Least Favorite Recent Developments

As is common with Flanagan, there’s a kind of 1950s nostalgia to it all: she laments that girls today are maturing too soon, forced to face the sexual advances of older men, going on dates alone, no longer forcibly chaperoned.

“I have two sons,” she reminds me. “But in a right-thinking culture, girls should be everybody’s business.”

She’s right. But far beyond advising parents to make their daughter’s bedroom an Internet-free zone—no, this is not an easy task—and typing “porn” into Google just to see what’s out there, readers will learn little about what they can do to protect our girls.

—

“Trouble in Girl Land: Caitlin Flanagan Takes on Adolescent Girls,” via the Atlantic

Before I leave this hanging here, completely devoid of context, let me season this juicy takeaway with a little Personal History:

I remember my adolescent years very vividly because, duh, they weren’t that long ago. True, it has been more than a decade since my Bat Mitzvah, but thanks to archive.org and the Wayback Machine, I have unfettered access to Livejournals Past. 

That said, I want to respond to Caitlin Flanagan’s antiquated fear that in a post-Hip Hip, post-Internet world overtaken with hardcore pornography and gyrating pop tartlets the only fate for young women is that of the Mother or the Whore. 

My parents weren’t particularly strict when it came to having a computer in my room, and my internet access during this time was unfettered. Our TV did not have a “v-chip” (remember those?). My father did not require my potential suitors to arrive at the house, sit with him in the parlor, and listen to him gruffly warn them about a “.45 and a shovel.”  My first boyfriend lived in Chicago, but we would visit during school breaks. I know for a fact that my parents weren’t stupid enough to think that they could keep tabs on me when I was 1,000 miles away.

Free to tumble down the Internet rabbit hole, I discovered the simultaneously thrilling and grotesque world of pornography! I also, coincidentally, had my first brush with feminism, devouring any empowering blog or article I could get my hands on (because God knows they didn’t have “Fear of Flying” laying around the house). 

It was on unsupervised dates that I learned about the reality of sex (as opposed to the aforementioned fantasy). I discovered that it was, and still is, an often unkempt and messy enterprise. I also learned, early on, to stand my ground when it came to personal limitations. 

I did all of this without the “protection” that Ms. Flanagan places so much stock in. I was free to gracelessly stumble my way towards womanhood at my own pace, without the judgement and paranoia that is so often projected onto growing girls. Yes, I got into a little trouble now and then, but nothing too traumatic. I had my heart broken a few times, and I broke a few hearts myself. I crashed two cars, dyed my hair green, failed P.E., the usual. 

And now? I can’t speak for all women of similar circumstances because, hey, everyone ages differently. What I can say, however, is that the laissez-faire method my parents employed - online, in the living room, even 1,000 miles away - has been a boon to me. One can only imagine how Ms. Flanagan’s life and opinions would have been like, had she been awarded the same freedom.