scrypt
Head-Fi's Sybil
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2002
- Posts
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Today, whilst lacing my iPod into its faux tie-dyed puce-and-vermilion silicone Lajo-manufactured corset and positioning its urine-tinted iMonocle just so, I suffered a revelation. It occurred to me that, for a queue of months so interminable as to astound the Department of Motor Vehicles, I had been indulging in a vice so objectionably frothy, a habit so infernally dainty, that I might as well dance about with a megaphone shrieking "Jerome never looked lovelier": I'd been dressing an alabaster-skinned lady-friendly DAP in little outfits. Flummoxed, I gaped at my iPod and understood that every manicurist in Singapore would happily engage in the same activity. What in Thumbelina's name had I been doing, let alone thinking? We might as well admit it, I concluded. DAPs (read: Delectable Audio Princesses) are dolls for men.
Men have always concealed their own feminine interests from themselves through the obvious but effective use of *non sequitur distinctions*. We are fascinated by shiny jewelry but can't admit it, therefore we apply the irrelevant question of scale to assert masculinity. "Irene, this Movado watch might appear identical to yours, but don't be deceived. Everyone knows it is a man-friendly tool of virility because -- need you be reminded? -- it is nearly an inch larger."
The same strategy is sometimes applied to the iPod mini: "How can Phil brandish that blue perfume dispenser with an LCD in public when everyone knows it's smaller than the stubble-inflected Lacrosse-stick-wielding iPod and has fewer gigabits?"
Similarly, we use the idea of functionality to dismiss charges that we like to costume our side-intelligencer-mates in outfits made of rubber, silicone and leather: "Really, Naomi, have you christened your forehead with a fleur-de-lis-shaped decanter of gold-flecked liqueur? This is not some poupee a la mode, wife o' mine, this an audio player; it is functional; I'm not attaching an orange vinyl hoodie with nylons to my iHP-120, I'm protecting my investment. Can't you see these impossibly expensive accessories will save money in the long run? That's why I own the same mini-to-RCA cord cruller in seventeen utilitarian lipstick-complimenting hues."
By the bye, I no longer own an iPod or any of its psychologically revealing accessories. That's right -- as soon as I realized what I'd been doing, I threw them away to show I'm not emotionally invested in the subject.
Men have always concealed their own feminine interests from themselves through the obvious but effective use of *non sequitur distinctions*. We are fascinated by shiny jewelry but can't admit it, therefore we apply the irrelevant question of scale to assert masculinity. "Irene, this Movado watch might appear identical to yours, but don't be deceived. Everyone knows it is a man-friendly tool of virility because -- need you be reminded? -- it is nearly an inch larger."
The same strategy is sometimes applied to the iPod mini: "How can Phil brandish that blue perfume dispenser with an LCD in public when everyone knows it's smaller than the stubble-inflected Lacrosse-stick-wielding iPod and has fewer gigabits?"
Similarly, we use the idea of functionality to dismiss charges that we like to costume our side-intelligencer-mates in outfits made of rubber, silicone and leather: "Really, Naomi, have you christened your forehead with a fleur-de-lis-shaped decanter of gold-flecked liqueur? This is not some poupee a la mode, wife o' mine, this an audio player; it is functional; I'm not attaching an orange vinyl hoodie with nylons to my iHP-120, I'm protecting my investment. Can't you see these impossibly expensive accessories will save money in the long run? That's why I own the same mini-to-RCA cord cruller in seventeen utilitarian lipstick-complimenting hues."
By the bye, I no longer own an iPod or any of its psychologically revealing accessories. That's right -- as soon as I realized what I'd been doing, I threw them away to show I'm not emotionally invested in the subject.