Whiny Bitch Privilege (How Slate Became the Little Spoon)
Maybe you’ve heard of a recent Slate article, in which the writer rails against the horrible evils of spooning. This writer is suffering through a year-long separation from his partner, and while soul-searching his loneliness realized he was wrong to miss spooning. I’ve always loved spooning; my wife has a great butt, and I fall asleep every night pressed against it. But this Slate writer informs me I was wrong to enjoy this; apparently, spooning is practically a form of physical torture.
“After about 10 minutes, spooning becomes horribly uncomfortable…
And even if you do manage to sort out a configuration that works (for a time), the heat—the hateful, pajama-soaking heat—will soon build to intolerable levels.”
I had no idea I was suffering so badly the last twenty-two years. Crazy me, I actually thought I enjoyed holding my wife close every night. But not only was I suffering, I was sinking into a horrible moral quagmire.
“If the argument against spooning were only a physical one, I would not feel so strongly…But there’s a deeper issue here, a troubling aspect of spooning that emerges in the dimension of ideology, of what it all means.”
And what does spooning mean? Sexism, of course. And shocking cultural privilege. And, as an added bonus, violence.
“Big spoons are manly and will take care of you (provided you let them use you to take care of themselves); little spoons are fragile, passive creatures that need to be held and kept safe. This, of course, is fundamentally a sexist arrangement, one that casts the big spoon as ‘the man’ and the little spoon as ‘the woman.’ To say that this power imbalance is built into all acts of spooning—whichever the sexes engaged—is not, I think, an overstatement. Indeed, I would argue that spooning is always already a power play, a perverse strategy by which we nightly enact the unjust relations of ‘big’ and ‘little’ privilege that plague our society on every level…Vertical cuddling…removes much of the risk of physical discomfort and all of the semiotic violence that spooning conveys.”
That’s right. I’ve been inflicting violence on my wife all these years. And not just violent violence. Semiotic violence. Which I think means, like, really bad violence.
To be fair, this article hasn’t been well received even by regular Slate readers. Despite the strong backlash, Slate hasn’t pulled the article or deleted the approximately 500 negative comments (out of approximately 500 total comments). And the author surprisingly didn’t mention racism, the old Slate standby, in his article. Maybe it was an editorial oversight.
One or two Slate commenters have asserted the article was satire. Sounds like wishful thinking to me. In the recent past, Slate published the ridiculous rant of a man who hates himself for enjoying grilling, because grilling is stereotypically masculine. So no, it’s not likely this article was a joke. And if Slate claims it was? Sorry, bro. Calling this article satire is like writing a “satirical” article about Ben Carson believing evolutionary science comes from the devil. Fact isn’t satire.
Trust me, I wanted it to be satire. As I read the article I searched for humor/irony/sarcasm, found nothing to smile at, and instead felt a wide range of other emotions. They weren’t solely along the lines of “is this dude serious?” What I felt was more like hatred, pity, mildly homicidal rage, more pity, immeasurable disgust, bemusement…and, eventually, gratitude.
Yes, gratitude. Slate, which has published numerous ridiculous, moronic, “help help, I’m being repressed!” articles over the years, actually did something good this time. They thought they were identifying yet another unforgivable inequality of modern society; what they actually did was collect, in one place, every reason we should despise the Far Left.
The Far Left is personified by the hand-wringing, hysterical little twit of a Slate writer quaking with outraged moral indignation over the way I sleep with the woman I love. He embodies the Far Left’s Desperate Desire to be Offended. Like all leftist extremists, he assumes his beliefs are morally superior to evil spooners (i.e., all regular people). He showcases the mix of arrogance, hypersensitivity, and urge to control others that marks the cult of the Far Left.
Don’t get me wrong. The Far Right pisses me off A LOT. But if, say, a scrawny criminal attacked me with a knife in a subway train, at least conservatives would likely take action to save my life. Far Left Beta males would not only flee in terror, they’d post online about how they feel justified in refusing to risk their own lives to save an innocent man.
Slate’s article makes me grateful I was raised around men – some conservative, some liberal, but all actual men – who worked hard, crafted valuables with their own hands, killed and ate animals, fixed engines, got farmers’ tans, shot Nazis, beat up neighborhood punks, and provided a blanket of childhood security I didn’t even know I had. I’m thankful those men weren’t sad, spoiled victims going fetal with grief over normal life. I’m proud my role models weren’t, like Slate’s writing staff, the functional equivalent of angsty pre-teen girls. I’m happy the men who raised me were polar opposites of this Slate author, who’s pretty much Pajama Boy but without the masculinity.
But mostly, I’m grateful to Slate for showing the true meaning of “privilege”.
Slate has spent considerable time railing against the evils of privilege. White privilege, straight privilege, male privilege, cis privilege, ableist privilege, and now spooning privilege. The one privilege they failed to mention, but perfectly described in this article, is Whiny Bitch Privilege.
Whiny Bitch Privilege (psychiatrists call it WBP) happens when someone is so safe, so sheltered, so free of actual problems they create them out of thin air. Whiny Bitches, even if they’re actually white and privileged enough to attend an Ivy League University, are microaggressed when fellow students joke about their southern accents, or need “safe spaces” when a guest speaker threatens to present an opposing viewpoint. When a Whiny Bitch is traumatized by something like anxiety-triggering applause instead of non-anxiety-triggering jazz hands, they assert their Whiny Bitch Privilege to demand others stop conducting benign, innocuous, nonthreatening acts of human normality.
Slate has shown us real privilege: a life so worry free, one can choose to be offended to tears by absolutely nothing.
Let’s all thank Slate for showing us what Whiny Bitch Privilege looks like. Let’s ponder how WBP affects all our lives. Let’s think on it. Matter of fact, let’s sleep on it.
No, let’s spoon on it.
Chris Hernandez is a 20 year police officer, former Marine and currently serving National Guard soldier with over 25 years of military service. He is a combat veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan and also served 18 months as a United Nations police officer in Kosovo. He writes for BreachBangClear.com and Iron Mike magazine and has published two military fiction novels, Proof of Our Resolve and Line in the Valley, through Tactical16 Publishing. He can be reached at email@example.com or on his Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/ProofofOurResolve).
Filed under: Writing | 26 Comments
Tags: far left, slate, spooning, veteran writers