D

o you love being interrupted? 
Do 
you 
revel 
in 
people 

underestimating you? Does it 

warm your heart to see loud, aggressive 
or gross behavior? Then you are going to 
love this thousands-years-old concept: 
toxic masculinity!

The angry commenter
If you’ve been a loyal reader of 

this column, then you know that it is 
somewhat controversial. With that, I 
have a lot of haters, most of whom are 
unsurprisingly white men.

Here are some of my favorite comments 

posted on my previous columns:

“Here’s the summary: Blah, blah, 

whine, whine, blah, blah.”

“You’re 
very 
opinionated 
on 

something you admitted you don’t have 
any interest in, or know much about.”

“This 
is 
the 
most 
uninformed, 

unintentionally 
satirical, 
mind 

numbingly poorly thought out article I 
have ever read in my entire life.”

“While I mean to criticize your 

article I only mean to educate you on 
how misguided your article today was.”

And they say mansplaining is a myth.
The internal urge to correct someone 

on the internet always astounds me, 
especially when these comments are 
made by men. Who are these men? What 
causes them to feel the need to correct 
me? Do they not realize that this is 
satire? I await their answers to these 
questions in the comments.

It is also worth noting that many of 

these criticisms focus on what they think 
is my lack of knowledge or understanding 
on any given subject, when in fact I’m 
merely presenting my opinion on topics 
I’m well-versed in. Additionally, angry 
internet commenters are a weird (and 
personally amusing) part of a large issue 
of men feeling like they are smarter than 
women in the workplace, in academic 
settings and in life. It’s toxic, and not in 
a Britney Spears jam kind of way.

The man-child
I would like to kindly request that cis-

men stop doing the following in public: 
spitting, touching your crotch, peeing, 
other generally disgusting habits. Why 
is manhood associated with being dirty? 
How do body odor and poor hygiene 
prove that you are more of a man? Why 
is cleanliness a womanly thing?

Perhaps it is just my association with 

mostly college-age men, but the lack 
of household cleaning skills is really 
astounding. 
There 
is 
nothing 
less 

attractive than showing up at a man’s 
home to find dirty clothes on a floor 
that has definitely never been mopped 
or vacuumed. If you’re sitting or lying 
in a man’s bed, you are probably better 
off just not 
asking 
how 

long it’s been 
since they’ve 
washed their 
sheets. 
The 

lengths some 
men will go to 
avoid laundry 
both amazes 
and disgusts 
me.

I’ve 
heard 

horror stories 
about 
men’s 

bathrooms 
with 
toilet 

rings stronger 
and 
darker 

than the rings 
of Saturn. I’ve 
seen kitchens 
with 
dishes 

permanently 
encrusted 
with 
grime 

and 
living 

rooms 
littered with 
months-old beer cans.

Why does society allow men to be 

like this? Almost every college boy I 
met has an incredibly stunted maturity 
in terms of domestic tasks. Meanwhile, 
my parents had me doing dishes and 
sweeping since I could walk.

Next time you’re deciding between 

his place and yours, remember that no 
skincare routine can fix sleeping on 
that dirty-ass pillowcase.

I want, I want, I want
I once knew a white boy who was 

failing a class but was astoundingly sure 
that if he went to office hours he could 
cozy up to the professor and get his grade 
raised. Unsurprisingly, it worked.

Some days I wish I had the blind 

confidence of a white boy. To walk 
around not understanding the meaning 
of the word “no” must be freeing.

There’s a sort of indescribably yet 

subtle sense of entitlement that white 

men (especially rich ones) have. I do 
not know any women, people of color 
or members of minority groups who 
assume the way white boys do that they 
will, of course, land that internship or 
be selected for that position.

I have heard stories of a white man 

who lectured my female friend, saying 
that he has a superior understanding 
of what racism and sexism is because 
he is a white man.

One of the greatest embodiments 

of male entitlement is a made-up 
concept called the “friend zone,” in 
which men feel that all women they 
are nice to should have sex with them. 
The sense of entitlement to a women’s 
body ranges from the creepy, ruthless 

hitting on a girl 
to the nice boy 
“I talk to her 
and I am nice 
to her, how is 
she not in love 
with me?” ways 
of thinking. It 
even 
goes 
so 

far that women 
have repeatedly 
been 
attacked 

for 
rejecting 

men.

No 
woman 

should 
ever 

have 
to 
date 

you, have sex 
with 
you 
or 

even talk to you 
just because you 
are a man who 
did 
something 

you 
thought 

was 
nice. 
If 

you 
think 

otherwise, then 
you are part of 
the problem. 
I

t makes me happy that as a 
society we have mostly accepted 
the universal truth that men 

are 
trash. 
Women 
are 
constantly 

calling men out for their unacceptable 
behavior from humorous tweets to 
the more serious #MeToo movement. 
Men are no longer able to systemically 
adhere to problematic social norms 
like it’s the 1950s because they are only 
one viral tweet away from being the 
next meme. 

If you are a white man who believes 

you are not part of these issues as 
described, remember that there are 
many other reasons that men are 
toxic that I did not mention. If you 
still don’t believe that you are part 
of the problem, remember that the 
patriarchal system you are a part of is 
a legitimate issue and if you implicitly 
allow it to exist then you are still part 
of the problem.

Wednesday, April 11, 2018 // The Statement
4B

Wednesday, April 11, 2018 // The Statement 
 
5B

Darby Stipe/Daily 

Darby Stipe/Daily

Brews Through: Literati

B

esides my mildly problematic 
addiction to coffee and maybe 
even more my addiction of 

actually going to coffee shops, I like 
writing this column because it forces me 
to think about place. What is “place” 
and its role in the way we perceive 
people, interact with space, document 
our 
experiences? 
I 
figure 
these 

abstract, impossibly rhetorical and 
pretentious questions are what I’ll be 
doing in grad school next year — here’s 
a test run, cheers.

I recently wrote a review for a 

performance by Nederlands Dans Theater 
and interviewed the artistic director. We 
spoke for about an hour in The Graduate 
hotel lobby, this choreographic genius 
and me, completely starstruck. He 
described the closing number of the 
triple bill, “Singulière Odyssée”, which 
is set in an art-deco European train 
station. He spoke about creating a dance 
with duets and partnering, relationships 
that tell a story without giving the 
whole story. That this was somewhat 
representative of life where you get a 
glimpse into someone else’s life without 
ever knowing the full story.

This got me thinking — coffee shops, 

airports, train stations, all the places 
we go to travel, to eat, to forget. I like 
to 
people-watch 
and 
catch 
myself 

eavesdropping, reading between the 
lines and filling in the blanks when I’m at 
coffee shops. It’s nostalgic in ways I can’t 
explain. It’s unfinished because we get 
such little information, but just enough 
to feel a part of something larger than 
ourselves, a part of a community.

A coffee shop, to me, is a window into 

the lives of people I would otherwise 
never interact with. I choose places, 
staying for hours on end, watching and 
listening, knowing that this feeling of 
uncertainty is where many of the best 
poets and novelists began their creative 
processes.

I think this is why I come to Literati. 

Above the Literati bookstore on East 
Washington, the coffee shop is a hub for 
writers, scientists, thinkers and lovers 
alike. I started coming to Literati the 
summer of my freshman year. I have a bad 
habit for wasting paycheck after paycheck 
on books that I could definitely rent from 
the library or borrow from professors 
for free. My parents got me a Kindle 
after paying $300 for my overweight 
luggage containing eight books for a 
three week dance intensive. From a 
logical perspective, I see the value of 
e-readers and appreciate their efficiency 
to some extent. But there’s something 
about flipping pages that defines a part 
of the reading experience. I’ve never 
been one to highlight, scribble in the 
margins, or even fold corners. My friends 
know I’m hesitant to lend books because 
my bookshelf is all unfolded, unmarked, 
unscathed. But that doesn’t mean I want 
to live paperless.

Literati Coffee sits above a bookstore 

which attracts readers of all types. 
The children’s books are on the second 
floor, right next to the espresso bar. 
Literati often brings in writers, local 
and nationally acclaimed, for readings 
and signings. The coffee shop houses 
many Michigan Daily reporters and 

columnists, 
myself 
included. 
I’ve 

had English professors advertise the 
events time and time again. Literati 
feels like a conduit of many sorts — 
connecting reader and writer, student 
and teacher, amateur and professional, 
person to person.

I’m convinced that a person is largely 

made up of their experiences. If reading is 
a highly condensed experience of another, 
then the more one reads, the greater 
one’s breadth of experience. Maybe it’s 

pretentious, but I find it impossible to 
be “worldly” or “empathetic” without 
having read the literature that is deeply 
embedded in our culture.

“A reader lives a thousand lives before 

he dies…the man who never reads lives 
only one,” George R.R. Martin said. I 
don’t usually like inspirational quotes 
because I feel like it’s a cop-out, but this 
is simply the truth.

Literati is a bookstore, primarily. They 

sell coffee and fresh pastries which makes 
it the perfect marriage — it’s delicious 
intellect. I choose Literati because I 
like to be surrounded by literature and 
espresso. I like the crowd it attracts and 
the way it makes me feel. The baristas are 
friendly and fun, well-spoken, what you’d 
expect from a place like this. It’s slightly 
disappointing that the coffee shop is now 
so popular that it’s hard to get a table on 
the weekends without coming when the 
doors open at 10:00 a.m. But I will say it’s 
worth it.

This place has been a passage, a train 

station, a launch pad for me. For the last 
four years, I have come to Literati to read 
and to write. It has seen me change, fall 
in and out of love, realize my passion for 
writing and healthcare, shape my future. 
It’s a place I can’t wait to come back to meet 
up with past professors, catch up with 
old friends, maybe my own book reading 
in the far future. It’s slowly dawning on 
me that I will be graduating, leaving Ann 
Arbor, and moving onto a new chapter of 
my life. I don’t know who, if anyone, reads 
this page in the Statement that I get to fill 
every other week, but thank you. I hope 
that if anything, you get to find places 
like this at-home feel, to think, feel, and 
process the ever-changing world we so 
temporarily occupy.

BY YOSHIKO IWAI, COLUMIST

Let’s Bitch About It: Toxic Masculinity

BY LYDIA MURRAY, COLUMIST

The lengths 

some men will 

go to avoid 
laundry both 
amazes and 
disgusts me.

ILLUSTRATION BY ROSEANNE CHAO

