End justifies means when women use sex to get what they want
Phung, my roommate, and I are in the longest line, waiting to be
admitted to that den of drinking, that hotbed of hedonism, the
headquarters of collegiate alcohol consumption we all know and love
 Maloney’s On Campus (parenthetically  literally Â
why is it called Maloney’s On Campus? It isn’t on campus Â
it’s in Westwood). Not only is the aforesaid line unbelievably
long, it’s as stagnant as still water in August (which is also, I
believe, the title of an obscure Tennessee Williams play). We’ve
been here 20 minutes without visible change in status. Precious
minutes of the first weekend following The Five Sacred Days of
Unending Mental Anguish and Unspeakable Psychological Torment
 a.k.a. finals  are tick, tick-tocking away. More
critically, my coif has collapsed. Girls, you know what I’m talking
about. It doesn’t matter how high your hair is when you leave the
house: something in the air between your bathroom and your
destination negates whatever power that Aqua Net Extra Hold ever
held.
Phung is on her tiptoes, trying to see over the heads of the 50
million alcohol-starved youths in front of us in a futile attempt
to assess the likelihood of our being admitted before last
call.
"Who’s working the door?"
"The girl."
"Damn." Yeah, you read that right. I, Jessica Morgan, daughter
of the ultra-liberal, graduate of the pro-woman Westridge School
for Girls, vocal proponent of both the Equal Rights Amendment and a
woman’s right to choose, admit a willingness to use what feminine
wiles I possess (some would venture to suggest that I possess not
one iota of feminine charm. Some would regret such a statement) in
the name of gaining entrance to that bar! By the way  I’m not
always like this: relentlessly, voraciously, cold-bloodedly (is
that a word?) scratching and clawing my way into the various bars,
pool halls and establishments of sin and debauchery which mark Los
Angeles as a city in which vice triumphs over virtue. I’d had a
long week.
I used to have qualms about utilizing my femininity to get what
I want, but I’m over it. In fact, the practice has become the
shining jewel at the center of my own manifesto. I call it Creative
Feminism, AKA I’m-A-Feminist-When-It-Suits-My-Purpose Feminism.
Basically, if a situation arises in which it is necessary to
reassert my feminist viewpoint  in cases of sexual
harassment, for example  no problems. But if being female
actually helps my cause  as in the Maloney’s scenario (if it
had been a guy working the door, mind you) Â then so be
it.
Let’s face it: this society has reached the point at which
militant feminism serves no purpose other than to alienate both men
and those from whom feminists need the most support  other
women. The feminist movement has succeeded to a large extent; women
are a hell of a lot better off now than they were 35 years ago.
Extremism’s efficacy has expired. Unfortunately, the extremism that
was necessary 30 years ago tainted social perceptions of feminism
to the point that many women now hesitate to identify themselves as
feminists for fear of being labeled militant man-haters. It’s your
proverbial catch-22 situation: despite the wish of these women to
distance themselves from that negative image, they have also been
taught to regard feminism as the proverbial sacred cow and as such,
many of them  myself included  hesitate to question its
validity in this day and age. We don’t want to say that we are
feminists, but neither are we willing to renounce it
completely.
Some would argue that it has to be one way or the other; you’re
a feminist, or you’re not. But let’s be reasonable here: simply
stating that militant feminism no longer seems necessary is not
tantamount to proclaiming that men are in every way superior to
women and returning to the era of housecoats and horse-drawn
carriages. Women have achieved a measure of equality, if not always
in theory, at least in practice. In other words, our society has
evolved to the point that a man who truly believes himself to be
superior to women simply by virtue of his own masculinity probably
knows enough to keep his Neanderthal ideas to himself. And if he
doesn’t, no one will blame you if you slug him.
Look, the time of militant feminism has past. Its job here is
done. Women have moved on to a tactic which I think most of us have
been practicing all along: using a combination of feminist ideals
and the advantages that come with being female (i.e. flirting with
the bouncer to get into a bar for free) to get what we want. Yes,
viola! Creative Feminism in a nutshell. It sounds manipulative. It
sounds low and unfair and hypocritical. But it works … (this is
the part where I burst into maniacal laughter. Do you have any idea
how hard it is to represent in words the sound of maniacal
laughter? I don’t even know where to begin.)
Frankly, I think men are more confused about what women want
than ever before. Should they open the door for us? Will we kick
them in the face if they refer to us as girls? Will their wives
want to take their name? If they don’t, what will they call the
kids? It’s not like we women have some big convention every year,
decide on the rules for the upcoming fiscal year and then publish
‘The Official Social Guide to Women 1996/97.’ So men are confused,
and I say "good." Such confusion is the cornerstone of Creative
Feminism. The more confused the men of this country are, the easier
they are to manipulate (and come on, this is no revelation. We all
know manipulation is the name of the game. Refer to the previous
paragraph if you don’t believe me). The more easily they are
manipulated, the more likely it is that we’ll get what we want
 whatever it is that we want.
For example, I don’t want to kill the cockroach in my bathtub
(It’s not that I couldn’t do it, it’s that cockroaches are really
gross.), so I make my roommate’s boyfriend do it. He’s heard me
pontificate on the rights of women in this society and the horrible
specter of sexism which haunts each and every one of us until our
lives become a waking nightmare of offense and innuendo Â
sorry, I got a bit carried away. Where was I? OK, so he knows I’m
not into being subservient. But would he dare to call me on it?
Would he say to me, "If you’re such an independent woman why don’t
you kill the bug?" No, he would not. He kills the bug. See, this is
a textbook example of the way in which women get what they want by
maintaining a constant state of confusion in the men around them.
Men are traditionally supposed to do the bug-killing, the heavy
lifting, the trash taking-out. Feminism as a movement has made no
moves to reclaim these duties for women. There have been no rallies
in regards to a Woman’s Right to Carry a Refrigerator Up Three
Flights of Stairs. Men still feel socially obligated to do these
manly type things. If The Roommate’s Boyfriend (who shall remain
nameless, not to protect him, but to keep his ego in check) makes
me kill the bug, he’ll feel like a sissy. If he does it, he might
not enjoy it, but at least he’s fulfilling his role in American
society.
The fact that I had the man in the house kill the bug doesn’t
make me weak; it makes me resourceful. Wrangling my way into
Maloney’s on a busy night (and we didn’t get in that night, by the
way) doesn’t make me a traitor to the cause; it makes me smart.
Women need to use their femininity to their own advantage as much
as possible  it’s rarely been an advantage in the past.
Perhaps it sounds like I’m advocating manipulation. Advocating is
too strong a word. I’m merely … suggesting that we women Â
and girls  consider utilizing Creative Feminism from time to
time. If you want to look at it in sort of a women’s studies sort
of way, think of it as revenge. Men have been having their own way
for centuries. Isn’t it about time we did the same? And if the
methods are perhaps a wee bit suspect … well, that’s what makes
it fun.
Morgan is a third-year English/American studies student.
PATRICK LAM/Daily Bruin
With Morgan’s theory of Creative Feminism, women can and should
use their femininity to get what they want, such as gaining
admission into a bar.
Men are traditionally supposed to do the bug-killing, the heavy
lifting, the trash taking-out. Feminism as a movement has made no
moves to reclaim these duties for women.