Manhood
The emancipation of the American male in Magic Mike XXL
Some of the women I respect most in this world (my wife, my favorite Maggies, an actual Becky) subscribe to this newsletter, and normally there is nothing in this world I like more than entertaining them. But this week is just for the guys, because we’re talking about male strippers. Women, you should probably just skip this one.
No? OK, your call. We’re all along for the ride then. Buckle up. We’re about to put the man in manifesto as we embark on Magic Mike XXL.
For those of you who missed this feminist treatise, the sequel far outshone the cynical, skin-deep original. In fact, it’s that movie’s embrace of squalid naughtiness that sets the 2015 sequel in such sunny relief. If the original was about getting laid and getting paid, Magic Mike XXL is, like all great stories, a quest. The plot summary says their quest was for the Kings of Tampa to dance at the stripper convention in Myrtle Beach, but that is the mere golden fleece, just a pretext for what they seek. What they are actually after is true manhood.
Here’s where things get dicey, and why I invited our female readers to take the week off, because this is not the movie they saw. As Roxane Gay wrote so winningly in her review in The Toast entitled “I Wanted to Hug Every Part of Him With My Mouth: A Magic Mike XXL Recap,” the film is a triumph of sex-positivity. Consent is sought, rejection is handled gracefully, and female pleasure is encouraged for all ages, races, and body types. These are male entertainers, ladies, and they are here to make you happy. This movie takes Prince one step beyond; you don’t need to be beautiful, the movie says, for me to turn you on. Everything is safe, fun, and delicious, which makes it subversive as a Hollywood picture in the pre-#metoo era. But the golden fleece is never the point of the story.
This is a quest for non-toxic masculinity. They are men, and they seek their manhood.
Abandoned by their father figure, Dallas, the aforementioned Kings recruit Channing Tatum, who is doing what he thinks men are supposed to do, i.e., real work. He owns his own business. He works with his hands. It’s everything we’re taught is manly, especially denying that part of him that gives him joy, which for the purpose of this movie is a persona called “male entertainer.” He joins the Kings aboard this fro-yo Argo to seek the fullest definition of that term for himself and, as it turns out, his friends.
Things really get going when the men take ecstasy together on the truck. Remember, MDMA increases production of oxytocin, the hormone linked to empathy and compassion. There’s a reason it was original prescribed as an empathy drug before migrating to the party scene. This drug helps you get in touch with each other’s feelings, and we’re talking about a bunch of dudes sitting in close quarters on a road trip. This isn’t a party, this is an encounter group, which is when they start talking about who they want to be.
I wish I’d thought this up myself, but credit goes to Buzzfeed’s Anne Helen Peterson for smartly noticing how the Kings struggled with accepting traditionally male costumes.
All the costumes they used to wear — the fireman, the Navy sailor, the Ken doll — were for an old-fashioned mode of masculinity with which they’ve never identified. When Channing Tatum points out that Joe Manganiello, whose old act was rooted in the performance of a fireman, is terrified of fire, it takes a hit of Molly for Manganiello to get honest enough with himself to let it go. But when he does, he articulates the crux of this particular group of men’s identity: “I’m not a fireman!” he joyfully exclaims.
The true genius of Magic Mike XXL is that it clarifies that men are responsible to each other in overcoming outdated, unwanted, and ultimately destructive male roles, i.e. toxic masculinity. Last week some men I respect were separately posting this article on why masculinity is toxic. The thesis is that men have been taught that feelings are women’s work and that many men are finding salvation not in turning their girlfriends into de facto therapists but in joining men’s support groups.
The conclusion that men need to rely on each other to free themselves of toxic masculinity is best depicted in the best scene in Magic Mike XXL. The ostensible task set before Manganiello is to make the lady working at the counter smile. (Spoiler alert: She does, and it’s sweet.) But what is really happening here? Channing Tatum encourages Manganiello to embrace his true nature as a “male entertainer” and sends him in alone to face his challenge. The Kings likewise encourage him. There is no teasing. There is no sarcasm. They love their brother and want him to succeed. This takes us 22 seconds into the scene, at which point the woman is ignoring him while she texts.
Nevertheless, he persisted. The opening strains of “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys inspire a muscle memory as he improvises a new routine, this time without a costume. He is spiritually naked in front of this woman, and more importantly in front of his closest male friends. He bends over, but at 43 seconds in she’s still ignoring him for her phone as they watch from outside.
He gets her attention by opening, and then discarding, a Cheetos bag with a cavalier flourish, but only a glance. A minute in, he has reached the Pepsi cooler, and his friends have followed along to cheer him on from the parking lot. A minute-twenty in, and he’s rubbing a water bottle on his bare, muscled arms. She stares with a blank expression; his friends are riveted, pumping their own muscled arms in encouragement. He levels up, mimicking ejaculation with the water bottle before dousing himself with what’s left, eliciting celebratory whoops from his friends.
His hesitation is now gone. His shirt soon follows. She stares, still without expression. The cliffs of Dover show more reaction to the crashing waves than does this young woman reveal to the bare-chested Adonis dancing for her pleasure. Then again, in a deft choice by the surprisingly male men who wrote and directed this movie, the point is not any chemistry or attraction between the man and the woman. The stakes here are his transformation from fake fire fighter to real man, and secondarily the relationship among the men who, it should be noted, never once target the woman with verbal abuse or insist that she smile just to make them happy.
He dances for her, ever closer to the counter. His friend rally forward, mouths hanging open in delight, their focus on him and him alone. Two minutes in he is mimicking missionary on the floor, drawing her to lean forward and peer over the counter. Five seconds later, he’s up, smiling flirtatiously at her and asking, “How much for the Cheetos and water?”
Three. Seconds. Pass. He has put himself out there, and he stands alone, but as himself at last. The music crescendos, she smiles, and his friends cheer at their friend’s triumph.
The bridge in “Juice,” a song off Lizzo’s new album, describes a little of what’s at play here.
Somebody come get this man
I think he got lost in my DMs, what? My DMs, what?
You better come get your man
I think he wanna be way more than friends, what?
Women are tired of telling us to come get our men, and it’s high time we do so. Like that much-shared essay on toxic masculinity makes clear, it is not the responsibility of the counter lady to encourage his transformation from lost boy to self-actualized man. He must dance with them that brung ya, in this case the Kings of Tampa. The men in Magic Mike XXL do not look to women for emotional labor. They do their own work and offer support and accountability freely among themselves as men on the same journey, in a frozen yogurt truck headed to a stripper convention in South Carolina. We all get lost along the way. In fact, you could argue we were born lost, but it’s not mommy’s job to make us men. The men in Magic Mike XXL do the emotional labor to help each other grow up, and I want it that way, too.
What I’m reading
Dave Weigel brings polling and precedent to the electability question, Paul Kane answers a question I always kinda wondered about, and Dan Zak brings his ungodly talent to the story of Donald Trump hosting his third National Day of Prayer.
Let’s give that sentence a moment of silent reflection before we move on.
This raises all kinds of 4th Amendment issues, but a neural decoder that turns thoughts into computer-generated speech is still pretty cool. Meanwhile, The New York Times can predict your emotions after reading a story — and they’re selling this information to advertisers.
I’m not surprised that 80 percent of all tweets come from 10 percent of their users, but I am shocked that 65 percent of those 10 percent are — wait for it — seriously, this is gobsmacking — women.
Speaking of women, the Baylor women’s basketball team visited the Oval Office, gave him on of their sleeveless jerseys, and then this happened:
“It may not be the right size,” Mulkey said. First lady “Melania may look better in it.”
Trump said he loved it.
“You know, I love those short sleeves. Such beautiful arms. Great definition,” Trump said as he stroked his upper arm.
The coach then quipped: “Like I said, Melania may look better in it.”
Pretty much all of these stats about what works with online marketing surprised me.
What creative type are you? Did you know how long spoilers have been around?
AI can’t figure out irony, slapstick humor, and deceit in Shakespeare, but it can help you navigate a tricky conversation on this website.
Statisticians now say we shouldn’t use the term “statistically significant” because it leads to under-appreciating uncertainty.
Slow your roll, grampa.
Conservatives were more likely to share articles from fake news domains, which in 2016 were largely pro-Trump in orientation, than liberals or moderates. We also find a strong age effect, which persists after controlling for partisanship and ideology: On average, users over 65 shared nearly seven times as many articles from fake news domains as the youngest age group.
It’s not just old people. Apparently 80 percent of journalists have fallen for misinformation, but only 14.9% of journalists say they have training on how to report on it. A big problem is reporting on misinformation without contextualizing the lies, which conforms to journalism’s edict not to editorialize but which has the unintended consequence of amplifying false information.
Speaking of complete BS, American boys and girls are more egalitarian when it comes to lying about what they know compared to other English-speaking countries, but mostly because girls lie more here. Here’s the study if you’re feeling smart; kudos on the title.
My friend Bryan wrote a lovely bit about taking his kids camping, but if you ever see me camping assume I’m being kidnapped and alert the forest rangers. I will admit that camping probably affords one the headspace necessary to contemplate how our moon was created when a Mars-sized rock hit Earth.
My other friend Bryan wrote about the hunt for a man-eating tiger in Vanity Fair. To clarify, the hunt was in India, and the story is in the magazine. If there were a man-eating tiger in Vanity Fair’s offices, you probably would have heard of this by now.
Morning Consult’s tracker shows Biden getting an announcement bump and Buttigieg stalling. Right now, 47% of black women back Biden versus just 36 percent of white women. This is due to Democrats being more likely to think that a woman is unelectable despite lots of data that people are terrible pundits. This could change, but until then this is the funniest thing I’ve read in a long time.
I stared at this sentence for a bit. “59% of Republicans and 46% of whites said that a majority nonwhite population will weaken American culture.” It’s easy for your brain to translate those words into something less avowedly racist, such as “change American culture” or, as I did when I skimmed it the first time, “get worse.” But damn, people. You’re not supposed to say the inside thing out loud. Even the Klan wore robes. In any case, if you are worried about the waning of a white majority in the United States, buckle up.
Here’s why the stock market’s so-called “melt-up,” AKA a rapid increase justified only by sentiment and not by fundamentals, is cause for concern. Or maybe things will stay good forever and rainbows will be our new pillows. In any case, economists are starting to list the similarities between the dot-com boom and nowadays.
Speaking of the booming economy, you know who isn’t economically anxious? Republicans. You know who is? Everyone in Japan, where 13 percent of all homes are abandoned because they are running out of people. And we should all be anxious that the Russian navy is training beluga whales.
These ways to spot a toxic person seem helpful. Thor is doing the work in this good piece on trauma.
In the meantime, this profile of a flack at the top of her game rings true, especially in the cursing. One time back when I had similar roles for politicians, I used similar language in the office. “We don’t swear in this office,” I was told. “Well how the fuck do you get any work done?” I asked. The matter was dropped.
Also, Glen Weldon made up another word:
What I’m writing
I took my son on his college visit to Texas A&M and wrote about it.
What I’m watching
Also saw Avengers: Endgame. No accident, I think, that Generation Lockdown has spent the last decade plus immersing themselves in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. As this PSA shows, what we’re doing to an entire generation to prepare them for live shooters constitutes emotional torture. If I were raised to think that the adults were unwilling to protect children from the near-inevitability of mass shootings, I’d want to believe in superheroes, too.
What I’m listening to
So last week I stanned for Kevin Morby’s OMG Rock n Roll, which led me to an All Songs Considered interview he did where I learned that OMG Rock n Roll is an update of Beautiful Strangers, a song he wrote in 2016. This song wasn’t a hit, but it’s a classic, and when they make a movie about these times this will be on the soundtrack.
And if I die too young for something I ain't done
Carry my name every day
Oh, I'm sorry
Oh, I'm sorry
Freddie Gray
But sleep easy like baby Jesus in a manger
Oh, sleep easy like little Jesus, beautiful stranger
Oh, beautiful stranger
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We get letters…
From K.B., raising an important perspective that I had not considered — nor apparently had the filmmakers:
well look at you with strippers in my inbox on a sunday morning.
I read this and kept thinking my god that poor woman IRL would be terrified. If you're working the counter alone and some dude comes in acting like he's on drugs and taking his clothes off you just gotta wonder if he's going to assault you before he leaves or not. I was watching it just feeling sorry for this woman who did not ask for this bullshit in the middle of her day, with a dude being all creepy in an effort to find himself or - for all she knows - in a drugged out prelude to an assault. It's like almost the in-person equivalent of an unwanted dick pic, except since it's in person there's an element of danger. If she would smile at the end IRL it would be that combination of oh god i have to smile or he's going to get mad/i'm nervous i don't know what to do and the smile of relief that oh i guess i'm safe THANK GOD.
I haven't seen the full movie - just googled this scene - but have seen other analyses of it so I get that as a whole the takeaways regarding masculinity/gendering are better than this but my god taken on its own this scene is problematic AF.
From D.G., a response that’s a newsletter of its own:
So, per usual, your newsletter initiated a chemical reaction in my head that caused synapses to fire off and send electrical impulses back and forth across my brain. I've since let them settle and - in a testament to the miracle of the human machine - am reactivating those same neural pathways to direct my fingers to type these words. At least, I think that's how this all works...I'm not a scientist so as far as I know, it could just be magic.
At any rate, as I am wont to do, I had some thoughts but, this week, they were too numerous for SMS...and are all reflective as opposed to critique...
First, get out of my head!
No, seriously though, I used the "Argonauts laid over pop-culture" schtick on Thursday when I gave a talk to a bunch of Seniors at UT. I was explaining that pop-culture is valuable and that you can absolutely find universal themes and motifs in "low-art." I reminded them that Shakespeare, Homer, etc... were the pulp fiction of their day. The educated nobility wouldn't have been caught dead London's Globe theater and that everyone - slaves, professionals, and working-class - ancient Greeks would gather at the theater in Ephesus to hear about the latest exploits of the gods and heroes. I told them the Argonauts were literally the Avengers of their day complete with stand-alone origin story plays for many of the main characters and a long-arc plotline that spanned multiple "movies."
Now, the fact that we both "went there" is likely a testament to the shared western literary tradition imparted on us by our standard liberal arts American education. We'd both seen Endgame earlier that week and - even if unconsciously - couldn't help but draw the parallels I'm sure. Which leads me to a whole other rabbit hole...do other cultural traditions understand our pop-culture in the same way? That's a discussion for another time...
As is, are dogs capable of appreciating music? I've noticed over time that my dogs respond to music. Not all music. Just some. For instance, metal, punk, and the like...they tend to get anxious. This makes sense because the music is often loud and obnoxious. They don't respond at all to jazz or classical but do react to certain types of hip-hop. Folk/Indie/Americana - which we'll lump together for our purposes here - seem to have the greatest impact...which is often soothing and quieting for them. I mention this because while I was listening to the Morby song you posted both of them settled down and began to nap. In a Eureka moment, I had a bit of an epiphany. It isn't the music but the vocals. They respond to Morby, James Taylor, Leonard Cohen, A Tribe Called Quest, Pharcyde, Jurrasic 5, and Dead Prez because of the vocal delivery. We've bred dogs - or they've evolved ...big chicken/egg question there - to respond to the human voice. So my current working theory is that the delivery of certain singer/songwriter/rappers actually does affect them...or, to borrow a trope, music soothes the savage beast.
Other notes --
I have a similar story about being told "fuck" was inappropriate in the workplace...when I was in the Army. I politely explained that we belonged to an organization whose sole function was to execute violence on command and that if "fuck" wasn't appropriate in a culture whose purpose is to "break shit, kill bastards, and fuck stuff up" then I don't know of any time the word would be appropriate professionally or otherwise. So, yeah, I got to keep saying fuck at work.
I'm not a parent so I was a bit surprised by my own reaction to both the gun-violence video and your piece about your son. Apparently, I do indeed have the ability to empathize, so I guess I can quit questioning if I'm a sociopath/narcissist.
Finally, I ran across this article earlier in the week. It reminded me of you at the time but I forgot to share it. I didn't know you in your 20's so I can't say if you went through a creative period then - I imagine you did though - but I've certainly seen you entering a new creative phase the last year or two...glad I arrived when I did.