Girl power, loneliness and avoiding “the friendzone”

How to deal with being single, without being a creep.

According to a piece in today’s Guardian, “the girl power generation are confused”. I’m not surprised. I’m confused, too, not least because I’d always assumed was part of said generation. Alas, it turns out I’m too old. Already 21 when Wannabe was released, I can’t be one of the “twentysomething women” who can claim to be “the most liberated and educated women ever”. So liberated, in fact, that they get to be defined by a 1990s girl band (the lack of a corresponding Boyzone generation can be taken as clear evidence that the pendulum has swung too far).

But wait! Said twentysomethings might be liberated and educated, but as you’ve already guessed, they’re still not happy! And not just because previous generations were awarded enigmatic letters such as X and Y whereas they got the sodding Spice Girls. Today’s young women are unhappy because too many people have written too many books telling them what to do. From The Rules to He’s Just Not That Into You, books have bombarded women with “contradictory messages” which leave them “in a bind, and without much help in figuring out what they actually want” (see, that’s what happens when you make the ladies literate):

Every piece of ‘modern’ advice about maintaining independence and using their 20s to explore and experiment sexually is layered over a piece of ‘old-fashioned’ advice about getting married before it’s ‘too late’, not being too assertive or passionate in sex, and not being too sexually experienced. This sort of advice means that young women often struggle to admit that they need a man

Thankfully, Dr Leslie Bell – source of the above quotation – has written another book, due to be published later this month, which will sort out all the stuff from the previous books and tell young women what they actually have to do, at least until the next book comes along. One presumes that Hard To Get, if it does little else, will finally enable women to recognise the man-shaped gap in their lives. This is good because no one’s ever been honest about this before. It’s not as though, say, Susan Faludi’s Backlash, published in 1992 – four years before Wannabe! – opened with a chapter debunking “man shortages and barren wombs” as one of the central “myths of the backlash” against feminism. I must have imagined that (in-between downing vats of Taboo and lemonade in order to hide my own man-need from myself).

Regardless of whether we’re dealing with myths, I don’t dispute that Bell is tapping into something powerful. I might be getting on a bit, but even I can’t recall a time when “liberated” young women were not reminded on a daily basis that they needed to find a partner, and sharpish, BEFORE IT GOT TOO LATE!!! It’s certainly a message I fell for, despite the best efforts of Geri et al to persuade me otherwise. In 1998 – following a whole two years of girl power-fueled Christmas No. 1s – a friend and I actually bought The Rules, not for the purposes of some ironic piss-take, but because we genuinely wanted to use the advice (our previous purchase, How Not To Stay Single, had proved a disappointment). We tried our best with our second purchase, but failed miserably. This wasn’t just because the book essentially tells you to pretend to be someone else for the rest of your entire life, purely for the purposes of nabbing a man, any man, who’ll think you’re “a creature unlike any other” (unless you’re a slag who shags him too soon). I don’t think we’d have minded if it was just that. The main problem is that the whole thing is way too culturally specific. We might have been middle-class western women, but when we found ourselves sitting in our local pub – in the heart of the Lake District, surrounded by beer-swilling farmers and fell walkers – the fantasy that this was a bar in Manhattan filled with strangers willing to “date” us suddenly dissolved into thin air.

So why did we put ourselves through this? Because deep down, we were hard-wired to rebel against the crude pseudo-liberation of ladette culture? Not really. The fact that I did tend to shag men “too soon” was, if I’m truly honest, another sticking point with The Rules. I didn’t really mind loving them and leaving them. All the same, neither I nor my friend wanted to be lonely. Few people do. That, if anything, is the taboo. When you’re in your twenties, separating yourself from the role of being your parents’ child, it starts to cross your mind that one day your family won’t be there, and who will you be with? However much we big up the single life, the threat of being cast adrift can be terrifying. Lonely people are sad. Lonely people are unwanted. Lonely people – spinsters, bachelors, weird uncles and aunts – are to be pitied, but also to be avoided, because loneliness is contagious. Don’t stand too close to Billy No-Mates. People might think you’re like him. So be yourself, be liberated, but remember, you must also be like everyone else, or face up to old age alone.

It’s not that I think being single is like that. All the same, when this fear is there – when you get to the stage of realising that perhaps you’re alone in this big, wide world – all the media messages about what you “need” touch a nerve. You start to believe them. After all, if you want control over your situation, it’s far easier to believe the “experts” than it is to panic alone. Far easier to think “I can follow The Rules” than “well, hopefully I’ll meet someone by sheer chance standing in a doorway eating Bombay mix at a party to which I wasn’t even invited”. Blaming yourself for what you’re told you lack is far safer than blaming random fate. What’s more, if you’re female, you also get to blame your own “liberation”. Damn you, choices! Now see what you made me do!

I find myself reflecting on this (as we smug marrieds do) when looking at the current hoo-ha over the Nice Guys of OKCupid Tumblr. Depending on your viewpoint, this either exposes the nasty misogyny of men who think their “niceness” should be rewarded with sex, or involves putting lonely individuals “in the 21st Century equivalent of the medieval stocks to be mocked, abused and humiliated” (Ally Fogg). Like Fogg, I suspect both of these things are happening. The misogyny inherent in the “friendzone” concept – that place where all the nice guys find themselves when the ungrateful recipients of “niceness” fail to open their legs – infuriates me, but so too does the open mockery of lonely people. Loneliness is not a gender-specific issue, but it’s become a weapon to be used in imaginary gender wars. The misery of loneliness threatens every woman who’s become too independent, and every man who’s failed to be “manly” enough. What’s more, as we transfer our fear of loneliness onto lonely people themselves, this threat becomes even more powerful. And yet, we can’t fight it with more books revising the books we read before, or by telling people they’d be better off with no choices at all. Perhaps the only effective challenge will come from human beings being actually, genuinely, sincerely nice in the here and now. How else can we calm our own fears about what comes later?

This article was originally posted on Glosswitch's blog, and is reposted with her permission.

A fedora, universal symbol of Nice Guys everywhere. Photograph: Getty Images

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue