A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Whore Convention: Female Writers and Mammary Glands
/So a close friend of mine posted a photo from my national tour on the Book of Faces the other day, as everyone probably knows now, and a woman who has since deleted her profile decided this was the appropriate comment to make (my boon companions screencapped the daylights out of it):
"This is what the 'younger' female Sherlockians are 'almost' wearing these days--women who, by the way, expect to be taken seriously and not viewed as mere 'sexual objects.' Book signing or whore convention? You make the call... And, gentlemen, while you are in the neighborhood, after she signs a copy of her book, you can ask to sign her breasts. No joke--apparently that is also a 'trendy and hip' pastime for these 'Baker Street Babes."
HAHAHAHA. You're absolutely right: I see no joke there.
For obvious reasons, I've been pretty much ripping myself in half for a couple of days over whether to address this or ignore it like I'd ignore Carrot Top tour announcements. But since the party in question has removed all trace of herself following some rather pointed questions from my husband of 17 years, I feel like I need to say something and then dust my hands, in that order.
The immediate result of this comment was outrage from nearly all quarters, I'm gratified to note. In fact, the Babes and my friend Maz managed to get the Twitter hashtag #canontits off the ground with the help of the Sherlock Holmes online fandom, which consisted of many, many female devotees posing with pictures of their Doyle canon--and other wonderful objects--while showing some righteous lady cleave. It was a titfest of glorious proportions, and all aimed in our defense. Notice that I say they posed "with" objects, as opposed to "two objects posed for a picture."
ANYWAY.
One of my favorite quotes from the Day Tatas Went Viral was by my friend Tim, who wrote the following gem: "1) It's a book tour. She's a rock star. Therefore, boob. 2) By the same token, if I were on tour for a book what I wrote that had just been optioned by Chris Columbus, I'd be wearing a summer sausage rolled up in a tube sock in my trousers. 3) How can there be 'too much boob?' I've never seen that." In fact, as marvelously tit-illating (oh, you're welcome) as the female fandom was, the amount of outraged male feminists who've contacted me has been astronomical, which is another one of the reasons I felt the urge to talk about it.
First off, I was baffled that this Facebook remark bothered me, like, at all. Trolls be trolls, and they make a living trollin'. What do I care? I wear what I like, which is the reason this horse puckey happened in the first place. Then my friend Ashley explained to me that the reason it bothered me was that my breasts were suddenly at the center of a raging debate after having been directly attacked, which is a non-consensual use of them for purposes I didn't offer clearance regarding, so it frankly sucked. And she's right, that's a major part of it.
I could say that another part of it is the fact I'm the author of five books which are internationally bestselling and published in 14 languages, and I've been happily married for 17 years, so I have no need of extra whore coin, but those facts are actually completely irrelevant. There's no point in arguing with someone who says, "But really, if we're honest with ourselves, aren't all Mexicans rapists?" Just as there's no point in telling this now-vanished woman that, no, your inviting strange men to inquire whether they can Sharpie my chesticles is actually very rapey and not a policy I employ at my signings.
No, what really steamed my nuts was the fact this was a female Sherlockian.
Let's do a thought exercise: imagine that an older male Sherlockian makes this exact comment. You can't, right? You know why? He wouldn't. Even the most hidebound intellectual turkey baster with a Ted Cruz bumper sticker would not make this remark, because he has been told he can't. It's beyond the pale. He knows he'd be napalmed off the internet for doing it, so no matter how much he might want to, he cannot say this with his face and name attached to the words marching in a row.
Apparently there are women who think they can, though. Which, where my feelings are concerned, is like going in for a hug with Sir Patrick Stewart and getting slapped in the face. Sir Patrick is not for slaps, everyone knows this. He is for snuggles. Sherlockian women are not for slut-shaming. They are for intellectual vibrancy, mentorship, tender hugs, and sometimes sharing of gin.
Here is the important part: this poor woman. I mean, as hurt as I was, let's think about it. She's been made to feel for her entire life that her decolletage was filthy. She's been made to think that the way to succeed is by tearing other women down. She thinks maintaining the "purity" of a club devoted to a magazine detective is more important than human decency. She's been convinced that our bodies ought to determine the opinions that people have of us. She said so. She thinks that prudery is a greater virtue than kindness. I want to cry when I ponder that. She probably thinks about as much of herself as I think of those chicken bones that are left on the side of the road when the snowbanks melt. And seeing a picture of me with the ribcage airbags present and accounted for brought all of this out in the open.
She later mentioned that what I was doing was the equivalent of wearing a clown suit while informing people you're not a clown. Let me science this for you if you're even remotely tempted to agree with her assessment: if I were wearing a clown suit, it would no more make me a clown than wearing a low-cut dress makes me a woman who requests fiscal compensation for sex acts. Do you have any idea how much training it requires to be a clown??? Like, a real one? DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD THAT CAREER IS? It's one of the most difficult forms of theatre ever invented. I could wear a clown suit all day and a real clown would still shake her head in TRAGIC dismay.
This is why #canontits was important: we need to stop making women feel dirty for being women. We need to stop harassing females to the point that misogyny is internalized, and people like this buy into it wholesale. She was once the victim here, she has to have been, but she didn't have a bevy of friends who flocked to her and said she was beautiful and strong and talented. She wasn't lucky, and I was. She was probably alone, with no one to tell her that her precious milk globes were a magnificent part of her body. And even if I weren't a successful woman (as my friends were so magnanimously reminding me), even if I weren't a smart one, or a nice one: I still didn't deserve that. No one does. And the troll in question didn't deserve to be treated that way while she was growing up either.
Thank you, #canontits, for teaching me something about feminism. Thank you for helping me not be ashamed of myself. Thank you, myriad male feminists, who were horrified. Thank you to my husband, who was protective and outraged. I clasp you all to my very ample bosoms, where you are welcome, so long as you don't try to sign them.
But to the Woman Who Disappeared from Facebook: thank you for showing me more ways we need to be proud of women of all ages. #Canontits is for you too, you know. Everyone is invited to the Lioness Convention.
