of Muslim lives, including those taken in
Iraq and Afghanistan, but even those taken long before.
What about the hundreds of thousands of Iraqi children who died as a
result of sanctions upheld against their nation before 9/11?
What about . . . what about? Need
I even say more? I mean, already
there are hundreds of thousands of lives in the negative when considering 9/11,
which involved a few more than three-thousand lives lost.
Oh, but does the math matter? If
the Muslims had been repentant for what less than twenty of them had allegedly
done, would there have been no war in Iraq?
In Afghanistan? You see,
this kind of realistic thinking never occurs to a thinker as shallow as Paglia.
She is a phony through and through.
The fact that she never faces off against a worthy opponent, as other
more proven intellectuals (who are also academics) have, including her hated
Noam Chomsky, who rarely backs down from competition, ironically, unless it has
to do with 9/11. Anyway, the day that the events of that fateful day are
seriously investigated and the culprits are held responsible for their actions,
don’t expect a tear from Muslims. Sorry to go jihad on you, you insipid bitch.
To add to the egregiousness of her debasing of Muslims, she latches on
the by-now cliché argument that Islamic terrorism will be perpetual.
First, such an idea has already been destroyed as a valid notion; only in
Islamic countries does the terrorism continue unabated, in particular Islamic
territories that are threatened by outside sources.
And to add to this, since this trite interview, Americans and the UN and
co. have used the members of the American-made organization, al-Qaeda, to good
effect in Libya and Syria—I’m sure there’s more to come. The fact that her
mastery of global politics resembles her mastery of gender relations should
surprise not one of my readers.
After mentioning her book on poetry—which I will tear to pieces in a
future piece—she mentions the horrid defamation of Rush Limbaugh (131), who
himself makes a living lowering the esteem of various liberal characters.
He also engages in ad hominem to an extent only rivaled by the Fox News
network and other radio shows like his own.
She also calls Rush a person of attractive
imagination. Imagination is an
imaginative epithet for this opioid junkie (132).
No, he is clearly lacking in imagination, Camille.
If you’ve heard one of his show’s episodes, you’ve heard every
fucking one of them. Are you a nut
or what (see, ad hominem)? She then
argues that he’s not a stooge (133). Well,
it is unfair that I currently have ready access to a dictionary, but having so,
that is exactly what Limbaugh is, a fucking stooge. Stupidette Camille goes on
to blabber about Rush’s golf game and the fact that he deserves his
rest—maybe a bit more OxyContin, eh? He
deserves it. But poor Camille is
not savvy to such information yet. Of course she would take the easy road and
avoid the subject altogether, so no one catches on to any others of her
Finally she gets something right. The
New Age movement is garbage. What
she doesn’t mention is that the New Age movement is a reaction to all the
political and atheistic garbage her generation spewed . . . for how many decades
exactly? You convince the gullible
masses that Christianity is a patriarchal and outdated system of domination, if
not oppression, and should be abandoned as soon as possible—meanwhile arguing
for the importance of bible learning and comparative religions.
What do you think these gullible masses are going to do?
They turn to alternatives to the religion that has been so demonized
(then patronizingly appraised a darling of history, by Camille, who loves to cut
off her nose to spite her dick—the dick she wishes she had, like most
And what does she do next? She
throws us for a loop, abandoning her grand project altogether—no opposing it.
She lambasts her own dead horse, arguing that the quest for sexual
identity and personal relationships is somehow being pursued in a way “those
things can’t sustain.” What (134)? Her
entire spiel is in question, but she sees no problem with her declaration.
And to add to this nonsensical mess, somehow this quest sustains itself?
By resorting to such irrationality she has definitely won this round.
The quest for sexual identity cannot sustain itself; this much is
certain. But not in the way she
intends. The quest for personal
relationship though can never be said to sustain itself.
Money, interest, invested care and tenderness—anything else!
But why would the search—nay, the quest for relationship be forced to
sustain itself? Nixon wasn’t this
mendacious, nor this desperate for meaning where such does not exist.
The 60’s can be viewed from the point of religion—okay.
No, not okay; you are not religious, so why do you morph into Jerry
Falwell for an instant (135)? She is an atheist who advocates religion now, or should I
say, as usual (136)? Then she gets
all pantheistic on us, suckling at the divine dick of Nature.
Romanticism was fun . . . while it lasted.
Get over it. A pantheistic
Atheist is an Atheist! Nature,
science, cosmology sans God—Atheism! But
we must, oh must we, return to the ‘fundamentals,’ the study of nature,
again, of great books (uh, connection please), of religion (137).
You see, she had to throw religion in with nature and great books.
This is pure historical inaccuracy.
Religious people do appreciate nature and great books, but form a
religious perspective. This, of
course, is not what she intends. She wants people to have the energy and interest to study all
three from an atheistic perspective.
Let’s take the old-time philosophers, for instance, who did study all
three, in addition to studying so much more.
Does she expect her students to display the ingenuity and intellectual
compass of a Nietzsche, a Schopenhauer, a Hegel, a Descartes, a Kant?
Not going to happen, lady. Such
a student would assuredly spit in your face, either literally or figuratively,
and perhaps write a critique such as my own, smearing your unearned credentials
with the fecal matter they inspire in such a one.
Yes, again, you are the worst kind of fraud, intellectually,
academically, and even in terms of pop culture—popsicly, perhaps. And what
does she do, right after I mention European philosophers, she puts down European
philosophers. Postmodernism, post-structuralism. What would the ‘modern’ world be without postmodernism
(138)? Less than modern, that is
for sure. Now she is talking like
the conservative who thinks he can overcome the problems of the present by
returning to the past. No, that
doesn’t work. You overcome the
problems of postmodernism by addressing its assumptions and conclusions then
showing that there is a better, more inclusive, more true, more meaningful way
of theorizing, of thinking, of anything. Anybody
ever heard of the dialectic of progress? Well,
think along those lines for just a moment, please.
This has to be the most telling of her revelations.
She claims to be some sort of beacon of artfulness, of value, of insight,
in the area of pop culture, including Hollywood and films, yet she loves a trite
piece of derivative trash like Basic Instinct (139).
She actually thinks this movie, especially Sharon Stone’s performance
in it, is good (God forbid, great) art. At
this point I recommend getting out more and, perhaps, forgetting everything that
hack, Harold Bloom, ever taught you. Forget
the true great film-makers, of whom Camille has no notion nor understanding,
forget great actors who made movies worth watching and still do, forget anything
great. Just watch Basic
Instinct and listen to Camille’s insightful commentary.
Yes, sarcasm. What’s wrong
with this woman? Not only is she
untruthful, she is vacuous and clueless. Put her in a room with Woody Allen and
turn out the lights. She may learn a thing about art and men. No chance for this old broad.
She’s just a hack, much like Bloom.
A movie that doesn’t even warrant a second (oh, I want to say first)
Note, and this will count against her, her neo-Luddite (oxymoron?)
tendency to place almost all worthwhile art in the distant past (140).
Why is this? I can answer this succinctly.
All the art that she likes from more recent times sucks.
I needn’t go down the list; it can be found throughout the endless
pages of this gruesome disembowelment. Now,
collect your intestines and we’ll continue.
The fact that art has actually improved in recent times, is better than
that of the past, is lost on PaGlia.
Oh, a moment of clarity from a caller, who recognizes one of Paglia’s
favorite patronizing man-bashing activities, saying, “men are good with their
hands.” (141) It would be more
true if she were to say, men are good with their hands and filled with
endurance, fortitude, and ingenuity, while women are lazy, weak, unskilled with
their entire bodies, and derivative in their thinking. Yeah, insults based on half-truths. Another caller eviscerates her, and as a response she takes
the politically defeated way out: she agrees with everything the caller said, as
if it were one with her own beliefs (142).
Now, obviously this critical caller noticed differences, Camille.
Otherwise she wouldn’t be arguing against your points.
But Camille stands true in her loyalty to the way of ingenuousness, her
mendacity only multiplied by her use of a tired political tactic.
Now Camille turns to ancient art, explaining the progression of man’s
view of women through their artifacts. These
two cultures she refers to saw women in completely different ways: the first
depicted women with flippers and large breasts, the second, later culture
depicted women in their true beauty replete with smaller breasts and all the
rest. But guess what this hag does
next? She argues against the
existence of actual progress through the years (143), completely contradicting
what she just pointed out in art or artifacts, and contradicting the knowledge
of many superior intellects. Just
because change isn’t always for the better, always an improvement on the past,
does not cancel out the fact that there has been substantial improvement, that
is, real progress, over the years. Who
the hell do you want to be today, my dame of dishonesty?
The multiplicity of your frauds is bewildering.
As Quintilian is known to have said, “A liar needs a good memory.”
Unfortunately for her, Camille is lacking such a capacity.
Now, in the course of receiving calls from viewers, one such caller
caught Camille in her contradictions, wondering why Camille considers herself a
Libertarian while she votes Democrat. We’ll
let this go, for certainly there are some liberal Libertarians.
Camille makes known that she is a typical feminist, asserting her belief
in the modern independent woman who is no longer dependent on a father or
husband for her sustenance. Here
I’ll light up an anecdote, for my mother has for a long time made a good
living without the aid of my father, yet she accepts the largesse of her wealthy
father. Does this make her less
independent? No, it doesn’t; we
are all dependent on someone or something, whether our boss or our husband, even
our students. But we already know
of Camille’s true beliefs, her unflagging faith in the great feminist
ideology. Despite her every claim
of being male-friendly or opposed to extremes in feminism, she toes the party
line in reality. Then she crushes
the petty complaints of her own femi-group by describing the child labor of the
19th century; surely these children suffer true oppression, not the
piddling pseudo-oppression of modern women, who are far from oppressed by any
reasonable standard (144). Children
forced to work all day in the horrible conditions of industrial factories versus
women encouraged to raise their families—is there any sanity in this woman and
her ingenuous ideation?
Another common theme, she bemoans the disaster that is the Humanities on
college campuses. I, for one, think
the Humanities should be thrown out in favor of Aesthetics, but I guess most
would know that. She mentions the
‘lost generation’ (are those the young ladies who follow your ideas?), then
on to ‘campus reform!’ (145) Yet,
feminist reform is the way things are. Why
Camille rarely feels the need to elaborate on her claims and assertions, I
don’t know. Perhaps it’s her
strange female mind, not so prone to reflection, more favoring claims.
Is she unconsciously spouting words?
One seriously wonders. If
she would just try to explain herself, she would be so much more often prone to
bouts, however random, of verity. To
say the current generation is ‘lost’ does not say anything.
Was Paglia’s generation not lost?
Has there been a generation which systematically rejects the label,
‘lost?’ The truth is that, on
college campuses, much of the stupidity comes from such ideologies as feminism.
You have a major percentage of women in college; is that not victory? Why
do I not give her an extra point for status as a feminist shill?
She tries to put a friendly face on feminism while agreeing with all of
its basic tenets and in the man-hating, family-destroying laws that this
movement has successfully lobbied for. Yes,
the laws are still in the books.
Nicole Simpson comes into view. Never blame the victim—obligatory
feminist propaganda. Never blame
the victim, but Nicole . . . no, she shifts the subject in her desultory
way to murder in general, then torture and child abuse (146).
Why the sudden move from Nicole to murder in general—and child abuse?
A lack of mental clarity, perhaps? And
it’s to be assumed that the victimizers are men, of course. Soon she argues that police should not be brought in, through
restraining orders and so forth. Yet,
the laws are there, and they are yours (147).
She surely knows that when the police get involved the man is fucked.
Then, instead of addressing the double-standards of the laws (148),
Paglia suggests, as she will again, that by involving the police the woman can
get herself killed (149), thereby adding to the image of the man as victimizer.
Yes, all—no, let’s leave it at most—men are psychopaths,
ready to dish out death to the poor unsuspecting woman.
Yes, you took my kids, now I’m going to end your pathetic little life.
How often does this actually happen.
Now she plays her handy ‘slide rule’ again, shifting to psychology
and psychoanalysis (that most outdated of practices) (150).
Academic theorists tend to admire the theories of phony psychologists who
have no obligation to help their patients.
Then she goes into sexual symbolism, asks what people look for in sex,
and peters out in a mention of abusive relationships.
She returns to Nicole and O.J.’s control over her.
Yes man as the successful control freak—I guess this trumps your belief
in the female control of men through sex, at least for the moment (151).
If O.J. had such control over his ex-wife, doesn’t this dispose of the
idea that she rules him sexually? No,
Camille would probably suggest that this in some abstract way bolsters her
theory of female sexual power, despite the fact that there was no sex between
the two at the time of her death—or one would suppose.
She declaims, adamantly, that the abuse will always continue.
Psychological control comes to the fore, this time a man’s need for
psychological control being tied to a “mother complex.” (152) Okay,
first we know this is coming from the direction of Freud, that most psychopathic
of doctors, such a coward and incompetent that he wouldn’t touch
Now, let us examine, if you’ll allow actual elaboration on a claim, the
idea of the “mother complex” in relation to the male need for control over a
woman. The man in this case would seemingly be transferring his need for control
in his relationship with his mother, dead or alive, to his prized woman.
So, in other words, his mother was a controlling bitch.
Even if we assume such armchair psychology carries any weight in the
classroom of reality (not just Camille’s classroom), we must admit that such
obsessive control of a woman is caused by a woman.
This is a case of the abuse of a woman leading to the abuse of a woman.
The fellow is the middleman. The
wife is a proxy for the mother—it must be Oedipal.
The man was over-controlled, his identity “obliterated” by the older
generation (153), that is, his mother. Now,
anyone who has ever heard O.J. Simpson speak knows that his identity was not
destroyed, so, unless this is some code for another thing altogether, the theory
is incorrect. Simpson has identity,
has personality, has pride and arrogance and all of those other human traits.
The fact that O.J. is a psychopath, and is therefore not representative
of men, never enters Camille’s ideas on the matter. This seems to be a far
more important psychological point than any kind of Oedipal I.D. destruction.
Now to sexuality: we cannot, she claims, ask any psychological question
about the development of a gay or straight identity (154).
Yet she does this all the time. Cite
her theories on bisexuality and her invalidating of both hetero- and
homosexuality as anomalies caused by social pressures or psychological problems
or whatever other wacky theories this woman choses to espouse at the moment.
Moving to art, she declaims that art is a source of self-knowledge and
self-discovery. This claim is so generic it can be said of anything, i.e.
philosophy, politics, religion, volunteerism is a source of self-knowledge and
self-discovery (155). Not only is
this a case of silly truism, it is shows a lack of understanding in the area of
art. Art, in case you couldn’t
make the connection for yourself, is artifice.
A couple simple definitions of artifice from a portable dictionary: 1. :
Trick; also : trickery. 2. an ingenious device; also : ingenuity.
You see, art is fiction, fake; beauty is fake.
It’s a trick, the better the art the more well-honed the skill in such
trickery. Aesthetics has very little to do with psychological maladies
or self-realization, although it is perfectly capable of representing such in
art. The creative mind is the
source of art, is the source of beauty; one can say of a woman that she is
beautiful, but indeed a woman is made how much more beautiful by the deceptions
of art? Ever seen a model in street
cloths, without all the makeup and dressing-up?
Then again, as an unforgivable shill, she pretends to be against
regulations of personal relationships (156).
She perhaps refers here to her own relationships, which involve two
women. (Oh, just wait to hear her
strangest, most self-contradictory claim.)
Yes, the man-hating laws on the books make it very easy for a woman to
punish a man by the simple use of a phone.
Thus the man, like the B-movie serial killer of some deliberation, must
be prepared to disconnect or hide the phones as a concern of self-preservation.
Sorry bitch, the line is busy. By
using such ingenuity the man forces the woman either to act the part of the sane
human being or to run into the streets and shout her hysterics.
Yes, ladies and gents, the man and the woman are two completely different
creatures, as Camille will shortly inform us with her inane interpretations of
brain studies, with the handy help of her complete lack of experience with men.
We are in for more presumption than man has before known.
Just be patient; we’ll get there.
Camille almost fools me into thinking she’s going to come clean and
admit what she really believes, at least in reference to guns.
But no. She swears she
agrees in a citizen’s right to bear arms, then proceeds to water down the
statement with images of hunters in the country; she then implies, with some
show of worry, that people in the city should not be granted the same right to
own a gun or, God forbid—guns.
When questioned about how much of her audience is male, she declares (as
her ass has informed her) that “men like to call.” Such is the reason more men than women have called in to the
C-Span broadcast. This is nonsense,
of course (157), based, as most of her claims, on nothing.
Let us be informed that she has received many letters from women
“driven out of graduate school” in the humanities.
Why? Of course, because of
the trash offered by Post-Structuralism in place of real literature and art
(158). Last time I checked one is
allowed the freedom to choose his own subject of interest when planning his
dissertation. Maybe she is
referring to college courses offered to such students.
I must say she is out of date in her estimation of the hold that
Post-Structuralism and Theory hold over university or college studies. One can
certainly study the classics if one so desires. Just because such theories,
however distasteful, hold some position in the studies of the humanities does
not mean that they overrule other theories completely, if at all.
I would say that the problem with Liberal Arts in college is the denial
of the true worth that is at the heart of all things great; the Humanities and
creative writing courses are just as bad, if not worse, than Structuralism,
Post-Structuralism, and Theory or Literary Theory.
Common source of interest, she brings up her “coming on the scene”
(watch her slide into the picture) in the early 90’s. She alleges that she
spoke for men in a way that hadn’t before been done—then she mentions others
who did the same (immediately contradicting herself: 159).
Perhaps the speech of these others was actually authentic.
She soon admits, as is her habit, that the world in which women could be
so free (or name you platitude) was created by men.
She goes about patronizing her dear men, reducing their contributions to
mere physical things, physical labor, dirty work (160).
Yes, Camille, my gentle creature, forget all the great intellectuals,
almost all male. The fact that
there are any female intellectuals at all (Camille does not count; she is a
fraud) is remarkable, considering all of the traits of their sex that they must
overcome or come to understand. This
somehow segues into talk of her favorite example of good capitalism, the family
that employed and took care of her family.
Here I’ll mention that Camille displays a difficulty with memory—for
which she fails to compensate, with a pen and pad of paper perhaps.
When more than one question is asked of her, she answers the last
question first and then either forgets the rest (sometimes being reminded by the
interviewer) or glosses over earlier concerns.
I seriously question the extent of her appreciation and knowledge of art.
She professes an Italian love for opera, thereby seeming to situate opera in
such an exclusive environment. You’ll never hear her mention Wagner, he
beloved of Germans forever, and recognized by knowledgeable musical theorists as
an important innovator in the realm of composition. But composition, that
all-too-male of occupations fails to stir the vaginal juices of Camille. She
mentions Dickinson again as if she were the greatest of poets, which she was
not, even when compared with her contemporaries. Will Camille ever mention a
great artist that still has flesh or its remnants attached to the bone?
I understand these types. They
can only find greatness where others have long said it to be; then they
contradict their supposed love for greatness with the admission of more
contemporary artists who appeal to them, artist who are at best mediocrities.
Italian-Americans beware The Sopranos, a show which lampoons the
Italian working class in Jersey. Meanwhile
Camille considers The Godfather a positive portrayal of Italians; yes,
murderous psychopaths are great role models (161).
To suggest that any of these types of media productions are accurate
portrayals of Italians or even mobsters is foolish.
Need I explain that the aim of art is not necessarily the imitation of
reality? No, art, especially movies
and TV, aims to entertain and to impress itself on the consciousness.
Let’s take account of Camille’s all too feminine love of approval.
All but a couple of callers begins with a complement.
We see your feminine underbelly, Paglia.
She already admitted, by the way, her love of attention to the extreme of
megalomania. And who doesn’t know this about women, that they like complements
and praise a bit too much? Too much
for men, that is, who often don’t give a shit what another thinks of them.
And I do rely upon self-knowledge to know much about men; as one known to
be somewhat despising of the notions of others, one even known to be somewhat
malevolent, I enjoy the hate and criticism I receive almost as much—no, more,
than I like love or compliments aimed my way.
Oh, this world of a woman that I must piece apart. If only I could click
my heals. Shortly, we are
back to Theory (or Literary Theory), which, if you don’t know what it is, is a
poor substitute for aesthetics (the valuing and appreciation of art), that
generally studies ‘texts,’ as things of interest in a more or less social
way, perhaps touching on cultural implications.
It is no good, to put it simply. And
yes, it is based in part on theories of some French philosophers.
Camille says that Theory is waning.
She also mentions that she was disgusted by Foucault’s gay admirers,
who trashed generations of great scholars.
Yes, Foucault is one of those French philosophers blamed for Theory.
But why the disgust for his gay followers in particular? She calls some group trendy careerists—the Theory folks?
Then she goes on to list her hated French culprits: Foucault, Derrida,
Lacan, and de Man (as we will later figure out).
The fact that she throws all of these theorists and followers, most of
them nameless into a grandiose bonfire is a bit helter skelter (in both ways?),
but we’ll let all of this go for now.
She goes on to claim that Derrida was a Nazi sympathizer (162), or that
such was revealed at some point in her imagined history of intellectuals.
Of course, this is not true. Derrida
is a Jew from North Africa, and the actual controversy he was wrapped up in
involved his having an ‘African bias.’
He was also accused of rewriting the same things as Jorge Borges, and
accused of nihilism. A few critical
obituaries were dedicated to him. Later
we learn that de Man was actually accused of being a Nazi-sympathizer.
Okay, now say they all were Nazi-sympathizers, like Heidegger (who was
actually a Nazi). What does it
matter? If what they wrote holds up
as good philosophy, it shouldn’t matter; this is a confusion of political
morality and the truth of philosophy. Such
distinctions are obviously beyond a sophomoric thinker like Paglia, whose
femininity seems to thwart her every other attempt at intellectuality.
To proffer an obnoxious example of what I’m getting at, what if
Hitler’s finest Nazi scientists discovered a cure for cancer?
Would it matter that they were Nazis in the scientific evaluation?
Well, the truth is that it was Nazis who were largely responsible for
NASA’s success after World War II; they helped to develop the space program.
Because they were involved should we trash all of the great developments
that came as a result of the successes of the space program?
Enough of the weaknesses in Camille’s cogitation.
She then proclaims that Jacques Lacan was influenced by feminism, leaving
us to guess whether this is a good or bad thing, and Foucault, well, “He was a
god!” She proceeds to attempt to
show the weaknesses in Foucault’s thought—hmm, somebody else’s thought?
And she throws a cherry on top with the declamation that Theory left the
humanities “in a wasteland.” Thanks,
Now on to more personal public issues.
Camille was expelled from the first college at which she taught,
Bennington, after a fistfight with a student (163). Uh, so it’s okay for Camille to engage in violence with her
students, but not for O.J. Simpson to argue and fight with his wife?
She also admits to having kicked a student at some point during her time
at this school (164). Violence seems to come easy to Camille. Remember that she’s even used an umbrella as a weapon
against a man. So, here we have the
typical stance of feminists; it’s okay for women to resort to violence, but if
a man so much as raises his hands to deflect an oncoming attack he can easily
end up in prison. The double standard that they can’t admit to, or if they do,
they can justify it.
Camille goes on to, like Ginsberg in “Howl,” profess that some of the
best minds of her generation were cut down by drugs. This is an arbitrary claim (165). Her friends could have just as well went on to indulge in
even more drugs or to commit crimes, or, what the hell, to start world War III.
Now she does something which may seem odd to those of you with a memory.
She reaffirms her belief in Western progress (166).
So, which is it Dr. Paglia? Progress
or none? Some?
What? I honestly have never
heard a single person contradict himself so much; ‘herself’ explains it all,
considering that women don’t believe in the significance of consistency, or
verity for that matter. But we’ll get to that when Camille pulls brain science
out of her cornucopia of malleable knowledge.
She reaffirms now her respect for violence, calling the Hell’s Angels
“American cultural models,” and praising their unique lifestyle.
Oh, listen to me; I’m so fucking negative (167).
Well, such thugs aren’t much different from her beloved
Italian-American (Sicilian) mobsters. No
surprise that she likes even more violent men.
Fuck it if this highlights her tendency toward self-contradiction.
Fuck it all. Inconsistency is the sign of a strong and healthy mind.
Is that a Nietzsche quote? It
should be; he loved to fuck with weak and credulous imaginations, for whom irony
and high sarcasm are a foreign territory. Black
Back to schools, children are arriving, says Paglia, at schools with
discipline problems. How bizarre
that this is also how they arrive in prison.
Of course, these feminists will not admit that they have a clear bias
against boys, who, by their standards (female), will always be a problem.
If only boys were born without the masculine nature; it would make the
lives of teachers and scholarly disciplinarians so much easier (168).
Typical feminism displaying its desire to put all students in feminine
trousers. Sugar and spice and
everything nice. Fuck you, bitch. Let’s go for a ride. When was the last time you went
camping? I’ll be your longed-for
bogeyman, broad. For those of you
awaiting my novel, The Hag Who Haunted Hell, take it easy on me; I have
so much work remaining on the docket.
I will not allow you to forget the Luddite (neo-Luddite, what an
oxymoron, and an echo) tendencies of Ms. Paglia.
She speaks of the strict conditions of schools when she was growing up
(in her androgynous days, that is) (169). She
talks of parents shirking their responsibility, and then goes as far as to imply
that parents no longer teach their kids before they arrive at school
(1700—oops, 170). First, I
don’t buy this notion. Second, if
women are neglecting to teach their children the essentials before reaching
school, maybe, just maybe it’s because these mothers are too busy working,
living the feminist-issued lifestyle (171).
God bless the working stiff, shouts Michael Douglas in Falling Down.
Yes, equal opportunity in the workplace, that rallying cry of feminists,
sometimes equals inequality at the beginnings of a child’s education and,
perhaps, an unfair deal in life. My
mother was a housewife the first six years of my life; my siblings and I could
read almost as soon as we could speak. But
she suffered through my father’s constant habit of working.
Poor soul. God bless the working stiff!
Yes! It finally came out. Yes! Jennifer Lopez (172), that cinematic and
musical genius (no laughing, class!), was influenced by feminism, of course.
Who the fuck wasn’t? The
monster has its filthy female fingers in every pie thine eye can spy. Celebrated
here is Jennifer’s ‘control over men.’ (173)
Yes, I bet Ben Affleck is in tears over this Puerto Rican slut.
“How will I ever find another vagina attached to a pretty woman,”
moans our poor protagonist. “Oh
yeah, I’m a fucking movie star.” The tears evaporate as Affleck calls up the
entire cheerleading team from the local high school, then takes his pick of the
litter. And this!
Her ‘marketability.’ (174) As
if that feat is something to be admired. It
implies, and rightly so, a lack of talent being bolstered by a gimmick.
Just like your favorites, Camille: Andy Warhol, Madonna, and Sharon
Stone. I almost forgot the soulless Mapplethorpe, whose nude images
do not even exude an ounce of sensuality. Let’s
just wrap this up. Camille coins
the stupidest of phrases for Jenny, ‘street-smart feminism,’ and never does
she let out that Jenny lacks any meaningful talent.
Yes, Selena was an okay movie, but nothing to praise as Camille so
flagrantly does (175).
To be true to her ‘gender-bending’ tendencies, our heiress of all
things art bemoans the feminine concerns of female politicians (176).
Why she thinks women must not be women when in a position of power is no
mystery. This simply reveals Camille’s own sense of inferiority, or
sense of the inferiority of women (again, she tempts misogyny).
But I argue, are women really inferior, or are they just women?
Is it a sin, for instance to be seen in the cosmetics aisle in a store?
What about the feminine hygiene aisle, heaven forfend!
Does every lady politician need to display the unwomanly habits of dykes?
Come on, lady! Hillary Clinton is a psychopathic monster who puts even her
husband to shame in terms of diabolic personality traits. Do you want that to be
the paragon for powerful women? Notice
I didn’t say she can equal Bill’s sinister charisma and manipulative
mastery. Along similar lines,
Paglia swears that women should be trained in military history (perhaps she
means, military theory, or perhaps, strategy)—well, let’s just see how that
works out (177). Why doesn’t she
start by having women sign up for selective service?
Women in the draft would certainly be a move towards equality.
Now she latches on to the meme, “the age of terrorism,” that grand
endless war dreamt up by horny neoconservative Zionists in need of constant
conflict, a world at war endlessly (178). But
she has no knowledge of the whence of things.
Her talk along these lines is very serious, very unquestioning—very
womanly, in that feminine patriotic flare.
And she’ll never come to address her mistaken ideas in the future, for
as I’ll say a million times in the purest confidence of truth, women do not
see time in the same way as men. They
move along a continuum of events; there is no contradiction because what one is
today is what one is always, what one is in the moment, or for the moment; what
one was or will be is not a matter of concern.
Even the way a woman interacts with others follows similar lines, one
face replaces another, but they are merely the Other.
Yes, differences exist, but not when one is completely in the present.
There is no difference between what one sees now and what one sees now;
what one saw or will see is not a matter, once again.
For constant change along a whimsical continuum is the rule.
Yes, women can be intelligent, even geniuses, but how useful is that when
all of one’s interests are in the sensuous present, lacking in the reflection
that weighs difference with objectivity—what is the worst, lacking in
Such traits, I must say, are not true of every woman; some women
transcend the limitations of gender, much as men do. It is an a priori mistake to expect accountability from every
woman; one should observe the ‘second’ sex more closely instead of assuming
a common mental functioning. It
could be argued that Camille studies the past, the history of art and
literature—but, I say, but, how does she look at these historical artifacts?
She sees them while moving along that same continuum.
And let’s not confuse this with some profound philosophical concept or
any silly religious ideas. I
mention all of this now, out of place, too soon, because it explains much of
Camille’s contradiction and ingenuousness.
Other than the fact that she has a collection of canned points of speech,
one presentation bears very little on the rest.
Even within one presentation, from topic to topic—or even sentence to
sentence—there is no requisite continuity.
Camille is a woman and should be regarded as such—yet, for the sake of
this extended study, we assume a false equality that feminism claims—you see, claims.
Camille goes from claim to claim without substance to back up her claims;
she knows that most people will be uncritical of her speech and will either
overlook or dismiss her hauteur and hubris. I’ll finish with this: if the
present is the only reality, and such is the norm for many a woman, for she
cannot escape the constant interruption of sensation into her thought
processes—if the present is the only reality, even when regarding memory and
history, there are no contradictions. When things change not in a meaningful progression, but more
in a morphing sense, one thing replaced by another, the sense of continuity, of
thought or otherwise, is very different. What
is truth to one to one who does not see the solid side of life?
This also leads to opinions in place of truths, for opinions are
understandably changeable, while truth is something very abstract, frozen in the
continuous flow of time. Therefore, this examination of Camille’s public
appearances is itself a fraud because it holds her to male standards of
scholarship and intellectuality. But
we are worlds away from a conclusion, so let’s allow for this misapplication
of an all too masculine reasoning to a character foreign to its precepts and
What follows is the most unforgivably flagrant betrayal of any kind of
intellectuality; she actually lets the cliché leave her mouth in full:
“President Bush has restored dignity to the White House.”
Okay, this trite soundbite, which goes beyond the pale of anything that
can be called intellectual (179), is just outside of my own expectations of this
she-wolf. She builds on this by
adding that Clinton “treated the White House like a frat house, like Animal
House.” Nice to know you have
some grasp on rhetoric, a little hyperbole, yes.
Shame, shame. Wow!
Writers have been killed for less. And
you are it. If there is a vapid intellectual climate, you are it.
In an interlude here, I must comment on Camille’s general lack of
knowledge of the underpinnings of society.
From experience, I know this to be common of academic types as a whole.
They just look at the surface of our seeming reality and believe in it
much as children who trust their parents. It
never occurs to them that corruption runs through the entire system; they
don’t bother looking into the brand of this corruption and the many forms it
takes. I mentioned academics, but I must admit that intellectuals
even outside of Camille’s academe tend to be clueless of the actual corrupt
workings of government, of business, of economics, of war—you name it.
One should at least have a vague idea of the obfuscation taking place;
indeed, Camille is a part of it, a shill for feminism, making a good living
pretending to oppose her very foundations.
The fact that fascism is quickly becoming the norm in our government and
in corporations, which cannot even be separated from that government, is ignored
by these great beacons of our society. Academia
and the press, the publishing ‘industry,’ all media, all of it is in such
bad shape because it lacks the integrity that is required to uplift what is good
or even better. I am not taking evil here, I have no bizarre conspiracy theories
to sell. Yes, these clueless
persons are looked up to as paragons of achievement and excellence; this is a
grave mistake. To be sure, Camille
mistakes her academe for the world of intellect, and in turn intellectuals
mistake general knowledge for reality. Paglia,
like so many others, but more egregiously lives in the dark when it comes to the
sad state of politics in the past century or so, likely longer. This credulousness and outright stupidity should be held
against them all (180).
Camille is a woman, and as such she is prone to being duped by silly male
poses; it is precisely people like her, especially women, but also weak men, who
allow disgustingly malignant forms of government to take root.
She admits to liking George W. Bush’s Hitleresque gestures.
She is truly impressed by this beta male (181), this failure as a human
being. Now, before you call me a
silly liberal, understand I have very little good to say of Obama and Bill
Clinton, even less of Hillary, who to me is the most monstrous manifestation of
political depravity we have known since Kissinger.
Of course, Kissinger had more style, and a more complete grasp of his own
Don’t flinch. Paglia’s
back on the coattails of pop culture, bemoaning its ‘precipitous decline.’
Sorry, dear. When one looks at its history with an eye for verity, one
sees that pop culture has always been garbage; it has simply gone from
deplorable to unbearable, and people love it (182).
It’s the implication that popular culture was at some time admirable
that is completely incorrect.
Who would expect it? When
questioned about her thoughts on Kobe Bryant she slides sideways immediately to
talk of the bogey man, serial killers and murderers (surprisingly failing to
mention Ted Bundy this time). Back
to the question, she is upset that the woman (the victim, in feminist
terminology) was not believed over Bryant in the media, that her character was
questioned. Here she contradicts
her outrage over Steinem’s stereotype of the woman as a victim (183). Why? I guess she
couldn’t help herself; when confronted with reality her hardcore pose
dissipated. Where is your reform,
your emphasis on responsibility, your admonitions to young ladies about the
rules of dating? And to add to her
feminist zeal, she comments with a malicious pride that Bryant’s endorsement
deals have been damaged (184). Yes,
he deserves it, right? He must be
punished in some way . . . because he is a man (yet Camille will not admit to
her feminazi bias, shill she is). Not
guilty of rape, but guilty nonetheless—of manhood.
About Ayn Rand, she sees similarities in their styles of writing,
probably their bold claims that have no basis in truth.
She lays claim to Nietzsche, stating that both she and Rand absorbed the
great Deutsch Philosoph. You
see, I already had an eye out for this connection, for Nietzsche as well loved
to make grand claims; the difference is that Nietzsche had a world of knowledge,
truth, and understanding behind his ejaculations.
The idea that either Rand or Paglia actually ‘absorbed’ Friedrich
Nietzsche is ludicrous; that Paglia cribbed some of his style is unquestionable
(185). Paglia here drags in Simone de Beauvoir (remember, she has no
place in American academe for Frenchies: 186), perhaps by the proverbial hair,
claiming superiority over her and Rand. Why
is Camille superior? Because unlike
these trite atheistic bitches, this atheist bitch doesn’t dismiss religion
altogether. As if she’s in a
position to grant concessions (187).
As I may have mentioned, Paglia provided commentary for Basic Instinct,
no doubt planting profound ideas where they don’t belong.
What kind of intellectual? What
kind of art aficionado (188)? Then
she adds some sugar to this tasty treat, proclaiming the greatness of Sharron
Stone (189). Are you stoned?
Yes, the greatness of a woman who is capable of playing the part of an
annoying bitch and a nag—and a cock tease, no less, something I’m sure that
rubs Camille just right.
This is the point where the caller informs Camille about her mistake in
declaring Derrida a Nazi-sympathizer. He
also schools her on postmodern philosophers and even those who practice Theory,
explaining to her that they all took the foundational philosophers, philosophers
important to history, very seriously, Kant, et al.
In true narcissistic fashion, verging on the psychopathic, she defends
her blunder, by elaborating that Derrida was involved in controversy pertaining
to Nazism (which is untrue: 190). Let
us note the classic understanding that a woman never likes to be wrong—or
maybe I’m thinking, ‘a woman scorned.’
Nonetheless, let her squirm in her loss.
I’m sorry, it wasn’t a controversy, it was a scandal “in its own
She goes back into her anti-French American academe shell (191).
Why contradict yourself so soon, lady?
It’s inappropriate, thinks she, to have Americans read French texts in
English translation. Lacan was already labyrinthine in French, argues she, adding
that the Post-Structuralists wrote of problems “that were never the case in
America.” This from a woman who
thinks students need a more global perspective.
She continues, offering that there is no canonical tradition in
America—unless you are an artist or critic who actually knows his shit, that
is (192). She also argues that
there is no fine arts tradition, which holds much more water than her previous
declamation. She returns to the
Frenchies, arguing that anybody who thinks that Foucault is learned does not
know what learning is—quite a claim. Then
she swears these types have not done their history lessons (sorry that applies
to her as well: 193).
Now she shines like the goddess she is. She is such a good shill that she
pisses off run of the mill feminists who pose as writers (194).
Additionally she alleges that Theory will be rooted out in another (one
more) generation. In the real
world, Theory never had a hold; even in academia Theory has already lost most of
its appeal. Theory is a red
herring; the real problem is people like our Dr. Paglia.
Oh my, Molly Ivins makes a good reflection of the work of Camille: “The
sweeping generalization is [Paglia’s] signature. In fact her work consists of damn little else.”
Maybe Camille has been outfeminized?
At this point in the program, C-Span allows for the host and Paglia to
take a short break. Meantime they post bullet points about Camille:
Bullet Points on Herself:
Feminist (read, feminist shill: 195)
Democrat (read, Democrat who wants you to know little of her
personal life, and certainly doesn’t want to be held to the same
standards as men: 196)
(read, whatever the status quo requires of me; or, a woman must be pro-military
to be considered for presidential candidacy, but is still not required to sign
up for selective service: 197)
Capitalist (sounds right, a believer in a bygone system—but don’t tell her
about it; ‘I’m easily distracted and like the sound of my own voice’;
she’ll never comment on the fascist laws enacted nor the fascist bailouts,
although her dream of a negro president did come true.)
(This is something a zealous teenager would say of himself—notice I said himself;
credit where due; really though, how can a college professor be
anti-establishment; really, she’s trying to suggest that she is against
typical feminism: 198)
we have arrived at a valid insight about feminists through Paglia’s
description of herself: women who try to be men end up looking like boys.
Now, more of Paglia’s bullet points on what it means to be Paglia:
admirer of religion (I’ll give her this Nietzschean knockoff.)
Militant (Unless you don’t toe the party line and avoid criticizing the
president in a time of war—especially overseas: 199)
(We’ll give her this; the lady loves gay male porn; we must take her word for
truth, despite the poor odds of that being a good choice.)
of Strippers, Prostitutes, and Drag-Queens (But not a fan of perverts, johns,
and avowed [exclusive] homosexuals: 200)
Bullet Points, this time Role Models/Influences:
Hepburn (Yes, a heartless starlet who despite her best efforts couldn’t hole a
candle to Carey Grant or Humphrey Bogart, much less the great Hollywood actors.)
Warhol (This is just so telling; vapid or vacuous, choose your poison; proof
that she knows little about the value of good art: 201)
McLuhan (Yes, pop culture; perhaps, the role model for her career.)
Bloom (Her teacher or overseer; a man of very little literary insight and no
understanding of aesthetics. He
also had a grand concept to hang his hat on: the anxiety of influence—as if
writers are intimidated and tormented by those who came before, inspiration a
foreign concept, one supposes, to this man.)
Bullet Points, Favorite Writers:
(Easy choice; the bard. Bloom’s
obsession, a writer nowhere near as good as they say he is.)
Blake (Again, easy choice. Although
he managed to touch excellence a few times, some writers in translation would be
Dickinson (Camille needs at least one woman; she chose the wrong one.
One of the most overrated writers of all time.)
Wilde (The witty playwright and British ‘sexual deviant.’ Great choice.)
Lawrence (Another homosexual. Camille
loves the gays, but doesn’t believe they are gay—or won’t forgive them for
being so. No sexual attention: the
true reason women dislike gays.)
Back to the interview, Camille defends herself against the commentary of
Molly Ivins by using her handy political tactic, saying basically that they are
very alike and that it was unfortunate that Ivins found reason to defame her.
Then why is Ivins so critical, Camille?
Because she agrees with you? As
a final defense of desperation she claims that Ivins hasn’t read her Sexual
For whatever reason Paglia has the idea in her head that she is
considered mainly a writer overseas, outside of the States, and that she could
teach at any university abroad. Megalomania
Another revendication grande, she swears that Harold Bloom is seen
as an apostle or evangelist for high art (203) at a time when the National
Endowment for the Arts did everything possible to trash the artistic image, to
alienate itself from a mass-audience. Yes,
you should know by now that Harold Bloom was a horrible hack. Additionally, the
idea that good art (forget the best) would naturally find a large audience is
just silly and out of touch. In
reality, mediocrity thrives, as anyone can tell from the response to movies and
popular culture in general. She
seamlessly lays into another revendication grande (hey, I’m running out
of variations), that her students have never seen a timeline before they come to
her, a patently ridiculous idea (204). Continuing in a similar vein she swears that there is an
image of an ‘austere hyper-intellectual’ for the academic, humorless, and
stodgy (I guess). Anyone with
university experience, however small, knows this to be untrue (205).
What about the attractive ‘milfs’ one often discovers on entering a
classroom? How about the flamboyant
lovers of art, of words? What about
the sexed-up old priest who takes a liking to the eighteen year-old ex-altar boy
who sits in the front row and makes the Father’s cheeks all rosy?
How about the anarchist dyke feminist who has it out for all the males in
the class—and probably gets fucked by a few?
Reality in its various shades and forms . . .
Check this one out; it’s a case of prompt self-swallowing.
She first reflects (forgive the usage of a word so foreign to her
temperament) that racial profiling is inevitable, meaning its bound to happen
because of the nature of police work and criminal types, then she goes on to
describe with disgust incidents of such profiling, declaiming them un-American.
That was quick (206). It’s
the good old ‘I love myself, and that’s what I hate about me.’ Perhaps
that will be the title of my next essay, on Paglia’s works, A Lesson in
Self-Contradiction: A Critical Review of the Works of a Fraud.
But we’re not done here. She
makes a logical faux pas, saying that some of this racial profiling, which was
occurring on the side of the road, “was an attempt to humiliate and intimidate
other drivers.” She, of course,
means ‘to humiliate the people on the side of the road and to intimidate other
drivers.’ She makes such slip-ups a bit too often; and please don’t say I
can’t handle ambiguity or some such nonsense—she really fucks up.
Continuity of opinion is not always necessary, but to contradict oneself
so often is unforgivable (207). After earlier attacking those who criticize
America and the president (and the war, of course) for fear of galvanizing
foreigners against our country, she criticizes the Democrats for not opposing
Bush. We’ve already established
that the war in Iraq began in an atmosphere in which no one, not even a
comedian, was allowed to criticize W. It
was really as if their media careers were on the line.
Now she says something she should regret and contradict pronto, but she
doesn’t alas when it would come in handy.
She declares Condoleezza Rice a great mind (208), explaining that this
woman is “able to handle the mic,” able to handle the media.
Of course this leads to mention of future female presidents.
Condoleezza is cultured and a role model, demands Camille.
“Future woman presidential candidates should study her.”
Yes, learn for yourself, young ladies that you are a woman, and therefore
integrity and truth and all the rest of that masculine bullshit doesn’t mean a
thing to you (209). No wonder feminists eschew you, even though you’re a great
shill for their cause. You give
feminine intelligence a bad name. Now,
I do not break to another paragraph here because I want you to contrast what she
just said with what she is immediately to say.
“Noam Chomsky hallucinates about foreign policy.”
This in addition to having a distorted view of reality.
She even claims she’s “going to take the high road” in revaluating
Chomsky, then she continues to cut him down with all the means at hand.
Okay, remember what she said about Rice, then compare that with her
assessment of Chomsky (210). Now, I
am not a fan of his, but I know he is at least a light-year or two ahead of
Condoleezza. But we wouldn’t be
finished without a mandatory intellectual suicide, would we.
In contradistinction (contradiction) to what she just proffered, she
states, “Noam Chomsky’s views, which seemed absolutely delusional, now seem
to have a ring of truth.” Why? Because of W. (211) and his wars.
Take a breath, more inanities to come.
Matt Drudge. Yes, Matt Drudge of The Drudge Report.
“[O]ne of the great independent voices of our time.” (212)
Yes, he rivals Mencken; no, he doesn’t even rival a Christopher
Hitchens (whom I loath[-ed]). Hah, hah! What is worse: “He is the
web!” (213) She enjoys visiting
the Report throughout the day; she even goes on to laud this questionable
character and throw in some of her Claims.
To tail this silliness, she reports solemnly on the greatness of Andy
Warhol (214). Yes, a true
The Luddite returns. “At a time when fine arts are not producing
anything particularly interesting . . .”
Such statements say more about the compass of her knowledge than about
the reality she attempts to emulate (215).
This is a woman who couldn’t recognize great art . . . (take your pick,
and make it raunchy.) I still
can’t get over her love for Basic instinct.
I thought it was already settled that the movie was a turd.
Unlike such a Meisterwerk as Instinct, Waiting for Godot is
“one of the great misogynist plays of all time.” Why? It
doesn’t include women (216). Much
like an all-male gay bar. How about
lesbian bars? Notice that she
doesn’t even try to back up her Claims; I guess they’re not paying enough
Camille now Claims that Hollywood offered what avant-garde culture
couldn’t provide (217). Apparently
Camille has never heard of the great 20th century French painters.
The best American poets? One
wonders if she’s heard of Eugene O’Neill or Tennessee Williams, who, by the
way, contributed to Hollywood (218). Hart
Crane, E.E. Cummings, Robert Frost, Sylvia Plath, John Steinbeck, William Carlos
Williams, Wallace Stevens, Elizabeth Bishop, Robinson Jeffers, Countee Cullen,
Langston Hughes, even Kenneth Rexroth, Theodore Roethke, Anne Sexton, and some
of the Beat poets? Anyone?
Or maybe that’s not the avant-garde.
Has she heard of Kafka? Oh, he’s foreign.
Another mention of that gilded sub-par pornographer, Mapplethorpe (219).
Really, her love of Mapplethorpe and Warhol is just telling.
Great art needs a champion, Camille.
You are not it. I must
reflect on her poor evaluation of art. Her
appraisal of art resembles Theory’s examination of texts.
There is a complete lack of aesthetical understanding; there is no
application of values. Yes, she can
explain the symbolism of whatever unimportant and unimpressive ancient artifact,
but cannot tell us what is good in art. She is clueless. Then
she Claims that if only the museums would supply a brochure to its viewers on
the history of transgression and offense in art it would help the public
understand the art. Here she again
shows a vacuous understanding of art, of aesthetics; where is the sense of
aesthetic value (220)? She
never once mentions the fact that this ‘offensive’ art that abused the
government funding of the arts sucked as art—it was horrible; say it!
What comes at this point? Her defense of feminism, a movement which she
claims “comes and goes,” surges and subsides, and is here to stay.
The final statement is true; the rest is lie (221).
Then she declares it a part of the legacy of Western culture.
And then we feel shame. A
caller makes a fine point: “Feminism would not exist without the benevolence
of men, and feminism is one aggressive stroke away from extinction.” Yes we are working on it, dear caller.
Now the banal and solemn declaration that civil liberties are a product
of Western individualism. Close
enough to a truism to sound sleepy. Then
she claims ‘it’ goes back to the ancient Greeks (222). No, it doesn’t, unless you’re talking civil liberties for
the few and far between. Next we
hear mention of Mary Wollstonecraft (though not by actual name—it must escape
her) and her daughter, Mary Shelley. But
skip that because the modern industrial capitalistic system allows women to be
freed from “the drudgery of housework,” and from dependence on husband or
father. Really, when was the last
time housework involved ‘drudgery?’ How
did soap operas gain so much popularity? Because
women were busy with the pains of housework?
Then she finally agrees with our distinguished caller that “in some
sense” (yes, in some sense, meaning, in every sense) “feminism is the
product of male achievement.” She
proclaims two strands of feminism: the Puritanical (the bad) and the extreme and
extravagant theatrical strand, libertarian and pro-sex, that our Camille belongs
to (the good). She elaborates,
adding that there are arguments within feminism, mentioning that she was pro-sex
in the 60’s, and the pro-sex wing lost ground throughout the 70’s and
80’s, but it encountered an enormous resurgence in the 90’s. We’ll take ‘her word’ for it.
Really who cares about any of this?—my non sequitur.
Now she hurls her energy full blast into her spiel on feminism.
To move point by point through her own feminism, let us remember that she
often plays at being a friend and ally to men (223) without ever addressing the
grievously damning laws etched in the books against them by the volition of
feminism. Why the silence on the issue of this man-destroying,
family-destroying legislation (224)? She
speaks of domestic violence, often in the form of famous black men, while she
herself professes a violence she committed against men (225).
She also speaks of a need for separation of one’s private and public
life, which none of these men are granted (226).
She’s trying to put a smiling face on the enemy of mankind—feminism.
Yet she hasn’t changed feminism one lick with her positive attitude and
all of her revolutionary fury. Nothing
has changed! She is a phony!
A fake! A menstruating sea
of mendacity for all (the first part can be thrown out at this point).
And that is what she has to offer. Just
remember that the shill himself has no actual power except in his
disinformation, his counter- or false- intelligence.
And she again reiterates that her brand of feminism is ‘pro-man’
(227). In what way, Paglia?
It is also, says she, pro-heterosexual relationship, this from a
confirmed lesbian. All lies!
“That strident feminism you’re thinking about is gone,” she swears
(228), with no proof of anything of the sort.
In fact, all feminism is anti-man, anti-heterosexual, and therefore
Plainly we know at this point her talk of art is idle chit-chat that
cannot find a home in the 20th century (229).
It goes from ancient to medieval to Enlightenment and Baroque to
Romantic, and then it jumps to contemporary garbage, with only a couple
exceptions thrown in to hide the fact of its limited trajectory.
Back to First Ladies, Camille avows that Jackie Kennedy (why not call her
Jackie Kennedy Onassis?) was “undermined by the extent of philandering by her
husband.” She married well, is
Camille’s incredible comment on Jackie. Yet
while confusing the two in her speech, she never adds that there is just as much
evidence for this aspect of his life as there is knowledge of his actual
murderer (230). She goes on to say
that John F.’s legacy suffers from his affairs. Where is the least evidence for this? He is considered by many to have been one of the greatest
presidents, despite his many political controversies (231).
She indulges in idle banter. Even
Kennedy’s speeches are more oft-quoted than those of Lincoln, that great
Then she does something very stupid.
She criticizes Michael Moore for his staging of scenes, something many
clueless people like to do. Staging
of scenes has always been and will always be an essential part of documentary
making just as much as any other sort of movie making (232).
Perhaps bad documentaries rely on the strictly spontaneous. The most
regrettable thing about this common criticism of Moore is that there are better
reasons to criticize Moore, his knee-jerk politics toward the top of the list.
She, of course, is most likely a defender of the knee-jerkers because
they share her general political views, i.e. they’re on the same team.
Then she commits her worst act of self-contradiction, an unwitting act at
that. She says there’s no room for dishonesty and deceit.
Wow! Busted! (233)
I think this is the best of her ignoble acts of ingenuousness.
The pot and the kettle. But
where is there no room for dishonesty and deceit? In the New York Times or in Hollywood. (234)
She actually said this. I’m
not pulling this out of the air. She
is actually this stupid. To put it
plainly, Hollywood is a land of make-believe, you twit.
I must forthwith “deplore
and condemn” Ms. Paglia, and with no ceremony (as if I weren’t).
What does this social engineer say next? “If we could free up the education system from social
engineers . . . “(235) Hmm.
What are you? A feminist? What
is feminism? A form of social
engineering that favors girls. Oh,
the ingenuity of the ingenuous! Let’s
stop with the silly forced notions of equality and the sort of small-scale
affirmative action for girls, which has led to the completely absurd notion that
girls are smarter than boys. Who
gets all of the attention? Who all
of the unearned credit? I laugh at
all of the idiots who desire to say girls are smarter than boys—after I’m
done fucking with her mind and then making her cry.
Read the actual work of college students and see where the intelligence
and insight shows—nine times out of ten it will be in the work of young men. Sorry, Camille. Corruption
breeds what . . . Stories about cats and boyfriends?
No, that’s what young college girls beget.
She, in her muddle of verbal thought, mentions that there is a close
connection between England and India. Well,
no shit. How about the connection
between England and the US, Canada, Australia, even Israel.
Oh, she must make America seem very “insular.” (236)
And who is still teaching about evil America, dear Camille?
Dumb feminists perhaps, but few others (237).
Perhaps those who know what is evil about America.
Now she attacks public education unexplainably, stating that most of it,
including college, is a waste of time. “Kids
are bored.” What? (238)
Yeah kids, just forgo the whole college thing and strike out on your own
in the land of opportunity. Stupid.
Then she makes the mistake that England/the UK is currently making, stating that
there should be a return to trade schools.
Yeah, I bet she wants that, so we can have even fewer men in higher
education. Yes, when you recommend
the recipe for disaster, you get a point (239).
Now what? “Kids need help
learning how to housekeep” (sic). And
on and on. To sum up, there’s a
need for more practical education because we all know how difficult money
management is (240). Then, as
another stupid possibility, she recommends that parents send their kids abroad
before college. (Yeah, Camille, not
everybody makes as much money as your “working class” parents.
Just in case I haven’t let the cat out of the hat yet, Camille is the
first person in history to have a working class professor as a father.)
Next she does what she loves to do, to pathologize the landmarks of
popular culture. She swears that the Columbine massacre was a result of (get
this) boys being penned in school. “They
need to do something.” Yeah,
I’m sure you’d have them in shop class all day (241).
It just couldn’t be psychopathy. Again,
attack. While lauding her precious
60’s, she also bemoans that it was a time known for kids taking drugs, then,
like the crazy mother bitch she is, she condemns the current generation for
doing the same (242). And for
whatever harebrained reason—no, reason, really—she thinks alcohol would be
better for them. She proclaims them
kids with minds of Jell-o™ (243).
Back to the military, she doesn’t mind the double-standard for women in
combat (nor the double-standard in the selective service system, of
course—something she never mentions) (244).
I’m sure she would hold the same view about sports, if asked about the
issue. Then she uses her magical
femininity to shift the subject to the side, dragging in gays to the talk of the
military. What do gays have to do
with women in the military? Well,
it does have something to do with lesbians in the military, lesbians who have
been known to make up the majority of entire units in the military over the past
however many wars (245).
Out of the blue (and into the black), Camille suggests that African
American studies should concentrate more on actual Africans, on Africa itself.
Why? Does she really think African Americans don’t have enough
meaningful history worth studying? I
would actually say African Americans have far more to offer than all of Africa
(246). After this, again out of
wherever, she acknowledges the jealousy that lady academics express toward one
another, writing nasty things about one another. Women being women.
Quickly, she is an atheist who believes in all gods.
Do you believe her? No?
Neither do I (247). But I
must admit her family’s relation to religion and church mirrors my own. The
women go to church and carry around their Christian ideas, which the men freely
ignore. She adds that nothing in
her responded to the story of Jesus—interesting.
There is an area that Camille likes to go around on a regular basis.
It involves her childhood love of masculine costumes.
She thinks that somehow makes her masculine.
Contrary to this notion, it is still feminine, this interest in the
fashion of men. Even cross-dressing
women still betray their femininity. Likewise,
drag queens, even most of those who have undergone sex-changes, carry about
their masculine traits; it’s a part of the appeal and the entertainment;
it’s a game, really. Yes, there are sometimes gender-bending men who actually
appear female, but even this is rare. And
these persons still have masculine traits, whether hidden or not. The instance
of this occurring with women who play the gender-bending game is almost
Now she explains that when her family moved to a mostly-protestant area,
she suddenly felt very Catholic. I
thought Christianity didn’t touch her (249).
Oh yeah, the pagan aspects did. Then
she mentions Baby Doll, a movie she was not allowed to see as a youth,
but she never makes the connection to Tennessee Williams, a playwright, and
artist she never mentions (250).
Then, lo! She thinks Buddhism and Hinduism were absent in the 80’s
(251). This is nonsense, they were
all over America, in cults and groups and practiced by individuals.
Yes, tell that to all the American Gurus and their followers.
They didn’t go anywhere, dear lady.
You did. Perhaps they
weren’t as popular with college students—even this I doubt.
She also has the habit of whining about comparative religious studies,
but if you look into the history of this line of study, you’ll find they
started in a select number of colleges and the universities in the 50’s and
have continued to the present spreading to more schools over the years. They too never went anywhere (252). Next, what she says about Western atheism and comfort (which
to her is like late Rome) is incorrect (253).
Religion is alive and strong, at least in America.
You obviously engage a very limited population.
In fact, other than in Norway perhaps, atheism tends to be in the
minority. And then continuing with her quest to find an absence of religion, she
actually says that art is a substitute for religion.
For whom, dear lady? I’d
like to know more about this. Not
for me. Not for anyone I know
(254). Art as art, as a purely
aesthetical pursuit, is a fairly recent development, and is maybe proof of the
progress that Paglia sometimes admires and sometimes denies.
Aesthetics in their purest form as art and not art for the sake of
practical, religious, political, or whatever other purpose—in other words art
for the sake of aesthetics first is still a relatively emerging phenomenon.
Again, it is no substitute for or opponent of religion.
Show me the Greco-Roman piece that does not serve religious or political
purposes. Show me the medieval work
without the depiction of religious iconography or themes, or of leaders,
aristocrats. Even the Enlightenment
works usually find some alternative reason for their existence. Romanticism
represented a break from those traditions, and from then on, the break finds
more and more completion. It is not
that all of the general elements of art were not there—most of them were,
although there have been numerous improvements.
It’s the reason for the art that has changed, and when you reach
true aesthetics, you have something like what was once termed ‘art for art’s
sake,’ really art for the sake of aesthetics, beauty, creativity, human
She pays lip service to greatness in passing as she disparages some of
the postmodern experiments, yet one is confident she couldn’t see what’s
good if she were to see it (255). I
am more than sure of it. Then, to
add to her ignorance, she places all greatness in the past—except for certain
architecture (no examples, of course) (256).
She speaks a breeze, a pretender to the throne.
Why do I have a room filled with books, manuscripts, many of them
containing great art; although I am no collector, I access to every variation of
art. Yes, great art, visual,
literary, and a collection of music that exudes greatness, both classical and
contemporary, including pop—Paglia, because of her distaste for and lack of
knowledge of music cannot recognize greatness in contemporary or popular music.
Somehow it eludes her that greatness is shown by comparing one thing to
many others of its type. She is
aesthetically ‘challenged.’ As
if to illustrate this, she calls the story of Adam and Eve a great story, as if
by it’s age it achieves something (257).
This saga is a typical ancient tale, nothing special, unless you see it
in the well-written work of a master.
Get this, Camille argues that Facebook and Twitter are replacements for
mythology. A better comparison with mythology would be popular culture as a
whole, with all of its villains and heroes, its beauties and personalities.
You’d think she could make this connection considering she so often
proclaims herself an admirer of pop culture, but no, she is too shortsighted,
her mind a rambling, non-contemplative thing, it is the mind of a one attempting
a task it does not recognize (258). And
really, Camille, if pop culture is so vapid, why are you supporting it?
Again, Paglia says “no more great art.”
Yes, we have addressed this, her weakness in the realm of aesthetics
(259). She’s crying wolf, but the
shepherd knows better. If only we
couldn’t see Bloom’s insidious thought at work in her, if only a true
aesthete had been her overseer. And
really, if there is not enough great art in the public arena, have we not a true
culprit to blame? The media,
publishers, editors, critics, commentators, and even academics and the
intelligentsia. How about gallery
owners, historians, and on and on (260)? Yes,
a point for not knowing the source of the problem.
And another point for using so often a word, great, of which she knows so
On to American Indians, who were, by the way, victims of genocide.
The end. Yet, despite all
the odds, much of the culture of these peoples survives, although not in
pristine form. But things and
people change (262).
Another point for speaking of something of which she knows so little
(263). Man-made global warming is a
myth, a political myth, as proven by so many actual scientists.
You can believe in it if you
need to. Yes, some scientists and other politically motivated persons
choose whether wittingly or not to misinterpret the data.
Why can’t she mention this? Why
does she so often show that she has neglected her home work.
F, dear. You fail again.
Here we go with the Romanticism, the pantheism.
Camille, as if from out of nowhere, as usual, proclaims that “human
beings are nothing compared to the power of nature.”
If she were to say ‘in terms of nature,’ I would agree; the earth
itself has more staying power than the beings that inhabit it; but that is not
what she says, and it is not what she means (264).
For one, let us see nature write “The Wasteland.”
Oh, you despise that poem, don’t you, Camille?
And yet you mirror so many of its ideas when you’re not watching
Showing her tiny grasp over religion, she suggests that religion shows
man’s frailty, man’s mortality, as well as tremendous archetypes.
Here she does not observe that religion as well celebrates man’s
importance, providence, and primacy (265). Religion is far more the celebration
of man than of nature, unless, of course, your talking paganism, which balances
the two a little more, perhaps. And
then she gets into the myth of the victimhood of nature, which, of course,
mirrors the myth of the victimhood of women that feminism espouses (266).
Your pearl prize is the source of many of the day’s misgivings. The idea of female oppression follows closely the trail of
Jewish oppression—an oppression which begs the question, what does is matter
if you are hated as you thrive? Is
that not, in fact, part of the reason you are hated?
Well, women were neither oppressed or hated, so even the Jews have one on
Back to good ol’ mother earth, she says that it is hubris to think that
nature is a patient on a table (perhaps, “a patient etherised upon a
table?”). It is even more hubris
to think of the cosmos, of nature, as limitless, and man as tiny or nothing
(267). We are the most complex and
interesting creatures that we know of, you hollow-worded woman.
Once more, let’s see the oeuvre of Mars, of the moon . . .
Negro Spirituals. Camille just loves them, yet she has a silly womanly
notion that the slave owners were oblivious to the multiple meanings of these
negro spirituals (268). This simply
shows a stupid contempt for white Southerners of bygone days.
If these white slave owners were not aware of the black slaves’ sense
of being oppressed and their desire to overcome it, the masters would not have
been so severe in their threats and punishments; simply, if they thought the
blacks were just fine with their pathological servitude, why worry at all?
Let them roam free and have their way at day’s end, right? No! They knew
fucking well that these slaves were not happy, that they desired their freedom
at every moment, that they, indeed, hated their masters and would, if given the
least chance, extract revenge and gain their freedom. Why the threats, punishments, and abuses?
“If you even try to escape, you’re dead. And perhaps your family as
well.” Get it?
These are the words of a man who knows his subjects’ prayers.
Maybe Paglia should study the Soviet military under Stalin to understand
why he had so few deserters. This
is just a case of an atheist, bourgeois professor patronizing the working class,
blacks (and Indians, as we’ve seen), and religious people in general (269).
Do you not think that MLK would be proud if his grandchildren were
atheist, bourgeois professors?
As another example of her lack of understanding of race and religion, she
implies that the Hollywood moguls, mostly Jews, were mostly from a working class
background—a simple presumption. Let’s
entertain your fantasy, lady. Not
(270). She is probably one of those credulous folks who thinks that the
descendants of the Rothschilds are actually entrepreneurs.
I didn’t believe that such an idiot was possible until I encountered
one. Continuing with film, with the
movies, with Hollywood, Paglia declares (with the same haughty self-assuredness
as usual), “It took a very long time for [movies] to be taken seriously.”
How long is long, dear woman (271)?
Movies were made in the teens, the twenties, then in the thirties assumed
a gargantuan shape and size, outdoing all other artforms.
Yes, Hitchcock may have complained in the thirties, but how long did he
have to wait? Between 1937 and 1938, in a period slightly more than a year,
Carey Grant, that fucking gem of Hollywood stars, an idol unlike any other,
acted in three movies in a row that are still considered among the best of
classic Hollywood films, The Awful Truth, Bringing Up Baby and
Holiday. Katherine Hepburn, one of Paglia’s favorites, co-starred with
Grant in the last two. But because
she is so single-mindedly and unexplainably concerned about religion, she skips
over entire decades of memorable movies. Get
it right, lady. Oh my!
She even dismisses Birth of a Nation by saying simply that it is
racist—how knee-jerky of you (272). Here
she does something she criticizes others for, dismissing the past for its
limitations, just as sophisticated atheists and secular humanists dismiss
religion. What if I were to speak of the ‘racism’ of the ancients
whose art you so adore, stupid wench? What
about the slavery so prevalent in ancient times?
Yeah, you get it, there is a double-standard for all cases.
It’s not merely a matter of gender.
The fact that she puts so much emphasis on primeval archetypes (Jungian
archetypes) puts her in the tradition of the literati of recent decades, her
mentor Harold Bloom of primacy here, but also Joseph Campbell; these people
dissect a work piecemeal, looking for mythical content, meanwhile overlooking
aesthetic value—yet she does not see the irony when she criticizes the Theory
people, who are just as clueless as herself (273).
Yes, they dissipate themselves in such studies, seeking the devil in the
details while missing the beauty of its lack all around.
And that closes the C-Span show. Next, Charlie Rose.
on Charlie Rose
After a segment in which several men argued about the bailout of Mexico,
all in favor of the bailout to varying degrees (what a great setup for a
debate), Camille speaks with Charlie Rose.
Sorry but repetition is Camille’s strong point.
She again mentions that ‘regular people’ shout to her “Give ‘em
hell, girl.” (274) Does anyone
believe this? To top this, she
claims to have more of a connection to working class people than any other
intellectual (275). So we see the
baseless claims right away.
What does she ejaculate next: Women are stronger than men (776).
Yes, the strong man competitions are always dominated by women, and
it’s usually the man who breaks down and cries in an argument.
What is more, women, according to our dear lady, even oppress men.
Yes, bitch. Maybe, one day,
when you learn what integrity is, a day that will never arrive, you can speak of
your superiority. I am superior to
you in every meaningful way. But
she believes her lies, at least at the time of their telling (277), the truth of
Next is another staple, her quote about women and the grass huts.
Let’s see her explanation this time; anything better?
Oh, a new turn. Camille is
here feeling haughty and all-powerful in her all too feminine way—that is to
say, don’t take it too seriously. Now,
this time men create all of the great monuments out of male anxiety™, the
flight from women. This new take on
why men create—or is it the old take? Dates!
Anyway, now it is the all-powerful cunt that drives men to create great
buildings and monuments (278). Where
does this idea come from? Your
experience with men, for sure—in other words, your fantasies.
What is this crazy Chatty Cathy talking about?
In earlier times women were used as cum rags and babymakers. Maybe they
were allowed to cook, clean, and grow sprouts and berries. The power of the vagina doesn’t come into play here,
sister. As an example of man’s
lack of a need for woman out of the annuls of great men, can you imagine a
woman, like a man, living in her study, with little or no human contact,
studying science and the occult, thinking up theories, only taking a break to
eat every day or two, like a certain seminal scientist?
No, you can’t. Women
can’t live like this, they cannot single-mindedly pursue study with such
neglect of social affairs and human company.
Women need men; men do not need women.
And it would never even occur to a woman to pursue an ambition to the
edge of sanity. Okay, maybe our
fine scientist rubbed one off every fortnight or two, and maybe he even thought
of a woman, done out of necessity, but what does this say about women?
Camille mentions the wonderful insight of standup comedians.
What she forgets to mention is the lack of insight by women in general
and female comedians in particular. Female
comedians not only lack insight but the ability to make me laugh (279)?
Joan Rivers may be an exception; isn’t there always at least one?
Again. She plays the part of
the antagonist, arguing that her fellow feminists are stuck with twenty-five
year-old ideologies; what she fails to mention, as always, are the man-hating
laws instituted under those ideologies which are still in effect, laws that she
never argues against (280).
Women rule procreation. Okay,
Camille, then why the dick at all? Why
ejaculation? More to the point, why the need for child support payments (281)?
“The Mother Goddess.” Is
she a match for Zeus or Odin? I
mean, theoretically, a man can conceive hundreds of babies in the time it takes
a woman to have one. So who is
ridiculous? Camille knows so much
about so little, perhaps a show of her superiority.
Which sex do you think will prove itself superfluous first?
Perhaps that’s when beastiality will come into play.
At this point we can acknowledge that Prof. Paglia is more mendacious
than your average criminal. Although
she doesn’t appear to be a psychopath, I feel safe here, around the halfway
point, alienating half of my audience, and stating that women share many
attributes in common with psychopaths. They
lack depth of conscience, are not likely to be capable on a regular basis of
meaningful empathy, sympathy, and insight into others.
Of course, unlike the psychopath who must fake his way through life to
hide his predilections, the woman has qualities that make up for this lack.
She is very sociable and capable of seeing an equality of esteem among
those she meets, as well as appreciating humanity in its myriad forms.
In fact, and oddly enough, one thing in particular one must appreciate is
indeed a woman’s ability to appreciate. Women
are muses, no doubt. Women also
share a somewhat capricious love of joy, of company, and of social situations in
general. Also, whereas men pursue
art as an abstract activity, women can be appraised as artful in themselves; her
ambiguities, her fakeries, her interest in being mysterious only matches her
love of being attractive—the woman by her very nature is a true fraud.
If properly understood, and made use of, this could actually lead to a
penchant for art. And because of her scant interest in truth, in integrity,
both of which seem not to appeal to most women, the woman is an actress, a
pretender, the show is everything, appearances take precedence over substance.
If the woman at times appears to lack interest in what is ultimately true
or real in herself, it is because she has the same view towards other things.
So, while I seem to be in some ways pointing out the weaknesses of women,
I also admit their advantages, which in certain individuals can be extreme, a
source of great power (which Camille tries to ascribe to women in general).
Women have a thirst for happiness, for joy and ebullience that is foreign
to a man. This is one reason they never seem quite pleased; there is always more
to be had. The painted face, not always aiming at beauty, sometimes achieves
other forms of attractiveness. The
woman wants others, not just men, to think things—about her. The faery world
of the woman, a half-childish world of whim and playfulness, gives her a sheen,
a natural appeal. Now why this is,
all of it, Camille herself will unwittingly explain at a later time.
A few more reflections though. Anyone
who knows anything about women knows that they are just as capable of laughter,
of being overjoyed, even delirious, as they are of crying, being (or playing)
sullen, or resorting to hysterics—and even hysterics is a game, an attempt to
elicit a reaction. The fight itself feeds a woman’s need for relation, no
matter how artificial or shallow. The
woman, the artist in the flesh, her body, her thoughts, her sensations, her
flirtations, all are art (or artfulness, artifice). The woman of black—the
‘gothic’ type—attempts to charm through her exploration (and exploitation)
of darkness, of the vampiric, she attracts by her oddity, her extravagance.
Women are also prone to capricious obsessions. It will make little sense to a man that a woman can expend so
much energy on things with little or no substance, chasing what are rarely more
than dreams. Indubitably in love
with pleasure, women also find pleasure in sharing it with others.
The state of ecstasy, and things that offer such, including the other’s
ecstasy, are of primacy to women. When
a woman is being pleased she wants to know that her pleaser is also enjoying the
activity. More than anything though, the woman just wants attention,
and to this end she’ll play the role: sadist, masochist, lover, flirt,
innocent, authority, intellect—whatever it takes.
And to end this brief trip around the feminine world, I’ll say that
tears, yes tears validate a woman’s life, her sense of self; it’s almost a
bacchanalian celebration when a woman cries.
One may wonder how women could be so different than men without anyone
wanting to note these differences. It
is puzzling why standup comedians and not psychologists are active in this
realm. Why does no one dare to
notice that women have a much shallower affect than men? Why not dare admit that a man’s reality is a more solid
thing, while a woman’s is something that shifts along a continuum. Why is a
woman so acquisitive compared to a man? Why
is it so easy for her to trade one person for another, to freely mix the
personalities of others as if they were merely a shifting singularity?
And likewise could be said for her entire concept of her own life.
Yes, the feminine mind is a collector; because she carries an aversion to
seeing real depth, change is a constant, whether or not the actuality of change
Enough for now. You may
think I’m saying women are pure evil, and I am.
And how wonderful it is. The
great manipulators with their sleight of mind, their incredible strength in
bending truth, that fiction. You
may object to these analyses, but I am just trying to set up a profile, one that
shows clearly that by judging her by a man’s standards, one is in fact
misjudging Camille. Even a female
academic, no matter how intelligent, must be appreciated for what she is, not
for what she is not, for she is not a man.
More on all of this later, when Camille tries to drag in brain science
with a foolish interpretation of it. Now,
for the few of you who are still with me, let’s continue with the interview,
judging by a man’s standards her ingenuousness and lack of integrity.
But we now see that this study shows that even a seemingly intelligent
(and academic) woman lacks most of the qualities that are held in esteem by men.
Top that with the fact that Paglia is not as intelligent, and certainly
not as insightful, as she thinks she is, and we’re back on our way.
Now that we got that off our chest (we’ll save the Jews for later; one
must always remember to offend the Jews), back to work.
Camille comes in with a left cross on those ‘old feminists,’ telling
us that she won the date rape war (no, not the sporting event).
Yes just in case you didn’t know there was a stir over date rape, there
was, and it was silly and very damaging to young men.
I have but three words in rebuttal: Duke lacrosse team (282).
Camille next falls into a delirium of megalomania, claiming that she sees
“her terms” everywhere (283). Considering
she says nothing of originality, one wonders what terms these could be; perhaps,
reformed feminism (one of her favorite false claims). It seems during this
mid-90’s period, at the height of her fame, she suffered extreme bouts of
egomania, narcissism, that is. But people let her get away with it. It is, after all, just so cute, her being a big girl and all.
Back to rape, she exclaims that rape is not a crime of violence but sex
(another favorite of hers). Yes,
rape is about sex and control, dear Camille. Unfortunately you underestimate the sadistic mind though, for
violence, and causing the suffering of others can be very sexual for such a man.
So you are not quite half-right (284).
If you ask why I would know, I’ll simply say it is an act of
extrapolation; I, for one, enjoy observing a woman in tears; call it sadism if
you will; I’ll call it manhood.
Then we’re back on the gay men, “the gay male attitude.”
She loves to celebrate an entire class of people that she invalidates
(285). She must have thought a
thought a time or two and realized that her theories of sexuality are bunkum.
I mean, if a gay man is gay let’s say because his mother is
overbearing, what have we to say of his pussy-loving brother?
Did the overbearing mother make him want to eat and fuck pussy?
Oh, nevermind, let us forget ourselves, for we are in the mind of a
woman, which works on a sliding continuum (or so claim I); things in this world
are not so consecutive or even connected; the desultory reigns.
Here again Paglia argues against date rape and sexual violation in
general, urging women that you have consented to sex if you go to the man’s
home on a first date. Yes, good point, Ms. P, unless of course the woman feels
like phoning the police and having the man imprisoned lawfully but unjustly
(286). Yes, ladies, keep your
options open; Camille has taken no action to remove from the books the
man-hating laws of feminism, for she is a mere shill.
But our dear lady does not talk of such things—how convenient for all
womankind. She continues by telling
us that the weak girls say, “Slap him on the hand.” No, dear, they say, “Put him in jail “(287). And, if
convicted of whatever phony charges, put him in prison.
And, if exonerated, there are no apologies necessary, for we must protect
the rights of the possible victim (and ignore the rights of the real victim, the
falsely accused male). Of course,
feminists would use the word ‘probable’ over ‘possible.’
And she won’t back up her date rape theories with the word,
deserve—as in, she deserves to get fucked, or, he deserves to be jailed.
Coward! She always has a way
out—an emergency exit out of her own theories, this slippery woman (288). Uh
oh, everybody run! She pulls out her ‘Ted Bundy’ card, in desperation—you
know, the “He could be anybody, he could be a Ted Bundy.” (289)
As if such a prolific serial killer is a common type. Then, as is often
the case, she makes no sense by adding, “He could be a Jeffrey Dahmer.”
Are you forgetting, Ms. P, that Dahmer was a total fag; yes, he was an
exclusive gay man, that mythical figure that exists even though it shouldn’t
(290). Yes, no need to fear him if you have a vagina a short trip away from your
ass hole. And somehow this next part makes her none the wiser about what she
Here she speaks of the mythical gay men again, declaring that they are
“cruising in parks; they get beat up, they get killed.”
A bit extreme, drama mama (291), a happy hyperbole.
Just so you know for next time, some gay men stay home and watch DVD’s
with their boyfriends—when they’re not busy fighting off cops in New York
clubs with their fake tits, of course. Camille
knows; it’s the old canard about the fourteen-inch anecdote.
Yes, dear, I’ll have fun with you before I come in for the kill.
Camille does admit to lobbying for sexual harassment guidelines to be
adopted by her university, while she pretends so often to be against such
piddling claims of victimization. You
see, fellas, she’s not really for you. She
just likes your attention so she tries to say what she thinks you want to hear
(292). Even that will change when
we get to her cheeky flirtations over women being superior to men.
As a passing note, Paglia despises the New Historicists, who loosely base
their theories on Foucault. Surprise, right?
Once again, one of her greatest weaknesses is her bad sense of
aesthetics. She must look into the
distant past to find great works, and most of the works she speaks of are not
great anyway. While there are old
quality texts and artworks, there are more recent works worth speaking of, many
of them better than those she would espouse.
(I give Charlie Rose credit for actually trying to challenge Paglia’s
thought, though he never catches on to her to her profound ingenuousness, nor
her false claims or weak ideas.)
Madonna, yes. Camille loves
Madonna for her sexual persona, funny enough, but not many others of the sexual
personae of the 80’s. A shot in
the dark: George Michael, Rick Springfield, Dave Gahan (whose musical career has
been quite impressive), Morrissey, Bruce Springsteen, Billy Idol, Prince, Simon
Le Bon, Michael Hutchence, Axl Rose, and even the hair metal boys. I would argue
that there were far more male musicians who exuded sexuality than female in this
period of pop music. I think some
of it had to do with feminism’s horrible effect on fashion, shoulder pads,
silly bangs, perms, silly accoutrements, and so on. To add to her Madonna mythology she claims every new woman
pop star has been influenced by our blonde babe.
While some obviously have been, I could name far more who were not
influenced by our lady. I would
name names, but I’m guessing you could think of a hundred or two. This is
another of Palia’s grand claims that has holes throughout (293).
She claims to be a comedian, I guess because of her disturbing laugh,
often coming at inappropriate times, and with an evil little wink to her
feminine overseer (294). Then, and funny that she contradicts herself right away
once more, she declares herself an outsider, believable enough, but then she and
Rose begin talking about all of their elite insider ties, their friends, their
parties. How could someone do this
without noticing that she had? She lives on the sliding continuum (or so I say)
where even truth shifts from one moment to the next.
You see, she actually thought she was being honest when she called
herself an outcast (295).
There is the Hillary meter to contend with; how does Camille feel about
Hillary Clinton at any given time? Well, at this time she liked Bill but not
Then back to myself—herself, that is.
She’s a woman “with the soul of a gay man impersonating a woman,”
an ingenuous academic no less. Does
she suffer the awkward relationship with her parents? Is she an exclusive gay (296)?
What were your parental issues, Camille? Did your father make you gay?
And there’s the obvious reflection, if she were a gay man, she’d
prefer sex with men, but she is in fact a lesbian who claims to be bisexual.
Of course, she claims to have at one time had loveless sexual relations
with a man or two. She was, as a side note, at the time of this interview 47
years old, and she is not at all attractive, unless you’re looking for someone
to hate. In fact, she looks a bit
old for her age, this in addition to her unsexual repulsive personality, and her
horrid mind. How could such a
sexless woman proclaim a love and obsession for sex?
It’s an unappealing enigma. She
gets along best, says she, with straight women and gay men, two categories that
she does not validate (297).
Remember, Camille, we’re all bisexual; heterosexuality and
homosexuality are psychological ailments, sexual anomalies.
Paglia and her lover Maddex are bisexual women in a monogamous
relationship. Let’s see, ten
years together before they split, that means ten years with no cock, and
you’re bisexual (298)? No,
you’re not; you’re a dyke. After
Maddex, with whom she shared custody of a child, she went into the arms of
another younger woman. She is not
bisexual. And she has declared that
professors having relations with students harmed the students.
Just wait to hear her most blazing lie about her relationships and
sexuality; you won’t believe it. Yes,
you avoided cock for how many years? Again,
as Jason Lee’s character in Chasing Amy, Banky Edwards says,
‘Everybody needs deep dicking.’ Yet
you went how many decades without it? Yeah, fess up, bitch. And
lo! She would kill anyone with whom
her lover would have an affair (299). That’s
more violence, Camille. You know
that’s against your religion—feminism.
No, actually woman on woman and woman on man violence is not the crime
that male violence is. Here again she mentions her ‘brawl’ with a student, and
insinuates once more that she was involved in much more violence—from what we
know so far, she committed violence against both men and women (300).
A logical faux pas again. Paglia grouped a Zen Master with Hindu monks
and said they “play on the banks of the Ganges.”
This would have been fine if she said Hindu monks did this, but since we
have two subjects, she is making a stupid mistake. I would like proof that a Zen Master (high Japanese Buddhist
teachers or gurus, in case you didn’t know) ever visited the Ganges (301).
Soon Camille makes the boast that she is having a great impact on young
college students, yet there is no proof of such influence, especially in
feminism, where it would count (one supposes) (302). Maybe she means she is having an impact on her own students.
But sorry, that is not what she said.
Oh my! “Culture has gone down the tubes,” says she, then she
immediately shifts to popular culture, and we must assume she meant that all
along—no! Yes, popular culture is
at a pretty low point, not that it ever had a high point.
But culture as a whole is not in a state of decline, unless you consider,
like a hippy of Camille’s sort, the 60’s to be a cultural pinnacle.
Maybe the publishing houses (which publish your crap), the producers, the
media masters, and the other mostly-Jewish (I got you) establishments are having
a negative impact on culture by their power, but that does not exclude what
people are actually doing in the current age (303).
Just look what I’m doing, putting down a fraud who is poisoning our
culture. Then she mentions a
‘cultural figure,’ Allen Ginsberg, who helped some find their own voice,
says she. Well, I’ve heard this
to be true of Bob Dylan, so no foul there.
But then she mentions her influences, Annie Oakley, the sharpshooter, and
Marshall McLuhan. Ugh! And the others . . .
She admits, however marble-mouthed, that she is a militant amazon
feminist. One must appreciate the
variance of her feminist angles. But
this, by my standards, is the worst sort. It
is anti-man, therefore anti-heterosexual, and therefore anti-family.
No doubt, she, even though she makes a well-shined shill, agrees with all
of the lopsided legislation that makes government writ of feminist ideology
(304). She even identifies with Valerie Solanas, the psychotic bitch
who wrote the SCUM manifesto, the Society for Cutting Up Men.
Yes, a very man-friendly brand of feminism you foist, Camille (305).
What an unconscionable cunt she is beneath the sales pitch. But Valerie was a true women’s activist, in the way the
Hillside Stranglers were activists for the betterment of men.
Hun spiller som han tror, as says my assistant in this writing.
Much as the woman is the actress, the pretender, the player, the object,
the man is the thinker, the philosopher, the meditator, the subject.
Camille wants you to believe, coming at you not as the thinker but as the
show. She hopes you believe without
reflection, she hopes she’s convincing on first impression. It is funny that when Camille is right, she proves herself
wrong. She sees in woman the model,
the actress, the starlet, the temptress, yet she wants to see herself outside of
this depiction of the female. If we
weigh the latter idea against reality, we find it lacking in verity; indeed we
must see the former in her to understand her approach.
Because she is the object she lacks objectivity, she lacks the reflective
power of the man. The man, because
he is the subject, sees the object and is therefore objective.
This seems like a grand claim, much like hers, but if you reflect a bit
on the conception, you’ll see where I’m going.
To show you an example of Camille’s whimsical thought process, lacking
in profound reflection, just witness her next grand claim.
Paglia now tries to use her favorite sport to describe an attitude toward
and approach to the workplace for women. Says she, “If you want to make your way through the hostile
workplace, you must study football, offense and defense.”
The claim could be interesting, if she had thought, reflected before she
spoke. You see, we understand that
she does not mean that everybody must study football, but for some reason she
cannot clearly express this. She
indeed says precisely that you must study football.
Why though? Because she is
sliding along the continuum of female reality wherein every moment does not need
to take into account either the prior or following thought or idea.
In the moment, what she says is completely true to her, hence the
confidence. The fact that even most
football fans do not study football in this way, and indeed everyone who
is not a football fan does not study football, is no concern to her because she
is not seeing the larger picture in which more people are successful in
business, in number, than those who study football. So, this disproves her theory altogether, a theory that can
only live in the moment it is declared. The
theory rings true at no other time. Thanks
to the fact that most people are barely paying attention, much less reflecting
on the truth or falsity of the claim, this allows her show to work (306).
Next she calls Brad Pitt’s magazine cover photo ‘retro.’
This is one of those ‘from out of nowhere’ kind of statements.
It could be true, or it may not be.
Who’s to judge, right? Me,
perhaps? I have never seen a
‘retro’ Brad Pitt unless it was in a movie role.
But we’ll let this slide; it will remain in contention.
Now, in a moment, a glowing moment of megalomania, Camille claims that it
will take her but another twenty years to reform academe, as she likes to call
it. Who could believe that this
woman could reform academia? Is she
going to do it single-handed? Well,
we live in the future and know this to be false (307), unless the next few years
prove us wrong. You’re running
out of time, dear.
As a final note in this section, I’ll mention that her lover, Alison
Maddex, was twenty years her junior. As
I said (oh, my, I repeat), she had claimed elsewhere that professors who have
relations with their students somehow retard the student’s growth, yet here
she is with a woman young enough to be her daughter (308).
And together they wind up ‘having a child.’
Don’t ask how the thing came about, but Maddex, of course, was the one
who gave birth to the kid. Camille
then adopted him. Later the two
split and Camille went on to another younger lady.
on Later with Bob Costas 1992
This interview involves, perhaps, Camille’s greatest show of both
megalomania and ingenuousness. I
wonder what set such a mood, but I’m suspicious it comes of the fact that at
the time her fame was something relatively new.
It’s as if she felt she must come out swinging, with infinite, and
unwarranted, self-confidence. Her
masterwork had been published around two years prior and this may have been, at
the time, her biggest chance at a mainstream audience for her ideas.
Bob Costas, despite the fact that he came into fame through his pursuit
of sports, was a figure of some gravitas at the time; he took a very serious
approach to his interviews, giving, whether real or not, the appearance of an
intellectual atmosphere on the show. I
promise not to hold anything Costas said against our professor.
Be forewarned though, this is the interview with the showstopper.
Out of the gates, Paglia says she’s bringing back the feminism of the
20’s and 30’s, a patently false claim.
The comparison of her feminism to 20’s and 30’s feminism will have to
wait until later, but the reason she makes such a proclamation is clearly sexual
in nature, of course having to do with androgyny more than anything else (309).
She usually says she represents the feminism of the 60’s, so this claim
is an anomaly. Still speaking of
feminism, she says it stresses independence, self-reliance, and taking
responsibility, all three claims belied by the actual actions of these women and
the legislation lobbied for by feminists over the past few decades (310). The
idea that women are going to be self-reliant and responsible for their words and
actions is just droll.
Now, this is the most bizarre of all her claims.
I even had to go back in the video several times to make sure I heard her
correctly. She says (around 2:40
into the show) that she is a career woman and she is married.
What? Everybody do a double
take. This had to be the period
just before she ended up with Maddex. Is
she lying about being married? I
cannot find any record of her ever having been married.
Nothing (311). The claim is
even made more egregious by a statement she makes later in the interview.
Whether she is lying to establish some sort of ethos for her audience is
debatable; but surely she is lying, unless she is using the term marriage
loosely to mean she is in a relationship with a woman; but this is never
indicated, so the lie is the lie. Ethos is established, her statement confers on her a
similarity to her intended audience. The
show is on.
Camille soon says of herself, she speaks for the neglected women out
there. Okay, the neglected woman
must be a feminist lesbian or bisexual, right?
No. These positions are
well-represented, if not in the popular eye, in the world of feminism (312).
She doesn’t even speak for lesbians because, despite the facts of her
life, she claims to be a bisexual. Who
does she speak for, I mean, other than herself?
She does make quite a stir to distract us from the destructive nature of
feminism, an ideology that has been quite destructive to marriages and families
and to men.
Now, let it be known, she is a 60’s libertarian.
She’s pro-homosexuality, yet delegitimizes it completely as a pathology
Get this, she declares like a polite little conservative, “Traditional
values are the backbone of this country.”
Then why, may I ask, is your prized political project, feminism, doing
all in its power to subvert ‘traditional values’ (314)? The ingenuousness of
the earlier Camille seems almost a sick joke performed to poor salt in the
wounds of the victims of her prized feminism.
The gall of this dyke is beyond the pale. Run for your life when your slaver speaks of freedom, when
your butcher preaches veganism.
She has a pet theory about men and genius. To counterbalance the fact that men are generally responsible
for the greatest achievements, she needs to pathologize men as a whole.
“I think that genius and criminality are both extremes and deviations
at the ends of the human spectrum.” Yes,
extremes possessed of men certainly. This
would leave the woman in the middle zone, in the realm of mediocrity, if you
will, but Camille would never go as far as to express the implications of her
theory. Once again, it’s the
immediacy of female thought. The
thought is but a superficial declamation without its context, devoid of the
depth of consequence, unrelated to its counterparts (315). Yes, she is trying to explain away woman’s lack of
greatness without acknowledging her mediocrity—and certainly Camille is exempt
from this rule, for she is not only great but supremely so. She really believes that she has overcome female limitations,
yet she displays them at every turn. She
is after all even more ‘under the thumb’ of her own femininity than most.
Because she denies it, she is its slave.
Yes, I can pathologize as well. Her
shadow is a banshee. Only, I can
see the forest and the trees, unlike her. She
sees only wood to burn, what is hers to have.
And she’s too busy looking to see.
The fact that the profoundly intelligent mind is at a good distance from
and unrelated to the psychopathy of the profoundly criminal mind is not within
her scope of understanding, despite her later false claim that women are good
psychologists. And she greatly
underrates the capacity for the female mind to be pathological.
Oh, look at all of those friendly women and obsessive men.
Okay, whatever you say, chatterbox.
Like a clitoris masquerading as a penis, she’s fast and shallow. How is it, for instance, that so many old ladies justify to
themselves their unnecessary shoplifting habit? Trick question; they’re women and therefore need no
justification for anything; justification comes from justice, which is almost
completely alien to the woman. So
what does that say about female lawyers, or attorneys?
A lot. Face it, females are
more prone to crime than they are to greatness; you see, I just disproved her
theory another way.
By the way, once again, the sequel to this essay, a review of Paglia’s
writings, will show that her books are even more guilty of her brand of
mendacity than her public appearances.
Oh, yes, more talk of greatness. “Great
art comes from obsessiveness, comes from a kind of self-mutilation of
relationship,” and so on (316). What? What is
self-mutilation of relationship? If
it’s self-mutilation, it is not mutilation of relationship. She’s
dragging in an extra element. And,
by the way, if self-mutilation leads to greatness, women should be great at
everything, for it is women who most often mutilate themselves.
She uses this same half-baked explanation to explain away the lack of
female chess-masters, hackers, and so on (317).
And then she makes her claim that women are good at anything
psychological; no women are good at anything psychotic (318). More claims:
“Women are good at music”—except for composition, affirms Paglia.
Why? “Because composition
seems to be very abstract, cold, almost mathematical.” (319) Here she
unwittingly admits women are not good at abstraction (complex thought) and
mathematics (which old timers have always known).
“Women don’t like an inhuman world,” says she. Again, an admission that women are not good with
symbols: writing, mathematics, profound thought, anything complex, the working
out of conclusions. Argument is
especially difficult for women, perhaps why they can never reach a conclusion to
their disagreements and gripes—unless the opponent quits or submits from
exhaustion. Then she brings forth
another, slightly different, explanation of her ‘women and huts’ quote.
Why bother explaining? Her
excuses are poor; we know this (320). Another
stupid, or vapid, declamation: “Every move forward means that you’ve lost
something.” Yes, and perhaps that
‘something lost’ was unessential. Romantic
bullshit! Something must be
replaced in the name of progress, and things are lost in the mix.
Either you turn into a Luddite or look for the best possible future
(321). Then, a fucking gem
ejaculates itself from her cunt-licking mouth: “The male brain is more limited
than the female brain.” Not only
is this a meaningless generalization, it is completely wrong; the opposite is
true: the female brain cannot stop its constant chatter and imaginings and
therefore cannot find the space for reflection, a masculine quality (322).
After admitting umpteen limitations of the female mind, she tries to
avert your attention by saying the opposite.
She doesn’t even realize she admitted to these female
limitations—stupid irony. If all
the male brains are so limited, why does greatness tend (almost entirely) to
come of the male mind? Oh, it
continues: “The female brain is vaster and more multi-tracked.”
Yes, it is more multi-tracked, if by that you mean constantly moving
along the track without a pause to account for what has occurred, such is true.
But, vaster? No! The male mind is a fucking universe, an endless empire,
whereas the female mind is one-tracked and limited to the matter at hand, in
addition to being clouded with feelings and all of the feely things (323).
Balderdash on the brain, dear Camille?
What obnoxious fallacies. And, God forgive her little brain, she thinks
she’s like a man (324). You think like a woman in drag, Professor Paglia.
Back to Madonna. Camille
swears that Madonna is trying to get feminism back on track. Let’s ask Madonna about that.
You could imagine the surprised response (325).
Not too far from such a claim is her next.
She actually believes her childhood acts of dress-up were ‘transsexual
gestures.’ I think I’ve already
explained that her attempts at being masculine are very feminine (326).
Oh no. “Current feminism
is in a Stalinist phase.” A
repeat. Why the hyperbole? And what have you done to redress the mistakes of your
‘opposition?’ Nothing! (327)
Okay, here comes the ultimate lie. She
claims that she has never lived with a man. Yet earlier in the same interview
she claimed to be married. I
listened to her say it ten times because I couldn’t believe my ears.
Let’s work our way through the layers of ingenuousness.
Calvin Klein, who is thought to be gay, is married to a woman he does not
lie with. This is called a
noncohabitating relationship. So,
either she’s telling the whole truth in both cases, i.e she’s married and
she has never lived with a man—she has a noncohabitating relationship; or
she’s lying either once or more, i.e. either she is married and lives with her
husband, she is not married and has lived with a man, or she is not married and
has never lived with a man. The
last is the most likely, for she is an exclusive lesbian after she gets together
with Maddex. So, I think we figure
out that she has only lied once in this combination, but this is just too much
bullshit (328). Then she comments
that she fights with men constantly. Doesn’t this contradict her declaration
of being the friend of men, and of being, basically, obsessed with gay men?
(329) To top this, she proclaims triumphantly that she does not
need the approval of men. Oh yeah?
You think the approval of women (which there are few signs of) is going
to get you far? In the manufactured
world of feminists, perhaps. But
not in the larger world (330). Many
of her fans are credulous men; it is really quite pathetic.
Male feminists (not that all of her male fans are feminists)—male
feminists are disgusting ignoramuses; what a bunch of pussy-whipped halfwits. It makes no sense; they do not know.
This arduous task continues. Paglia
now talks about sexual harassment and the obscenely unrealistic definitions of
rape. Yet she does nothing to
change the standards (which are even worse in the UK and a few European nations,
some in which condomless sex is considered rape).
Silence (331). No one believes charges of rape, she says.
Then how about the Duke lacrosse team?
And let’s not forget the persecution of Michael Jackson in the press.
Rape calls for Camille’s patented Ted Bundy commentary, you know, the
bogey man thing. How desperate
(332). Soon her speech turns
repetitive and boring—she’s losing her touch, losing her audience. Then she
explodes with, “The price of freedom is risking rape.”
Yes, that and submitting your freedoms for the sake of freedom à la GWB.
Where is all of this rape taking place?
As an example of how civilized countries overcame the common occurrence
of rape, Norway has not had a rape committed by a native in over five years,
although Muslim immigrants have committed a few.
Rape is such an anomaly that it requires little theorizing (333). Wasn’t Mike Tyson convicted of rape only around a year
before this interview? Then she
takes her hyperbole a step further, with her usual comment on the sexual bravery
of gay men, as if Jeffrey Dahmer and his likes lives around the corner of every
gay bar: “Gay men have known for centuries that the price of sex can be
death.” Again! She gets two
points for this one, one for blatantly exaggerating and one for calling on her
invalid compatriots (333; 334).
And a point for Costas. Every
time he questions her absurd claims, Paglia backs down and changes her entire
tune (335). A step to the side now,
date rape. I’ll throw in my piece
here. If I go on a date with a
woman who is not my sister, I expect sex. No
sex, I’m never bothering with you again—you may well no longer exist.
If I did the same to you, how would you feel about it?
Yes, the woman too wants sex.
Camille repeats for the umpteenth time that she loves gay men and drag
queens. No comment (336).
At least at some point in the conversation Camille admits her conceit.
But she never admits to her lies, false boasts, absurd claims, and
flagrant contradictions—in toto her ingenuousness.
Then, as if to prove my point, she says in quick succession that she
couldn’t get published (true) and she couldn’t get a job (false).
Why such combinations, such pairings of truth and falsity?
She just can’t help it (337). She’s
‘talking from the hip.’
She is obviously jealous of women who have careers as profs in the Ivy
League, claiming that they got there by kissing men’s asses (338).
It would take a miracle to make this idea universally true.
Funny though that by saying this Camille is admitting that women are not
qualified for such positions; you see, in her mind women cannot be legitimately
qualified for Ivy League jobs. This
is telling about Paglia, another of her unwitting admissions.
You see, she is either right that women are not qualified to be
professors in these prized positions, or Paglia is just a misogynist, incapable
of seeing real, valid qualification in women.
I know I have met very well-educated female professors with an especial
talent for teaching students. Understand though that these admissions always
slip between her lips unwittingly; even she knows that women are generally not
up to the tasks, the work of men.
Another collection of the bad aspects of women: their inability to think,
their emotionalism (a myth that confuses feeling with emotion), their lack of
clarity, and their basic unfairness. How
did all of that come out of her mouth? And I do not agree: women can certainly think, they are not
overly emotional, although they are often overwhelmed by the constant string of
feeling that comes over them, they can certainly have clarity, and many of them
tend toward egalitarianism, which is beyond fair. You see, my ideas about women, though they may seem
misogynistic at first, are much more realistic and fair to the reality of the
feminine mind. Oh, her fights with
other feminists (339). She then
decides that feminism should be bipartisan, when she knows most conservatives do
not support a good portion of the feminist agenda (340).
You mean feminism is an ideology, replete with dogma? No. . . Yes.
Next she claims that there is no backlash against feminism (341).
Yes, unless you are a self-respecting man.
She actually plays the feminist shill second to none, saying, the country
is quite conservative. Yes, but the
laws passed in favor of feminism are outright fascist (342). Speaking of the most heinous of feminists, she says celebrity
seems to have stopped their development—in contradistinction to her fame.,
which shows an insight that can only come of a bathroom and a mirror.
And their development into what? Nazi
feminist warriors intent on castrating every man in sight (343)?
Then Bob Costas shows his stereotyping colors with his example of stupid
and irresponsible behavior in a ‘bad neighborhood,’ which according to his
insinuations must be a ‘black neighborhood.’
Camille thinks she is literally some sort of hermaphrodite.
Well, show us your dick then. No,
Camille is a woman through and through. She
also thinks her detachment from ordinary human relationships—as if she
practices such—makes her a better scholar (344).
As if her relationships could really hurt her ‘scholarship.’
She then goes all out megalomaniac, declaring herself unrivalled as the
leading female intellectual in the U.S. (345).
What kind of claim is this? I
know of several female intellectuals who dwarf what you have to offer.
Next, Camille proclaims that the generation of the 60’s hasn’t made
its case (346). How many lifetimes do you require?
You’ve made your point over and over again, force-fed it to all you
could. Now she identifies with her
generation of feminists and their ‘successes,’ the opportunities they’ve
created for women and whatever else—this after continually distancing herself
from these same feminists (347). Oh!
And she speaks, loud and declarative: “There should be no obstructions
to women’s legal and political advance.”
Yes, but there should be every possible impedance to male legal and
political advance, right? Is the
truth coming out and by doing so making her even more of a liar?
I do not appreciate the paradox here (348).
Now another ejaculation leaves her lips: “A lot of the turbulence [are
you kidding? Turbulence?] between the sexes is not coming from the social
realm.” All of it is coming from
the social realm; how does she see so fit to turn reality on its head (349)?
“And it’s not therefore remediable by passing more rules and
regulations.” You are right, but for the wrong reasons.
It is remediable by eliminating laws (350). Laws built on the feminist
double-standard must be repealed. Otherwise,
no chance for any redemption, bitch. What
is the solution to the ‘turbulence between the sexes?’
Says she, we should look into ourselves psychologically, spiritually, and
use literature. What does
literature have to do with a gender war engendered by feminism (351)?
Nothing. Literature does not
heal psychological problems, does not cure cancer, and does not end gender wars.
And to add to this, says Paglia that men created the social realm
and have therefore been dominant in it (352).
Both statements are false: men did not create the social realm (without
the compliance of women), and they do not dominate it; women have always been
important in ‘the social realm.’ They
did not play the same historical role as men for the most part, but they did
play a role, perhaps a legitimately feminine role.
Then, in contradistinction to this claim, she says that women have always
controlled the emotional or sexual realm (353).
Why the or? She is suggesting that the emotional realm is the same as the
sexual realm. This is absurd (354).
And, no, women do not even control their own ‘emotional realm.’
And the sexual realm, well, your control, if it exists at all, was a
product of your feminism, and artificial, and unreal, control. What Camille is
trying to suggest is that women control when a man gets laid.
This is just silly, for a man does not even need a woman; indeed the
woman is the needy one. And if we are speaking of actual sex and not the protocol of
the cock-tease, who is really in control in the bedroom? But one must forgive her, for Camille knows nothing of cock,
even though she’s ‘married.’ And
to add to her egregious ingenuousness she never admits that the notion of male
oppression and female ‘victimage’ is the basis for an entire class of
hypocritical laws (355).
Playing her part, trying to garner support for feminism among men,
Camille goes on to explain her adoration of male sports figures and rockers
(356). Good try to play the
bisexual. Even worse, she says,
“People who like rock like me because my voice is the voice of rock.”
Megalomania that is best saved for professional wrestling (357).
She even adds an incredibly stupid comment, claiming that she is the
first lead guitarist who uses words. Don’t
you mean you’re a vocalist who speaks sans notes?
Uh, this tangent is just too much (358).
That was the most obnoxious video—no, it gets worse.
Anyway, she started a megalomaniac and ended the same.
in a phony debate at Yale, called, Resolved: Women Are Better Than Men.
Here we are at the Yale Political Union. And Paglia was their guest speaker; the other speakers were
students. This is the most
ridiculous title of them all, almost as annoying as her general presence and her
I’ll say this. It’s as if no one has ever really questioned the
validity of her statements, especially her bold and untrue claims that have no
evidence for and therefore little evidence against.
Well, if one actually uses ones mind, which should likely be the
outgrowth of experience and insight into that experience, one has the evidence
or its lack clearly at hand.
As an introduction, the host calls her “academia’s one woman army.”
Okay, ready to lose the war?
She begins with the names of the supposed ‘reformers’ in the
‘Reform Movement in Feminism’: Christina Hoff Sommers (an ‘equality
feminist philosopher’), Wendy Kaminer (lawyer and writer), and Katie Roiphe
(author and journalist), the last being “the first intellectual to arise from
her generation.” (359) There is no reformed feminism, only feminism.
If there were reformers, there would be reforms, in the laws, in
the way men are viewed, in the feminists’ approach to truth and reality.
There are not.
Here we go. Camille
criticizes the political correctness of Yale and suggests that the
administrators and staff at Yale don’t like her.
Then why did they publish your book, Sexual personae? Why did you get your Ph.D. from Yale? Talk about empty rhetoric (360).
The feminism of the 21st century will be a better, “much
more humane” feminism, offers Camille. Is
she speaking of the fascist activities of the corporate-government coalition?
No? Where is this feminism?
In the land of make-believe where it will stay (361).
No law has changed; at every legal turn is a double-standard, that these
ladies of course love, despite their fight for a ‘fair feminism.’
Say Camille, “suddenly she launched [herself] on the scene.” A
favorite. Yes, and at such a young
age (362). And after over a decade
of trying to get her book published.
She affirms the resolution “Women
are better than men.” A laughable
statement if there were one (362). Thus
spake the Professor.
Okay, here we go: Camille’s three categories that are the basis of her
argument: 1. biology; 2. history; 3. art.
Before she even begins to explain, one can clearly see she chose areas in
which men are superior (363).
Biologically and physically, men are superior to women in every way (sports,
strength, fighting, war, brain-functioning) except giving birth.
Let us remember that a man can conceive several children in the time it
takes a woman to incubate one. Despite this, obnoxious females like to suggest
that men will eventually be (or already are) superfluous in the breeding
process, yet with a little technology we could say the same of women.
With few exceptions men have been the makers and movers of history.
Greatness throughout history has been a male achievement.
Almost all developments by which we can say there is a history have been
brought about by men.
Art is a man’s world if there were one. All
good and great art is the product of men save a handful of exceptional cases of
Okay, the woman may be the “mistress of birth,” as Camille claims,
but she is certainly not the “origin of all things.” This is such a foolish claim she should be embarrassed at its
passing through her lips, but fortunate for her career as a hoax, she has no
shame (364). Additionally, man’s
contribution to procreation, swears she, is “nothing but a pin prick”—more
like a prick gushing with cum. But,
no, sorry lady, next time I’ll cum on your self-satisfied pate. Why the prick? Oh,
because she knows that manipulative women poke holes in condoms.
Sorry, bitch, you’re taking the pill.
To add fuel to the little flame she lights, she commands that “Man
could drop dead of a heart attack immediately after conception.”
Of course he could suffocate her as well—a pure and personal abortion,
righteous birth control. “He is
utterly useless to the process of reproduction after that point.”
This coming from a woman who has no relations with men, who has never
given birth, who hasn’t bedded with a man for probably twenty years at this
point (365). Did I forget that she became a deadbeat mom?
And this is the pride of biology, to be a baby-making machine (366).
It doesn’t occur to her that fathers play a role in a child’s life,
no. I guess the father’s place,
in feminist terms, is merely paying the bills.
Equality ends fleet when it comes to the man’s rights.
Ain’t that right, princess? And
to add another layer of filth, “Woman has used him, sucked him dry, and cast
him aside.” What? If you sucked
him dry, there would be no conception (367).
And “casts him aside?” Really,
the feminist utopia, amazon rapists. If
“all that she wants is another baby,” as Ace of Base says, then there you
go, enjoy your imagined superiority, cum dumpster.
And throughout all this she can’t keep a straight face. She grins, thinking herself cute, by so doing coming off
pathetic, as her feminazi audience enjoys her prideful banter, the feminist
comedy routine. And this is the
talk of the man-loving feminist? She’s
lost her character. Back to
man-bashing at its most senile (368).
Then a false claim: Woman is the center of all ancient legend.
Au contraire, dear Camille; you know you are fibbing.
It was enough to say that woman is the mistress of birth (369).
Again, “All worship began in the fertility of mother earth.”
Wrong, that doesn’t occur until mankind starts to settle down (370).
The worship of the hunt comes much sooner than the worship of mother
earth. Then she swears, in Hinduism
woman is in control of the cycle of birth and death, i.e. resurrection and the
cycle of lives. Perhaps a goddess
is responsible for this, but not a woman (371). And in Hindu society women’s
rights don’t go very far at all. This
leads to the mythology of the woman as the womb and tomb from which man
emerges—the great baby-maker, again, the legend of the cum dumpster (372).
Next she says, ‘an objective person’ can see that a man’s life is a
staggering from a control by the mother to a control by his wife.
What? Again, wrong. I was never controlled by my mother or any other woman.
And what if I controlled my mother in addition to other women?
What of that? Does that make
me some sort of anomaly? No (373).
And then to top it all: “Woman is the Master Paradigm of all creation.” Of course she knows that men are far more creative than
women. She needs to rely on
symbolism to give the woman the upper hand.
In reality women are the master paradigm for irrationality and
self-centeredness (374). Woman is a
giver of birth, but that is not all creation.
Okay now, listen Camille. Women’s
connection with nature is one of the primary themes of mythology because the
woman is materialistic, and therefore earthy, in this world and of this world.
Yes, women are this-worldly, not abstract, not far-thinking, in fact, not
so ‘thinking’ at all. I guess one can match her fictions of misandry with the facts
of misogyny, even though she has already shown herself to be the true
We realize here, for the sake of her argument, Camille has gone from
seeing women as victims to seeing women as the better sex. So she’ll overcome the norms of feminism by turning reality
on its head, vagina-up, so to speak. No
chance, lady (375). And soon
she’ll get into brain science with more wild claims, but I’ll refute her
half-baked declarations with the reality that bears out experience.
Notice that she boasts of the woman’s place as a mother, yet says she
herself has no interest in it, claiming “she has no maternal instinct
whatsoever.” (376) So, if women
are superior because they can have babies, and you are incapable of having a
baby, does that make you less of a woman? Indeed
it does, by your false logic.
Now to the brain science. She
brings up the fact that women are capable of using both spheres of the brain at
once, only she leaves out the ‘at once’ part.
Why? Nevertheless, what she doesn’t mention is that women are incapable
of using one sphere at a time and are therefore in a far shallower world, an
almost strictly physical world of feelings and sensations (377).
Okay, this is where I chime in with my version of the gender differences
(which are of course confirmed in the brain research, as reality would be).
I would argue that women’s thinking is always muddled with feeling.
So we see that this functioning of both sides of the brain at once is not
always an advantage. Now, you may
think I’m making bold statements, but, unlike Camille, who has never spent a
significant amount of time around a man, I have spent a lifetime amongst women.
Let us remember that she has claimed to be married right before she
admitted that she’d never lived with a man.
I may be repeating myself here, but I think it is appropriate,
considering Camille is trying to raise the female mind to a height not proper
too it. Yes, women have a
tremendous ability to appreciate, and this ability can be stretched almost
illimitably. So, again, we must appreciate a woman’s ability to appreciate. But man, man is capable of mental feats most foreign to a
woman. He is a ruminator.
He turns over and over in his mind (in his brain, if we want to speak
physically or biologically), and as a result he is a creature of insight, of
compassion, of sympathy, and understanding.
His thinking runs deep. Of
course, there are stupid or dull men whose faculties must be regarded as
anomalies. But because of man’s
complex thought he is capable of phenomenal abstraction and creation, especially
when compared to a woman. Man is
the discoverer, the seer, the contemplator.
But woman is the artful creature of ambiguities, mysterious in her
playfulness and her deceptions. Woman
is the greatest liar, manipulator, but also the commiserator, in the sense that
she can see the worth in people without judging too critically.
In fact it is not in her nature to be critical in any profound way.
She may cavil and lash out from her peevishness.
But women unlike men are not overconcerned with truth or justness; they
are not held back by a need for continuity.
The woman is an actress; she’ll dress herself up (like Camille did as a
youngster), make herself look exactly as she wishes.
Such an ability is deceptive. She
can even pretend to be what she is not without any great pang of conscience;
this is not to say that women are actually evil and devoid of conscience, just
that they are less inhibited by its requisitions.
Substance is at odds with appearances as man to woman.
Happiness and ebullient feeling mean so very much to the female mind.
The painted face, the mental mask, the devilish ability to lead others
like a Siren, these are characteristic of the feminine mind.
The woman really aims to be mysterious to attract more attention, for
attention is key, regardless of whence it comes. We all know that women throughout history are not made to
face a proper right of passage. I
mean, perhaps the losing of her virginity is something like a right of passage,
but it is a simple moment, with its consequences, but nothing like the
life-shaping difficulties that boys and men must face in the face of their
social being’s survival, success or failure.
A man can be a bona fide loser, speaking socially, in contradistinction
to his chance at being a winner. Women,
although they have a pecking order in their society cannot be total losers,
beta-beings, damned to an inferior existence.
While men often face life or death, win or lose, situations, women can
play, childlike, even when considered in whatever way inferior or less than
other women. Our feminist-cursed
society emphasizes feminine self-esteem far to much and to an unrealistic
degree. It is men who suffer so the
pains of esteem in its lack. We
know that women are also prone to extreme and sudden changes of mood. The are just as likely to laugh, cavort, and become
overjoyed, and, yes, delirious, as to cry, play (or be) sullen, or make use of
hysterics. And despite appearances
it is usually a game for women. Even suicide attempts tend to be ingenuine acts,
just an expression of passing pain, the constant pull of feeling—again, for
women feeling is constant and may even be overwhelming.
It doesn’t even occur to the overwhelmed woman that her feelings are a
mystery to man only because they are a mystery to herself; she is incapable of
translating these overpowering feelings into words.
I know mysteries, and I know that some mysteries are not covering any
meaning beneath—some things are just mysterious in themselves.
Unlike the man, who is a creator and artist in act, women are artists in
their very person; look at Camille’s playful act in every public appearance;
she’ll convince you not through logic or plausibility but through her own
personality, her act. Again, her
body, sensations, and thoughts tend toward flirtation and artfulness or
artifice. While men are serious,
solemn, and even somber, women tend to be capricious, whimsical, superficial.
Never mess with a woman’s heart because she’s playing with yours.
Women lack a sense of hierarchy in the sense that they don’t rank
priorities in the way of men; they’ll expend themselves on whatever catches
their fancy. Pleasure, pleasure,
and more pleasure—the woman’s goal. Meanwhile
the man bides his time and reserves his efforts for what he deems important.
To be fair though, the woman also enjoys the pleasure of others; it’s
as if happiness and pleasure is a community or at least a collective or dual
experience for the female. And women love to see happiness in others; in fact,
they often don’t understand why a man is unhappy or discontented; maybe the
circumstances are just too complex for her to understand; this is not a
knowledge she wishes to share. Also,
women are capable of going to great lengths to please others; it gives them a
more cheerful and rewarding sense of reality.
Finally, and once again, tears are the lifeblood of a woman’s life.
Her sense of her place in the world and the meaning of life depends on
the ability to cry. Crying is not
always an expression of sadness, for men and women, but for the woman crying can
be a masochistic celebration of life itself. But don’t let that make you think she won’t turn just as
easily against you and play the part of the sadist.
Meanwhile, as Camille would say, men build, create.
Well, they also structure, judge, divide, evaluate.
And on into the outskirts of Heaven and Hell.
Back to the charade, Camille ejaculates (she wishes), “Men can either
think or feel.” Yes, and? Don’t
you love that she tries to put her own poor interpretations into the gears of
reality? Instead, one can say,
‘men can think and then feel.’ Then
think, then feel, then think, and so on. It
is important here to understand that the way that women feel is not the same
thing as the way a man experiences emotion.
A woman’s emotions are not profound, and this can be seen as one of
their advantages. They are not
bogged down by their feelings, just affected enough to express a something. You
see, because it is in his nature to reflect almost constantly, a man gains
insight into his emotions (and even his sensations) through thought. Women, because they get no break from their feelings, very
rarely make anything of them; they instead react as if something is happening to
them. In fact, because a woman
lacks insight into these things, she cannot even emulate or simulate the
emotions of man. Camille is already
drowning; she is far over her head (378). And
now our lady of the immolation of mankind swears, men have “tunnel vision”
which has led to “those extreme achievements of culture.” How often must she make excuses for the mediocrity of women?
Now weigh this against my offering, and you will understand how lost in
her female-only world she is (379). How
do men have tunnel vision? Men are creatures of reflection and contemplation;
women are the ones who can only see what is directly at hand—on their
sliding continuum of reality and ‘truth.’ If one is capable of profound or
complex thought, of indeed separating thought from emotion and ‘feelings,’
how can he be trapped in tunnel vision?
Of course, because of her audience’s feminist bent, she is handing out
water in the desert; they’ll believe anything that leaves her unstained lips
or her inviolate vag.
And men ‘destroy the feeling of social occasions’ with their, obscene
things that they are, intellects. They
just don’t understand that truth and meaning don’t matter; it is all a show
and a play (380). This is a social
occasion, a time to be stupid and insipid; the call here is one for vacuity and
sensibility over sense, an inside joke told by Jane Austin.
But women, bizarre and special creatures that they are, know better than
men. Silly men inject thought and
reflection where is doesn’t belong, at a dinner party.
Just have another drink. Is
there any question then why men do not require such superficial meetings of the
mindless? Why men care so little
for events that call for decorum, that most feminine of traits?
Yet, men have etiquette, men have charm, men have charisma, and these
things do not even require long training. Whereas a woman must be civilized by
the teachings of her mother, of her social circle, of her teachers and her
idols, man becomes civilized through trial, through the dreaded right of
passage, that, despite what some may think, is not a single event.
Reflection and evaluation as well result in the favorable masculine
traits. The damned male brain, so
full of things unseemly. Meanwhile
the woman learns to act according to custom, or as custom requires, through
silly training. And in this day and
age many women are in fact lacking in the training that results in a civilized
person. The beast of beauty!
This thing with the ‘objective observer.’ This woman has zero objectivity.
“Obvious to the objective viewer all along . . .”
Viewer? That is not quite
right, Camille; this only further proves how little you know of objectivity.
Objectivity tends to ‘observe,’ not ‘view.’
Observing involves an active component.
Anyway, “Woman’s brain is global,” by which she just means both
sides of the brain are constantly firing at once without letup.
But she can’t see the downside to this.
I’ve already explained (381). Shallowness, my mistress of birth—oh
yeah, that, you lack maternal instinct, so I guess you’re a eunuch.
Your female mind is not only shallow, it is limited to ‘feeling
things’ both in thought and sensation. You
lack the clarity of man. At all
times feeling interferes with your thought.
Imagine, my dear fellow men, if at all times your thought were
interrupted by the functioning of your digestive system, yes if digestion were a
constant conscious object, taking up your energy and interrupting to lucid
functioning of the mind. Bowels,
pains, petty aches . . . What kind of thinking would result?
Imagine the productions of such a mind.
A feeling one, certainly. A
thought informed by ones physical feeling at all times!
Is it any wonder that in actual mythology women are closely connected
with the earth, indeed earthiness, worldliness, sight, sound, taste, touch (the
tactile). This is why she is the lesser
sex. She is incapable of the true complexities of abstraction in any deep
way, of deliberation, forethought, deep emotion, and compassion, all manly
traits. Of course she can come back
at you with manipulation and deceit, with all the gall in the world.
Now aren’t you glad that your brain functions the way it does?
Can you imagine the amount of compensating that goes on in the female
intellect? Would you rather be a
creature incapable of profound emotional and intellectual connection and
exchange, of difficult formulations, of creative mental interplay, of insight,
of integrity, and of, again, compassion? The
very compassion that lets us ‘feel’ for the limitations of our lesser sex.
Dare I say ‘our?’ Yes. For they are ours. Without us they are lost in a world
of self, a position in which they cannot survive. For the woman, the entire
world is an inextricable series of connections all of the self.
Let’s speak for a moment of female values. Have you ever wondered why a woman can treat two completely
different specimen of person the
same, indeed with the same consideration and esteem?
Because she is incapable of seeing the nuance of meaningful difference.
Compared to a man, anyway, she is not so capable of sound discrimination.
Yet we do not treat her as a complete lesser because we are men and
capable of supreme compassion. Yet,
some would like to impose such feminine values on society as a whole.
This is doubtless both untenable and undesirable.
It is certainly a cliché by now that feminine hunger for equality is not
reconcilable with the individual’s hunger for freedom.
The founding fathers of America blundered in their androgynous aims.
Camille won’t quit with this generic brain functioning discovery.
You should know that the scientist I know of who made this
discovery—there may be others—has no insight into what she found.
It’s just charts based on readings of a working set of brains.
But Paglia makes her own nonsense of the discoveries, offering, “The
woman thinks on many tracks at once. The woman takes the whole of existence into
herself.” This sounds so
grandiose because it is just that (382). The
woman takes what surrounds her into herself.
How many ‘tracks’ is she on? One,
the continuum that leads into the future but that does not hold to its own rules
and promises. She takes into the
future only what she needs, running over hearts and keeping the little baubles
and bibelots of past relationships and acquaintanceships, of those come and
gone. The woman once she has you
has you forever in her phony skin-deep way—for she never really cared to know
you as an individual. Only the most
dedicated wives, women beyond the pale to female standards, above and oh so far
out of sight of the normal feminine eye, defy these tendencies.
If you ever discover such a woman, consider yourself the blessed of
anomaly. The children of Mnemosyne
are to be cherished as the highest the female gender has to offer.
Camille is incapable herself of cutting through the noise, the dross of
existence, and separating what is important or meaningful from what is not.
Is she really so proud to be of the sex that often is capable of
listening to the wisdom of the scholar with the same enthusiasm as that with
which she listens to the outpourings of stupidity that come of the proverbial
Now we find Camille once again groping for excuses for the lack of female
greatness. No, it’s not because of a lack of feminine creativity or
talent—that is absurd says she. (I also think it absurd, but . . .)
Oh, no. “It’s because
women lack the obsessive compulsive need to create an identity separate from
herself.” Now, this is absurd.
First she pathologizes male creativity. We
are “obsessive compulsive.” Good
try, moron. No, women are not interested in achieving greatness normally
(383). It is rare for a woman to
take this challenge of challenges upon herself—and, no, Camille, you are not
great. If you’ve ever known
someone with obsessive compulsion, you know it is not common, and it is not a
pretty sight. It is a horrible
affliction. Apparently our lady does not know the reality of the disease.
The paranoia that tries to alleviate itself through compulsive habits, to
cut the anxiety in ways that don’t even help, but the person continues with
the habits anyway. Again, she goes
to great lengths to compensate for her sex.
I guess you could say she is speaking out of extreme penis envy.
Now, what is true is that women generally—not always—have no need to
create something outside themselves; instead they literally work on creating
themselves. As I have already
imparted on my poor recently-assailed reader, to women almost all is self.
The world is a fucking mirror reflecting things, and these things she
collects, and her collection becomes herself.
A life of mementos and souvenirs, things that become her.
She is certainly herself, but there is no solid enough boundary to
prevent you from being part of herself. It
doesn’t matter if you’re around even, she may have you through some
remembrance of your presence. One
can consider such primitive feminine practices as voodoo and its related
religious practices, the magical practices of witches even, at least to some
degree—what is constant in these practices?
The ownership or control of the other as if he or she were a thing.
Borderline personalities displays a pathology that somewhat resembles the
mind of a woman, her neediness, her black hole of a feeding self; I have already
made the differentiation of sociopath and woman. The woman is acquisitive even
of friends and acquaintances, extensions of themselves. The coup de grace, even
their children are extensions so; when a woman responds to a baby’s cries one
may think it out of an expression of compassion or love, but no, it is mostly
out of concern for what has become a very important piece of themselves.
This child is mine. Her
child’s tears and her own are one, an exasperation and celebration of being.
The woman can only emulate your system of values but never quite own
them. This playful, bubbly creature
so entertaining in her better aspects, so seductive when she feels the urge to
be so, so manipulative and so full of feeling at all times—perhaps because of
the constant interference of her ‘global brain’—this creature, in the form
of our Camille, is desperately trying to find a realm in which the woman, she,
is superior. How pathetic her every
attempt though. As a final side
note, to add dirt to Camille’s wounds, to add disgrace to defeat, women make
the perfect patriots; because they only respond with care and concern to what is
their own; they feel little sympathy for foreigners. Oh a woman can feel such feeling, if it is advantageous to her
situation, but otherwise, Hitler or Lincoln, she is on his side.
And please, after completing my essay—or not—study them for yourself.
You have probably never done so in a meaningful and systematized way.
Find out which of my accusations are lies, which truth. Let us now
Paglia exclaims (claims, that is) that women have superior perceptual
awareness. Yes, these earthy creatures are nailed to the cross of physical
existence. But you’re too easy,
Camille. I always get your number.
A woman is, as you say, tied to sensuous existence, her material
surroundings. But this has its
impressive collection of limitations. For
instance, memory, which woman is so well known for; it is easy for a woman to
distort a scene or situation in memory, for she will only see things through her
limited lens, the way she perceived, in other words, how things affected her,
things remembered in her own favor or in her preferred arrangement. Men too
remember things, but not as you wanted things to be.
Men, gifted creatures they are, are also capable of forgetting, if not
completely, capable of releasing the significance of events.
So, who’s mind is working better (384)?
Yes, I doubt that women far beyond the norm would subject themselves to
my diatribe, but I doubt as well they’d subject themselves to Paglia’s.
Oh, those women beyond woman!
Why though are women prone to whimsy and lack of focus?
Camille has told you. Yet she takes pride in it.
So, you too, ladies, can take pride in it.
There is something magical to the whim; it is somewhat childish and very
playful, although sometimes untenable and terrible.
It shows no need to value things, lacking a sense of priorities outside
of self-preservation, in fact, irresponsible and unaccountable.
Whim is beyond reason in that it has no need for such a device.
Why let thought and emotion weigh you down when you have supreme
self-assuredness and the wonders of caprice?
Why, for instance, are women poor suicides?
It is because their torment is based in a simple loss of self or
self-sense, whereas a man’s torment is based in emotion that is fed by
repeated thought, some of which can be so seriously affected that suicide seems
a perfectly appropriate path. It is easier to rediscover self, to, as it were, come to
oneself than it is to escape a web of tortured thought and emotion, especially
since they are more likely based on something actual. But let us remember that the self-concern of the whimsical
female works the magic of relationship, for it assists her in finding an
appropriate, the best, mate. She
walks over one man to get to another. This
‘instinct,’ though it seems something of solid workmanship, does not always
result in the best, for the female mind can never fully understand the male.
She knows not what she is really getting.
Her investment is made with a certain randomness.
Such is caprice and is woman.
When Camille soon speaks of the shamans and co. incorporating the female
into themselves, what she should say is the feminine, as in the feminine
principle. And how the hell is this
evidence of the superiority of women (385)?
Maybe if more women were capable of incorporating the masculine . . .
Then estrogen gives a pregnant woman “a kind of Buddhist totality of
the universe.” Are you clueless,
or what (386)? And to counter this,
testosterone drives one “restlessly outward.
One is restlessly incomplete.” Yeah,
and something about a mere fragment of the whole. Wrong again (387).
Testosterone does not always accompany restlessness, dissatisfaction, and
violence; it can accompany creative contemplation and concentration; it can
accompany creative endeavor, which can actually make one feel quite complete.
If she had just said that testosterone sometimes makes one want to act,
sure, but why the excessive addition? Again,
“Testosterone drives one out. How needy testosterone is.”
Needy? I think it’s well
established that estrogen leads women to clinginess, neediness (388), yes, it
makes a woman needy, for touch, for attention, love, and comfort—hell, for
chocolate. “How complete estrogen
is.” Hah! As I said, exactly
backwards (389). Always turning
things on their heads.
I’ll mention here that it is known that, with maturity, the man does
not need the woman, but the woman always needs—it must not necessarily be a
man, but someone or something. To
refer back to commonplace understandings: it is known that women tend to be more
needy and clingy, whereas the man tends to be distant and even unconcerned.
But isn’t it nice that her feminazified audience eats up her hoaxes and
half-truths. Chimes in dear
Camille, “Woman’s mysteriousness seems to be part of her superiority.”
But how is this a matter of superiority?
This is indeed a matter instead of manipulation, of deceit, of play and
pretending (390). The intelligent
man sees through the act and, in fact, takes control.
This creative choreography is definitely impressive and entertaining,
maybe enticing, but it is often engendered by the work of men.
The man renders the woman more mysterious than she herself is capable of
achieving on her own. You, for instance, Camille, are not at all mysterious.
Then we have “the mystery of woman’s reproductive anatomy.”
This is a mystery to me, how a woman’s genitalia and inner organs could
be mysterious. Mankind knows
everything about her anatomy. We
even know her menstrual cycle, her ovulation period.
There is no more mystery (391). Pregnancy
is completely predictable, save possible anomalies.
Sticking with the idea of the mysterious, she swears that strippers are
mysterious. No, strippers are naked
or half-naked women on a stage, attempting to entertain horny men.
That primal element in man—and Camille—known as sexual desire or
attraction is not even mysterious (392). In
fact, ask a gay man about this great mystery.
Will he not in some way be repulsed, or possibly attracted to a quality
that has little to do with sexual attraction, unless the stripper is a man.
The vagina if mysterious because we cannot see its insides, makes the ass
just as mysterious.
Now we have another great stretch. “Women’s
sexuality is the model of the godhead.” Um,
should I even respond to this nonsense? No,
the model of the godhead is the mysterious relationship one has with the
divine—which you don’t believe in (393).
So why are you even fumbling over the concept?
Then this: “Every religion is mysterious, therefore woman is divine.” What kind of misstep can lead to this claim?
Absurdity has a name, and that name is Camille Paglia (394).
How far did you reach up your ass to find this one?
Isn’t the penis just as mysterious as the vagina?
Why not? You don’t know
its size and shape until you are naked before it. You don’t know it.
Is the vagina even as prone to difference as the penis?
No. But, “Man’s
sexuality is so frail.” How? “The penis, how frail, how unpredictable.”
And therefore mysterious, stupid (395). ‘ Unpredictable’ in place of
‘mysterious’ to bolster her false claim.
Yet, she never says how man’s sexuality is frail.
And to you, Camille, male sexuality is a complete mystery. Male sexuality tends to be vigorous, forceful, even violent,
if not dangerous. When a man fucks
you, dear Camille, expect no mercy.
And all nice of a sudden, she admits that women were protected in the
patriarchal culture. But then she
goes on a tangent claiming she wants to remove all special protections for women
(396). What a lie.
Why isn’t she headed to visit Congress, and try to remove the
man-hating, hetero-hating, family-hating laws?
Then she mentions the time when women were not allowed a vote, yet never
mentions the time when men in general had no vote (397).
This is bourgeois bullshit that feminists feast on.
Then, from out of nowhere, she demands entry into football (398). Yes, sure, Camille, let us forget the skill that professional
athletes have, skill they’ve gained through work over year after year of
trial. Women’s sports, by the
way, aren’t a sad sight already? The
worst professional male athletes are light years ahead of the best women.
Now, Camille just drags her feet as she rides along: Men have killed
themselves over women, have worked themselves into the grave over women, have
brought home their paychecks simply to hand them over to women.
Really! What a fucking
laugh. Men kill themselves because they can; watch the women try and fail.
Men work themselves into the grave for another glass of rotgut.
Men forget their paychecks at the bar; then it’s time for mama to get a
job—no money, no child support. You
see how silly the alternate version sounds?
Yet hers is so much more fantastic (399). Yes, sometimes men make
sacrifices for their families, as do women.
Family is family after all. Too
much Hollywood for Camille. Then
she makes herself smile contentedly by calling her assessment a queen bee and
drone pattern (400). Yes, humans as
bees. Why not call it the black
widow syndrome, the praying mantis effect?
As if these men did not enjoy themselves, live their lives, express
themselves. Come on, if we’re talking the good old days, who’s going to pay
the bills if mama gets the paycheck? This
is all primarily the contempt for the working class that Paglia claims to hate.
And how does any of this prove the superiority of women?
This is like saying the damsel in distress is superior to the hero who
wends his way through Hell to save her, only Camille makes it more working class
and harsh so its easy for her middle class ego to make a joke of the man.
Tell the woman’s story; at best, Cinderella, at worst a camera pointed
at a halfwit ‘drone’ with tits. Oh,
she may be quite glamorous, but who cares?
Women. Sorry, lady, man took care of his family because they belonged
to him, they were his. And a woman in such a bygone time-period who
betrays her man deserves death, nothing less.
Any honest man would agree with this, if he is in fact a man, not a
pussy-whipped coward who bows to feminine and feminist wiles.
Paglia describes Victorian portraits.
She says these women look like they are about to suffocate man.
A praying mantis, no less. This
is fantasy mere. Her grand phantasy
Back to the woman and the idea of the man handing over his paycheck to
her. I have another point to make
here. Let it be understood that
women are materialists in the most base sense.
The man, unless he is somehow disturbed or womanlike, is not a collector
of so many things. Boys have
feminine traits; they too collect things, accrue things unnecessarily; men do
not. Women are acquisitive and the
man knows this. So, out of a sense
of care and compassion the man may hand his chick some cash to satisfy her urges
with his excess money. He does the
same for his children. Thus women
essentially, speaking historically, had the status of children. Women have no
right of passage, no especial adversity on entering womanhood. Not like the man. The
man’s life is one of challenge, and many adverse forces stand against him.
Ultimately, when things are so reduced they become artificially
polarized. But the general thrust
of the roles holds true, especially historically.
Paglia, back to her specialty, claims that contemporary women are not
satisfied with the idolatry of women. Of
course, she thinks the college campus is all of reality.
Why is it that women, even girls, dress like sluts?
Why do they still yearn for gallantry?
Even more (402), why do women still desire to marry wealthy and powerful
men? Success is still appealing to women; they are happy to be
mantle pieces in the homes of powerful men.
Then somehow the meeting of Hillary Clinton and Mother Theresa proves the
superiority of women? Explain
(403). Oh, they’re goddesses
coming together. Unlike Bush and Blair coming together, two kings, two political
gods shaking hands. How does she manage to cut off the complement in her little
brain? Christina Todd Whitman, the
former Republican governor of New Jersey and former Administrator of the EPA,
proves the supremacy of women as well. How?
How many men have been governors and EPA heads?
Nevermind. I already buried
this chick. Why disturb the resting
place of the dead?
Then she declaims that women have more individuality and more intense
MLK in a skirt! Wonderful (404). What
is funny is that women are more likely to be collectivists and men
individualists—save a Margaret Thatcher or two. Feminism has long promoted its half-baked brew of equality,
while those who promote freedom must stand their ground against them.
Oh, yes, this: “We are ready for female domination from the White
This is a meaningless ambition (405).
Then her misandry really gets the better of her humor, as she says our
first First Man is to be dragged around the White House on a leash (406).
Can you imagine if I were to say the First Lady deserves to be dragged
around the house on a leash? I’m
fucking evil, right? Where did this
feminine evil come from? A dyke
feminist with her mouthful of man-bashing.
You see, you listen for twenty minutes, and then she bears her
colors—as if she hadn’t already.
She gets into the Yale politics of money, and we’ll let that go.
Isn’t it bizarre that she got her degree from Yale, and her first book
was published by Yale, yet she has so many problems with the university.
It seems a lot like her fight with feminism—artificial and hypocritical
in equal measures.
Camille soon rails at women’s studies, which she considers to be a
failure, and she claims was manufactured by men. Is this a joke? Oh,
they put it together out of guilt (407). I
doubt it. Who teaches these
classes? Men? No, the superior woman, yet such creatures of the superior
gender cannot put together their own curriculum.
Camille wants to replace women’s studies with “sex studies,” men
and women in the same program talking to one another. How generic an uninventive.
How about gender studies in which we acknowledge the general tendencies
of men and women—no, too much! Oh,
and gay and straight people would be talking to one another too.
This talking is typical of female professors; they’re all about groups
and consensus. Again her grand theories of bisexuality take a back
seat (408). Science would be the basis of Camille’s prescribed study—of
course, with her pro-feminazi spin.
On to the area of art, a realm in which Camille plays the expert, but is
in point of fact a poseur. So says
she, “So much of art is a record of men’s helpless obsession with woman.”
Yes, Michelangelo comes to mind, along with Oscar Wilde and Tennessee
Williams. But, oh, they’re gay;
they must be obsessed with their mothers (409).
Show me Salvador Dalí’s obsession with women; it’s not there.
He is a flamboyant free spirit, and he knows he is a master of craft,
just as Michelangelo did. If this
theory were true, the artist would never become good at his art.
He’d be too feebly caught in his emotions over the woman of his
obsession to develop his talents. The
old notion of the muses is the obvious source of Camille’s unfounded claim.
Sorry honey bunny, the muse is an arbitrary choice of persona electio.
Next she elaborates on her theory to include modern music, which,
according to her reality-bending mentations, is filled with men’s love of
woman and subordination to her. This
is classic Camille (410). She
states a truth in the same breath as a false claim.
Yes, there are many songs written about women, but this does not
imply or designate that he is subordinated to her.
Just think of Axl Rose, of Layne Staley, both of whom sing of doing
things to women they may not like. What
about the all-too-famous Metallica, who have yet to write a love song—after
thirty years. What about metal music in general? And not your hair metal, lame dame. I guess these are aberrations from her model.
George Michael made a career of seducing stupid women with his songs,
yet, as Nick Cave puts it in one song, he would “crawl over fifty good pussies
just to get one fat boy’s ass hole.” How
about Eminem? Eazy E? What
about the songs of men written by women, which almost invariably display more
obsession? And she says, “the
entire body of popular music.” What
a mujer desesperada. Soon,
the movement toward art is an escape from women’s power.
How many ways does she have to attempt this gimmick?
This grand theory has gone from being the reason men turn gay to the
reason men do everything they do; she is out of material—no new ideas.
Her entire style is an aggregation of grand and unsubstantiable claims.
And she’s far more often wrong than right (411).
What power? If such a power
exist, why does man need to escape it? The
Queen of England, for instance, has more material wealth, and hence power, than
any other woman on earth, yet how much art is a result of a man attempting to
escape her? Were the Sex Pistols,
was Johnny Rotten, obsessed with her? How
about your dear first Secretary, Madam Genocide Hilary Clinton?
This is all so ridiculous. Only
unquestioning dolts would admire your bogus theories.
Then she does it, she mentions a known homosexual, whom I’ve already
mentioned, Michelangelo. Then
Picasso, who it is known liked to use certain women as his muses; but even with
Picasso, your claims do not hold true (412).
Sure, some artists had a love for the female form.
But in older art, pre-Baroque especially, the female form is not even
used on a regular basis; male models substitute for the feminine form.
Show me any proof, by the way, of one obsession Michelangelo had over a
She drags out the “emotional realm,” without taking into account that
such a realm is completely different from men to women (413).
A woman would self-destruct immediately if she were forced to face the
affective realm of men—and probably likewise the other way round.
I’ll throw in a point because she once again brought up, Basic
Instinct, that horrible film for which she recorded a commentary.
This is what she considers art, or should I encapsulate it in quotes?
‘Art.’ On the subject of
‘art’ still, she pulls out Rossetti, the poet and painter, and his
“Idolatry of women.” It is most
hilarious that she would say such of this man, for all of his paintings of women
are depictions of horrible frowning creatures, scowling at posterity, while his
few works of men have a dignity fitting to their subject, especially himself
(414). If one didn’t know better,
for it is known he had some sort of relations with a few of his models, one
would think him a woman-hating homosexual.
And Christina, his sister whom many naturally assume at first was his
wife, also a famous poet, may have as well influenced his view of women. To say the least, none of his female portraits is in the
least attractive, sexually or otherwise. Maybe
he liked fucking contrarian banshees. Yes, there’s the painting of the naked
woman with tits bared that is more attractive, but it’s the exception.
If these nasty, loathsome figures bearing the marks of self-love and
arrogant human disgust are her best example of the “idolatry of women,” she
is desperate for an example of such. It
actually seems that Dante could see through these deplorable women, into the
void where in a man a soul should be. Paglia’s soulless icons of the feminine.
Camille also loves to speak of Hollywood’s glamorous women, but never a
peep about the flamboyant, intelligent, and charming men, whose talent made
those classic movies the gems they are (415).
Really, compare a Cary Grant to her beloved Katherine Hepburn, a Paul
Newman to an Elizabeth Taylor, a Gary Cooper to a Marlene Dietrich.
No, don’t; what use have you for men?
Uh oh, I must be a total fag for liking old movies.
Okay, Camille brings up such a pressing issue, one of inequality.
But, no, it’s not what you think.
Did you know that lady models are paid ten times more than male models?
We must remedy this situation right away.
Oh, that’s right: fashion is an industry aimed at women (and a few gay
men, perhaps). How many male
outfits do these women seek to buy for their boyfriends and husbands?
No, that would be such a waste. You
see, this is a trick question, for it is not in a woman’s nature to be
generous. Anyway, she wants to be
the one to look attractive (416). So,
yes, the female fashion of the season sells at a much higher rate.
Men who want to be suave and look somewhat fashionable will buy a nice
suit, maybe an Armani, if they have the money.
Simple. Problem solved; no
need for legislation. What am I?
A feminist? It’s just a
show, and it’s all for the women. Women need waifish women to show them how fat and
unattractive they are—if only you looked more like a made-up corpse, my
darling. Let us note that “the
idolatry of women” in the fashion world involves women looking at women (417).
If a man wants to get off on an unknown attractive woman, a sexy bitch,
he’ll just watch a porno. How did
Hustler become such a popular publication?
Because men think so highly of the power of women?
The magazine showed fully naked women, and a man could jerk off to it in
the comfort of his home. Again,
simple. Of course, Camille thinks
strippers and, I guess, porn stars have a lot of power over men; if by power you
mean the ability to accumulate money, yes power. But what’s that compared to the power of Budweiser, of
‘liquor salesmen,’ of the makers of shoes and panties and bras?
Lo! I caught her in another
lie. “Most of the world is interested in the sexual beauty of women.”
What about your Greek homoeroticism?
What about Hollywood stars? Why is Krishna depicted as more beautiful
than his female counterparts? Why
did Renaissance painters use virile, masculine men to depict both men and women?
And what about Mapplethorpe, your boy?
Even Camille admits to admiring gay porn. But in the end she wins by losing, for women are so
interested in themselves that the numbers must be skewed in their favor (418).
So feminine narcissism sides with Camille.
Then she brings up men’s fear of women again.
What would a man’s obsession with the female body (and nudity) have to
do with fear? Fascination, sure. But fear? We
have another psychopathic, narcissistic, fascist Freud here; and her theories
are based on . . . you guessed it—nothing!
Camille has no intimate communications with men, so how is it that she
claims to know so much about them?
Paglia namedrops a certain Nancy—a Nancy who? These boots were made for walking—fucking cute!
Nancy Sinatra. And why was she famous?
Oh yeah, Frank (419). But
how proud is Camille of her Nancy? Oh,
it’s so funny in that ‘I’ll let you do your little lady thing’ kind of
But then she calls it a great song. Mistake (420).
And on a related note, Nancy Sinatra on Playboy’s cover
encapsulates her argument for the supremacy of woman over man.
What a weak ending. That’s
all you’ve got, you brainless dyke? But,
thank Jesus, it’s fucking over.
is the time for questions from her audience.
this, she criticizes feminist
male-bashing immediately upon completing this lecture (421).
And again she becomes the spokesperson for the gay culture, despite her
anti-gay views, which are explicit in her theory of bisexuality.
Now, we get her half-view of World War II. She says if America had not intervened Hitler would rule the
world. What a complex view.
Hitler, swears she, was going to run right after Britain after taking
over France. No mention of the
Soviets; did they even exist and take part in the war?
Ever heard of Joseph Stalin (422)? And
Hitler did, after all, have plenty of time to conquer Britain, so why didn’t
he do it? Well, some think that
wasn’t even on the itinerary.
Another example of her speaking too fast for her brain to keep up.
She says her parents gave her and her siblings birth in the late 40’s
and 50’s, when she clearly means in the late 40’s and either during the
50’s or in the early 50’s (423). This is just one of her many weaknesses.
Next we have the cliché, men
don’t know how to express their emotions.
Anybody who says this should read the poetry that exists throughout
history (424). What women really
mean by this is that men do not express feminine emotions, which by their
nature tend to be superficial and passing, and often come out unexamined, which
have little to do with men, although men can express these emotions too. Men’s
emotions involve much reflection and therefore complexity, unless we’re
talking about some sort of immediate anger or its like. If men were more often to express their emotions to women,
women would not recognize those emotions anyway; they would most likely
invalidate them since they are not based in worldly occurrences in particular
and whims more generally.
Camille argues that at one time women were considered too “emotional”
and irrational to have the vote. What’s
interesting about this is that since women have had the vote elections are far
less predictable. Men generally
tend to choose their side. Women,
on the other hand are more likely to vacillate, and this despite the liberal
tendency to defend ‘women’s rights.’
So, often politicians campaign with women in mind, their propaganda aimed
at that vote, that of the more malleable crowd—it’s just easier to sway them
(425), notwithstanding feminist influence.
This old idea that women are excessively emotional is somewhat
half-baked. It is true that women
tend to be extremely reactionary, and prone to outbursts and even outright
hysteria. Women also tend to have a
poor reaction to opposition, to others contradicting them, and especially to
being bested. The fact that female
emotion is its own type of feeling also comes into play here.
The emotionality of women generally lacks the clarity of reflection and
the insight of time’s consideration. As Camille has pointed out, women have
little or no letup from the working of the right brain, whereas men tend to use
one side of the brain at a time, one side reflecting on the other then vice
versa. This may be the reason that
women’s outbursts seem so irrational, and sometimes based on things unfounded.
Women can as well hold a grudge, and even feel the need for revenge, but
it is nothing like the intense and even long-term (sometimes life-long) grudges
born of the male mind. As I may
have mentioned, the notion that ‘women never forget,’ that women tend to
remember quite a bit, especially worldly occurrences and activities, but the
memory is altered by the woman’s sense of her self, her sense of how events
affected her; she cannot normally separate her own reaction from an event, and
therefore lacks objectivity. So, accuracy of memory is another matter of
contention. Anyway, the fact that
Camille relies so heavily on cliché ideas really says something about her
supposed intellectuality (426). She
further gets the idea of female emotions and feelings completely wrong, claiming
for women “an emotional understanding.”
No, ‘emotional interference’ would be a
more apt phrase (427), once again considering that thought is constantly
clouded by feeling. Emotional
understanding and maturity, even the power of self-control (and therefore
control of ones environment) is more of a man’s achievement.
We could return to the reason women cry so much and so easily, but I
think I’ve covered this quite thoroughly.
Further digging herself into her own grave, she declares that the “male
shaman” would attempt to go into hysterical states, when in fact the shaman
attempts to go into the very masculine intuitive state.
You see, I may have failed to mention that intuition is a more manly
attribute; men can cultivate it, while women can rarely even access it
temporarily; indeed women tend to substitute a sort of whimsical version of this
attribute, a ‘feeling’ about things that comes not from a higher state of
mind but from a pre-established sense of the way things are or should be. We
almost have an opposite here (428). Those
women who actually have cultivated intuition in a meaningful way are most likely
shunned by the general female population, anathema and alien, with concerns that
are vastly foreign to what is normally considered feminine.
And, probably out of a sense of communion and commiseration, Camille
celebrates a female student’s violent display brought on by hysteria.
The idea that she actually advocates female violence while feminism
criminalizes male violence just points to the double-standards and defaming of
all things masculine Camille shares with her fellow feminists (429).
Then she throws a wrench into the works, claiming “Too much empathy at
the top is going to paralyze a nation.” Oh
my, lucky for us empathy is a trait more common to men than women and
psychopaths. Yes, Camille, women
should have no problem there (430). What’s
the difference between the psychopathic leader who gives the smiling thumbs-up
to the massacre of millions of innocents and the chick who works as his right
hand—also smiling about the matter?
I’ll here reignite a bomb. Through my own experience, I have found that
the closest being to the woman, in terms of sensibilities and social functioning
in general, is the psychopath. Since
we’re talking women we maybe should use the less harsh term for the type,
sociopath. And what is worse, there
are actual female psycho- or sociopaths under every other rock.
Back to Camille’s question and answer period, she tends to have
difficulty answering the actual question that is asked her (431).
She instead goes straight into some branch of her well-trod spiel.
Yet she’s this type that would think woman the better listener, or even
Hah! A megalomania alert! She considers herself a “visionary.” (432)
To make everything connect more clearly, Camille is completely oblivious
to the most likely conspiracy of her beloved feminism (433).
To once again risk repeating, it is simply a ploy to get women into the
workforce. After World War II, when
women took the place of many men in factories and in various other workplaces,
capitalist leaders realized that there could possibly be a workforce twice as
large, with twice the ability to produce, twice the ability to earn, and the
opportunity for the government to earn twice the tax money.
In addition, children are raised by the state, indoctrinated into the
system, and sent on their way as loyal subjects.
They are herded into workplaces to replace the old, to outdo their
parents; they become as well reliable taxpayers.
Funny that I went in this direction because the next gem out of her mouth
is that only Western capitalism has given birth to feminism—yet she’s still
oblivious—in fact that’s a good epithet for her general mindset, oblivious
(434). You see, now feminism has
extended itself to various places across the globe, though its stranglehold can
only be felt in Western nations still. Why
does Camille have no insight into the workings of feminism?
Why has she no insight in general? Oh, yes, that’s right. She’s a . .
Again, Paglia patronizes men for their industrial usefulness.
‘Oh, you helpful working class stiffs!’
Please, Camille, extend your thanks to every area under the fucking sun,
you ingenuous bitch (435).
Camille goes on to describe “bad capitalism,” which just happens to
be the capitalism we have in the good old USA (436). You don’t have to be a communist to smell the capitalist
flatulence that issues from our shores. Yet
Camille obliviously continues as if in a foreign land.
And, to make matters much worse, she mentions that greatest of oxymorons,
business ethics! Please dear (437), shut it!
The computer has “equalized” the male and female contribution to
middle class work, i.e. office and professional work . As if there were some
great physical barrier for women before computers in these fields (438).
Again, her dull-witted audience fails to cogitate.
She just said something that makes no sense, and they smile. Please, I
can’t be the only one capable of thought on this little planet.
I pray for a more intelligent audience than hers.
An audience of even one such fellow would do. And to add to her flagrant
stupidity—for that’s what it is—she proclaims that this supposed
equalizing is a form of “castration” for men (439).
What does it take to be a Paglia? Hey
you. Yeah you, the smirking dyke
with the microphone. You are a
brainless cunt. Imagine the
pre-computer woman office worker dragging a box of copy machine paper across the
carpet. My goodness!
Thank the god of high-tech for the computer—oh, she still has to drag
the box. Um, yeah . . .
In the home stretch here I may as well open the gates to Hell.
Paglia, ever incited to another grand claim: Since she works in
Philadelphia, she is more in tune with the working class (440).
What kind of silly bourgeois party chatter comment is this?
Balderdash! It’s one thing
to occasionally see others performing manual labor, another to engage in the
work or to engage the workers in conversation.
Then one of the questioners is obviously a product of Paglia’s arrogant
reformed feminism. She is a
man-hating, patronizing bitch who needs her bourgeois teeth knocked in by an
Archie Bunker or a Ralph Kramden. She
shares Paglia’s sense of entitlement and her outright megalomania. Great work, Prof (441).
Oh, here we go with the fantasy of prostitution.
To Paglia the prostitute is the ultimate symbol of liberated sexuality.
Now, boys, when do you think the last time Camille visited a prostitute
was? And did the pair smoke crack
from the same pipe, shoot up with the same needle, or were they practicing
safe-sex behavior? Women’s lib
now involves the sale of her body (442). Good
one. And the Hillside Stranglers
were advocates of men’s lib—I already imparted that one?
By definition, because they are all based in distant history, all of
Paglia’s ideas are outdated. Brothels,
yes they exist where now? Thailand
and Las Vegas? Most of the whores
are on the streets, you dull and clueless wretch (443).
And speaking for myself, I wouldn’t touch your beacons of liberation to
save my life (reversal of reality). No,
what is even worse—as usual—she is now talking about the
“street-walking” prostitute. How
sick is this? Then she mentions the
drug addictions of the street walkers, but she has to resort to history to
pretty up the situation. A trip
through the prostitution of the past, then we are back to contemporary times.
She describes a prostitute in Philadelphia whom she sees as a sort of
classy goddess! She glibly throws
out the bathwater to save her baby. And
what a godlike baby it is (444). Would
Camille have sex with this woman? Of
course not, but that’s beside her narrow point.
An intelligent young lady in the audience displays a small hint of
insight (beware!) into the fashion industry, noting that the designers choose
boyish-looking women, tall and slender (flesh and bone) with no tits, as if an
extension of the homoerotic. Then Paglia, in a fervor of glee, congratulates gay
men (whom she delegitimizes, as we know ) for their contribution to the
fashion industry. She effectively
nullifies the young lady’s concerns by contradicting them.
In the late 60’s, says she, the fashion magazines were the cutting-edge
of female change. A fantasy world, yes (446).
The model, she says triumphantly, as if to negate everything she’s ever
said, is a mere clothes hanger (447). Now
isn’t that empowering; these goddesses of glamour seem to be more mannequin
than sovereign. Their Providence,
it would seem, lies in their wooden character.
Then she contradicts what she just said, as her audience fails to note,
claiming, “Great fashion models are not merely physical beings.”
They are, according to the great prestidigitationist, actresses,
mimes—they are choreographed (448). And
here someone gave me the idea that they were clothes hangers—who was that? Oh yes, the wonderful continuum on which the past, even the
immediate past, disappears as if it never were; two things contradictory can be
true, just not at the same time. The
world of the woman. The fact that
she hasn’t transcended these feminine limitations points one to the level of
her dialogue; how much you are not, Paglia.
Here’s a strange one. According to our Camille, world-oriented people
(which, as we know, would equal women, for the most part) misunderstand fashion.
They must be visually educated—one supposes by one of her feminist
death squads. These people have
“a puritanical inability to deal with the lurid image.”
Her use of the term lurid makes one wonder if she doesn’t mean
to use a better term. The lurid image, yes I love the lurid image.
Let us look through the Merriam-Webster to better understand:
a : causing horror or revulsion : gruesome
: melodramatic, sensational; also : shocking <paperbacks in the usual lurid
covers — T. R. Fyvel>
a : wan and ghastly pale in appearance
: of any of several light or medium grayish colors ranging in hue from yellow to
shining with the red glow of fire seen through smoke or cloud
One supposes she’s intending definition 1:b.
So, how is one visually educated to better understand the melodramatic,
the sensational, the shocking? The
first is understandable, but how are we to be trained to expect the sensational
and shocking; obviously, if we were educated in it, if we were expecting it, it
would no longer be sensational or shocking (449). Thanks for clearing that up, Merriam-Webster.
And why would word-oriented people have trouble understanding fashion?
Are not those who write of fashion word-oriented?
You need to try to make sense, against your every inclination.
She compares herself to Andy Warhol, as if that were a good thing (450).
Then goes back to fashion: “Works of art for the masses: that’s
what’s going on in these fashion magazines.”
Okay. Then she shifts to gay
men and their eye and talent (you know why: 451).
Then she actually brings in her theory of why they’re gay: their
relationship with the mother, of course, “whether it’s fear and awe, love
and devotion, whatever it is . . .”
Now how would love and devotion to ones mother send someone
gay? Are you saying no straight man
has love and devotion for his mother? Fear?
Awe? I’m afraid of my
mother, so I want a big cock in my mouth (452).
But somehow men—oh, sorry, gay men (452)—have known how to make women
look their best. She essentially says her questioner doesn’t enjoy the
fashion industry because of her indoctrination into anti-fashion.
What an argument (453). Truism?
Here answer is really that something is wrong with the young lady who presented
the problem. Yet, in a way, she
affirmed what they young lady was saying: gay men use women who look like boys
to express a variation on homoeroticism (454).
But Camille is not done. As
she would have it, gay men since the French Revolution have been making women
look good. (Again she worships men
she cannot even validate, these anomalies: 455).
She probably doesn’t remember the parameters of the original young
lady’s concern, for she has accidentally confirmed everything the girl said.
Oh! She moves on to an example of herself behaving violently toward a man
who offered her his chivalry (456). Why
does she feel it’s alright for her to behave violently toward men?
As an important note, Camille is far more immature than the student
speakers who follow her, all of whom are quite reasonable, questioning the
silliness of the entire proposition that women are superior to men. She is also less clever and less humorous, not to mention
deficient in self-reflection. She
just rides on her hauteur and fame (457).
She makes and incredible (literally, incredible) and unfounded claim:
“All of the romance has gone out of sexual relations.”
Now you can respond to this on your own, by I know it not to be true for
myself, and I’m verging on a fucking sadist (458). But we must remember that
this is coming from a militant dyke, so she would know this to be true—for
herself. Poor loveless Camille.
Camille then declares that chivalric ideas are based on the idea of women
on a pedestal. I love how simple
her notions of her world are. And
she wants you to share her poorly thought ideas.
Chivalry goes back to a time when women were considered the lesser sex to
such a degree that we could not understand it with any modern reference.
She also doesn’t mention the differences that exist among the classes;
the working class broad is far less dainty than her bourgeois or aristocratic
counterpart. Yes, chivalry is an
act of love or care, maybe even general politeness. But to make this proof of
the godliness of women, as she really wishes to do, is ridiculous (459).
I do not let you go before me in line at the coffee shop because I place
you in a heavenly light; I am merely being kind and hoping to make you feel good
about yourself. Yes, we know that women like these sorts of things, and some
of us enjoy making others happy—maybe it’s the feminine in us—or rather
something of the flamboyant, that androgynous quality.
Another claim that holds no verity.
“Sex for young people in the 90’s is getting more and more boring.”
What would she know about this? Is
she conducting studies? No, she’s
having boring sex with “young people.”
Again, true for Camille, not for everybody (460).
Then back to the homosexed. She
says there’s more homosexuality (461) because of the lack of sexual romance
(462). Do I need to explain my
critique of this poor use of logic? Okay,
I will. First, there is no proof
that homosexuality is on the increase. Second,
again this lack of romance is a dreamt up idea that lacks foundation.
Is she again talking about herself?
Is she going dyke because her relations with men (all in her mind, of
course) are less romantic than they once were?
Her male fantasies are in decline. All
of these phantasms of the male sex are getting too forceful and demanding.
Let’s take a moment to let her feel the shame she is incapable
of—damned narcissism! The ghost
of premature ejaculation.
Camille notes that the working class is sizzling with sexuality.
What she does not seem to know is that her feminist laws, man-hating,
hetero-hating, family-hating, are fucking with the lives and sex of these people
(463). Then she reflects that the
poor middle class men suffer the brunt of feminist nastiness.
(Wrong! Everybody does, and most of all men.)
In the working class a gender war was introduced into their midst by
feminism, involving arrests (mostly bogus in nature), restraining orders, and
child custody suits that always favor the woman.
A woman can physically assault a man, and he can be sent to jail because
of it. Disgusting, you overrated twat!
For a while she repeats her canned spiel, so we’ll skip it.
And this, she thinks women are too stable and see the world too
realistically to be either great at something or be horrid rapists and murderers
(464). More excuses for female
mediocrity; some day women are going to have to man it up a bit, and not by
putting on a macho hauteur and eating pussy.
Woman are less stable than men, and surely do not see the world more
realistically. These are ridiculous
claims, and they’re made to excuse the mediocrity of women.
Tears, childish rages, and hysterics are regular activities of which sex?
Women do see the world more materialistically, if that’s what you’re
Now a point for Camille’s lack of artistic taste (465). Sappho, when viewed from the present, is not very impressive.
Try reading some Sylvia Plath. Have
a laugh at the expense of the lesser sex with Jane Austin.
Read a book, lady. Go meet a
neuroscientist. Get it right!
She actually claims that a “deformation of the brain” is responsible
for genius (466). Is this her last
desperate attempt to excuse women from responsibility for their mediocrity?
This is such a groundless and idiotic notion that she deserves an
Then she bemoans so very ingenuously the price children have paid for the
professional success of women (467). Yet
she wouldn’t have it any other way. Camille gives not a shit for children.
Still on the subject of children, she actually proclaims that infants
don’t like men (468). This coming
from a woman of experience with both infants and men, right?
What a windbag, and an unfuckable hag only a lesbian would kiss.
I and many others know this to be untrue.
Now, if she said teenagers don’t like overbearing and hysterical
mothers, I would agree.
Here she goes into feminist family-hating.
She claims the nuclear family was never meant to be.
To her, the extended family was better (469).
Yes, that and the ‘government family’ that raises the kids thanks to
feminism. Then she claims that working class Americans still have
extended families. Again she’s
living in the past (470), more to the point, her own past.
Then she contradicts one of her earlier statements or claims. She admits
to a possible future without maternal birthing.
Oh, I thought the man was just a brief ejaculator with no bearing on
birth, a “pin prick”; now the woman is not even that (471).
But she was just joking before, right?
No. Just face the facts of
this nature that you claim so much to love.
A man and a woman are involved in making babies.
Yes, sometimes men have sex with men and women with women, but when it
comes to reproduction, a man inserts his penis in the vagina of his woman and
hopefully both have an orgasm or two before the man ejaculates into the
woman’s vagina—and if it is the proper time of the month, the woman may get
pregnant, and even then there are no guarantees.
That’s your Sex 101 for the day, Doctor.
So, until we start cloning ourselves, and by that time you’ll be dust,
we need both a man and a woman to make children.
And sorry to burst your hymen, but it is generally agreed that it is best
for a child to have two parents, one of whom spends most of her time taking care
of the child during its early stages of life.
You see, the problem with her concern over childcare (and children
growing up neglected and under-loved) is that there is only one obvious answer.
Mothers must be mothers. But
as a feminist, and a militant lesbian, she would never admit to the
conspiratorial side of feminism (a capitalist creation to get more workers and
tax money and to indoctrinate your children).
No excuses can get around the need for parenting.
This is actually why some of us, wrapped up in our personal endeavors, do
not have children; we know that it will take up the majority of our time and
Oh, how tiring: men’s attempt to escape the mother goddess over their
shoulder. If this is true why does
it strike me as a total fiction? I
have good relations with my mother; I have no fear of her, I do not overestimate
her, nor do I worship her; she, in the end, turned out to be a loving and caring
parent. Because I have had no real
escape from women, as you intimate I wish to have, I can speak of them with some
degree of confidence, all based in experience and insight into that experience.
I love women. I wouldn’t
want them to be like men. I do not
turn to women generally for rational insight, for reasonable argument, for their
reflection or emotional stability. One
does not always desire these things; if he did, he would most likely live as a
hermit. This, I think, is why
Camille never mentions Cindy Lauper; because, actually, not just in song, girls
just want to have fun (472). And
notice she says, girls. Many women
refer to each other as girls, especially when around one another, in a group of
women. It’s a tacit admission of
the lack of rites of passage, a lack of a certain break.
It’s the Peter Pan thing, you know; girls, women, want eternal youth.
Speaking for myself, I would never want to return to my youth, nor to my
teen years, nor to my twenties, and I’ll say the same in ten years about my
thirties. Women want not just eternal youth, but freedom from the
constraints (and many they are) that men take for granted.
Here’s one to remember. Because
Camille knows that we know she has no regular contact with men, she claims to
understand male psychology by looking into the eyes of her male students, a
claim so magical that only a childish woman would make it (473). She also claims that in five minutes you can get any man to
admit to woman’s superiority (474). Yes,
this is some sort of New Age magic show. What
kind of man do you speak of, Camille? One chained in your basement with a knife at his throat?
This idea that women control men (and are superior to them) is
Camille’s wet dream. I suggest
that this cock-hungry dyke just pay up and get fucked; I’m sure her rent-boy
would even allow her to call him names if she paid enough.
Notice that she never says anything about a woman salivating over a big
ol’ cock. Nope, that would be an
admission of male sexual power, and Camille is oblivious to such complements.
Yes, men lust for women, and women lust for men.
Got it? No, she doesn’t. She
mentions the inane five minute mark again (475).
But it gets weirder. She
believes in polygamy. Why? Perhaps
she’d marry a man to get her tongue on his wives, to make harvest of his
Camille then ‘admits’ we have a system in which divorce is a rule.
But she, of course, never connects that up with feminism and its baleful
effects (476). Was there some other
family-destroying ideology that brought this about?
She actually claims that men have gained from the divorce epidemic.
Is she lost to reality or what? Yes,
alimony, child support, never seeing (or rarely seeing) your children or fucking
your wife, but paying for them all to live.
Yeah, men love to pay all the bills for the families stolen from them.
Now she mentions in a celebratory tone a woman who killed her husband and
his lover for his having left her (477). What
a fanatical hypocrite. I’m sure
she celebrates every time a woman drowns her children or cuts off her
husband’s penis. Female
psychopathy is entertaining to this psycho.
Then she gets to the reason for her love of polygamy, the reconstructing
of the extended family. This is the
waste product of a demented mind. She
really does hate men though—no, she just doesn’t give a damn about them
Soon she begins bemoaning the fact that women lose status with age.
As if men gain it! Yes, if you’re filthy rich.
Without the banks full of your own money, the you as a man also lose
Now, we approach the touchy subject of feminism offering a legal service
to women of other cultures. Is it
interfering with the culture? She’s
too dimwitted to see this (480).
And her theories of crime and criminals is seriously uninformed. Her
idea that the dainty women don’t commit crimes is horribly wrong.
There are so many crime shows on television and so many books on the
subject that it is just lazy to blindly theorize (481).
Then the talk of male sexuality. Why
does she even talk about male sexuality? It
has nothing to do with you (482). And
she has no experience with it. Her
talk of men is even more flawed than a gay man’s talk of women, for the gay
man still interacts with women. Not
Camille, only students light her mind with masculine ideas.
She is clearly a full-blown lesbian. Then she admits that she has tried
to hit on men, but she’s had horrible problems in that department. Revealing
(483). What a way to end her
talk of superiority over men. I
told you she’s cock-hungry—and she’ll die that way.
Paglia com Marcia Tibun e Guntar Axt, na FLIPORTO
(I may have this last video title wrong. I
only use it because she is 63 years old at the time of taping.)
Camille boasts of being the first openly gay student at Yale. Perhaps she’s given up the ghost of her old theories, but I
doubt it (484). Then she makes a
bizarre declamation, that nobody was interested in sex before her (485).
She then walks over old ground, Hollywood and bisexuality, then the first
dyke at Yale thing again. Then she
claims again that professors damaged the young ladies they had affairs
with—remember that she only has relations with women far her junior, young
enough to be her children (486). Don’t
you like that a professor hitting on his graduate students is demeaning while
prostitution is not (487)?
She serves up her ingenuous talk of female responsibility—there’s no
need for the laws (488). The lie
lives. Nature and pantheism,
dressing up, gay men, Marlene Dietrich, and Baudelaire (489). And gay men’s love of movie stars, female stars in
particular (490). Yes, gay men saw
the drag queen essence of Hollywood starlets, specifically Dietrich. She doesn’t like what she calls the new “androids” of
Hollywood, Lady Gaga and the superhero women in modern movies. I agree with her here. Then
she uses drag performance pejoratively, using to describe women ‘acting’
sensual without properly expressing it (491).
This must not be the “pro-drag queen” Camille.
Paglia then gives us a theory that Marlene Dietrich modeled herself on
the Witch Queen of Snow White. This
is what happens when senile academics start commenting on every little thing.
They let their book-encapsulated imaginations go foolishly into every
little realm (492).
And the moment Camille became a lesbian, while watching Showboat,
a scene with Ava Gardner. Yet she
extends her Ava lore to include Frank Sinatra’s blues and heartache, which
came from the way Ava dumped him (493), another silly claim by an academic bored
of books. But there’s more Ava
lore. You see, she was part black, through her father’s side says one clueless
source on the internet. Another
source, far more reliable, claims that her father was a devout Irish Catholic
and “a bigot who hated niggers.” But,
to explain Camille’s delusion, the idea comes from the movie already
mentioned, Showboat, in which Ava plays a mulatto whose identity is not
at first revealed (494). Show me a
quote of Ava saying she’s part black, and I’ll believe you.
You’d think that someone who lived a full life would at some point
admit to her heritage, and indeed she most likely did: She’s the daughter of a
racist Irish Catholic.
Her mythological view of things is interesting, even enticing.
A liar who loves myth? What
are the odds?
She says it’s nature that caused the ‘imbalance’ that forces women
to be maternal. No, it is feminism
that forced an imbalance in what was already established by nature (495).
She says, it’s an issue for feminism around the world, whatever this
By now we’ve heard Camille speak of her working class Italian-American
background. One thing she’s loath
to mention is that her father too was a professor. She leaves this out usually, a lie by omission (496).
She talks of a restraining order as a “challenge.”
How often does a man consider a restraining order a challenge?
Rarely, no doubt. Perhaps in cases of profound psychosis (497).
On the subject, she finally admits that men in America do not consider
violence against women to be okay. What
she fails to mention is that many women consider violence against men to be
perfectly acceptable (498). Now she
complains about the cliché sexual comments of construction workers toward
women. I thought that was a part of
why women were superior, their power over men.
And what about your great relations with the working class of
Philadelphia, Camille (499)? She’s
proud that feminists managed to arrange it so that construction companies that
hire such workers get no government contracts.
More legislation! What a two-faced bitch (500).
She continues, complaining about how degrading it felt to be treated like
a “piece of meat.” What about
the power of prostitutes and drag queen feminism?
Do you think drag queen would complain about this?
Really, at this point, Camille is so unattractive that not even an old
crack head would ogle her. Just more ingenuousness (501).
Again with Madonna, who was a “whole new path for feminism.”
No. Before Madonna, girls
and women were already rejecting your sexless feminist hoopla, this tired
ideology of an outdated generation or four.
They were wearing makeup, dressing up, doing their hair, and acting
girly. Madonna brought nothing new,
except maybe an act or two of sacrilege toward the Catholic church (502).
Then she pulls out 15-20 years worth of canned stories. She really stopped thinking of new ideas long before this
Now, coming toward out ending, I’ll take a controversial view.
She says, “Art is not propaganda.”
It’s only propaganda under Hitler and Stalin.
I would argue that propaganda is constantly coming out of Hollywood.
Many artists turn their works into propaganda. Even non-political artists engaged in propaganda.
Michelangelo painted propaganda for the church.
In medieval times, the same thing. Greek
and Roman art was so much propaganda for religion, politics, and ideologies
(503). Yes, not so controversial
For no apparent reason Camille brings up gay men again. They were, she says, connoisseurs of the arts.
Then gay men loved pornography. What
is this, really? Both statements
are bold exaggerations. Many gay
men care nothing of the arts and do not like pornography (504).
Camille then confesses not to know why lesbians fall prey to ideologies,
agendas, theories, personal anger, and psychological turmoil. Sounds like she’s having dating issues. But a simple answer to her confusion is that these lesbians
are women who spend their time in the company of women, thus increasing the
female nature of everything they do. Then
add feminism, and you have a bloody mess (505).
But Camille claims in her eleventh hour that she took the gay male view
of beauty and of art. As if there
were such a view (506). Then on to
more canned stories with slight variations and less than notable additions.
And our primary source of disinformation, Camille, complains of bad
information on the internet (507).
The French language, we are told, was limited by Racine. But what about those that came between then and more recent
times? What about Baudelaire,
Rimbaud, Verlaine, Corbière, Mallarmé, Apollinaire, Claudel, Valéry, and
Jacob? What about the Dadaists and
Surrealists? Your hated
philosophers were not the first to use more modern language (508). But she continues, calling the Post-Structuralists vandals
(509) with no elaboration.
Then she betrays what an old codger she had become, offering that
“Students know nothing.” No,
Camille, stupid students know nothing, possibly your students.
Then we get old Harold Bloom as a “visionary rabbi,” who is
“prophetic.” If he were
‘prophetic’ he would certainly have better understood literature.
I mean, come on, The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry?
More like a groper for aesthetic understanding (510).
Says Camille, Nobody ever asks of an applicant for a job how scholarly is
this person. What about professors?
Nobody cares about their scholarship?
What a matter of controversy.
And it’s over. Thank the
Lord. Now the torch is dropped in
my petroleum pond; my ship is sunk.
Yes, after all of the nonsense I’ve waded through, it should be known
to all that Camille Paglia is an intellectual fraud.
Now, I doubt that makes her an academic fraud, but it certainly puts her
in her place among thinkers. She is
not sane, she is not insightful, she is not intelligent, she is not any kind of
authority. If you don’t believe
me after all of this, I’ll convince you yet.
You may be offended over my delineating the qualities of the female mind
in relation to that of the male mind. But
where is your theory? Where is
Camille’s? Why is this such an
untouched area? Why are you all so
frightened? Come out and show
(I thank Knut Nordson for his invaluable assistance in completing this essay.)
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