This article is dedicated to Matt – mate, ex-lover, and all-round Aussie idiot. See ! You’re finally my muse xoxo
I’ll be the first to admit, I’m no stranger to baiting myself out. I’ll bare the embarrassment of my private life for a good laugh, especially in print (big ups the zine). And I’m not the only one. I am fortunate enough to live amongst a flock of extraordinary women, who write about love, sex and the foolishness of their fascinating lives.
OBVIOUSLY, there is method to our madness – I’m not saying there isn’t. We draw on real life experiences, for inspiration, for jokez, for ridicule. It’s only natural. But you know what’s not natural? The AUDACITY of the male response.
As soon as the article drops – the product of YOUR blood, sweat and tears - something about the male imagination goes WILD. Every guy you’ve ever spoken to – boys that you haven’t even KISSED - convince themselves they are the heroes of your tales, the main characters of your story. Their ears prick up, and the inner monologue begins:
“She’s waiting for her crush to reply? We haven’t spoken in years… poor thing”
“Loves a bad boy? Skipped our lecture once - she wants me.”
NEWSFLASH, BABE! ITS NOT ABOUT YOU!
An experience proven time and time again, the extent of their narcissism is truly mindboggling – a global truth nauseating to face. Do they really think our experiences are limited one willy at a time? Or their willy AT ALL? Is that really what you think is on my mind? Makes me giggle at just the THOUGHT.
Let me give y’all the 411. Our lives are a personal series of Sex and the City, and these boys are NO Mr Big. Hun, you’re barely a side piece x and I will stand for this nonsense NO LONGER. Enough is enough, and my foot is going down.
Admittedly, not all of you are extremely professional corporate journalists, such as I, and you might well have stopped reading by now, thinking this doesn’t apply to you! Rude! Or, if you are one of the lucky few who have actually sparked inspiration, you’d know this doesn’t apply because GUESS WHAT I’ve probably used your name, and will be flooding your inbox quicker than you can say ‘quaranzine’.
But for 99.9% of cases, this remains the cold hard truth, and after my shocking realisation, something had to be said to end this RAMPANT pandemic – and shine a light on the PROBLEMATIC nature of the male psyche. Those fuckers really are from Mars, and I’m planning to stay firmly on Venus, thank you kindly.
So, dear boys - next time you see our guidance on anything from ronance, to pickling your pussy – jog on, mate, it’s not 4 u.
Unless you’re Jamie Demetriou – love of my life – please reply to my messages x
By Camy Sandford