So, while "Didn't have to read no Bruni" would be a line in the Cod's reboot of "It was a Good Day," we noticed folks in our feed making approving mentions of Bruni's current "Sexism and the Single Murdress." I can save you the click and tell you that he explains to us that there is a double standard in the way the media covers defendants in violent and sensationalistic murders, and moreover, slutshaming is a thing that happens:
But we know this: the double standard concerning men’s versus women’s sexuality not only survives but thrives, manifest in the enduring notoriety of “Foxy Knoxy,” whose memoir was published on the same day last week that the ABC News special aired. Keep the rest of her story the same but make her a man in the midst of erotic escapades abroad. Are we still gawking? Is ABC trumpeting Diane Sawyer’s exclusive sit-down with the lascivious pilgrim?
It's important to recognize double standards that inflect our understanding of gender. At my day job, I spend some time every semester talking about the words "Coquette," and "Rake," and usually most of the kids get it before I've finished explaining, because, they, like, live it.
But good for Bruni, in that decrying slutshaming in the media is progress from someone who decided it would be fun to make fun of strippers in one of his final NY Times reviews, including an encounter with a different Foxy:
Meet Foxy. When I visited Robert’s on Valentine’s Day in a mixed-gender group (not all that unusual at the restaurant), she approached our table to hawk neck and shoulder massages, also $20 apiece.
“Foxy,” I began, then stopped myself, wondering if I was being too familiar. “Are you and I on a first-name basis, or should I address you as Ms. Foxy?”
“You can call me Dr. Foxy,” she said.
“Is that an M.D. or a Ph.D.?”
“Yes,” she answered.
The doctor coated her hands with moisturizer and, less seductively, antibacterial gel. She knows how to make a guy feel special.
Bruni continues, and it gets worse:
The guy in question was one of my companions, whose collar she had already spread so she could get at his skin. She told us that she used to work at Scores, a disclosure that raised an interesting question. Is there a strip club arc of professional advancement, with the Hooters overachievers graduating to Scores and the Scores valedictorians to the Penthouse Executive Club?
Haw, haw haw. Valedictorians - get it? Finally:
Remembering my mission and the dictates of journalistic accuracy, I asked them how to spell their names. Although Indica no doubt deemed the question curious, she was too smooth a pro to let on.
But Brianna seemed rattled.
“Two n’s,” I said, “or one?”
She stared at me blankly.
“I never thought about it,” she confessed. “You know, it’s not my real name.”
I couldn’t have guessed. With a job like this one the learning curve is endless, and it takes you in directions you never expected to go.
So, we should respect female murder suspects, and respect their sexuality, but by all means, let's haul out tired stripper cliches. Granted this review ran in 2007, and one hopes that Bruni, like the rest of us have grown up a little bit. It is a) worth noting that the fellow getting likes right now for sticking up for murderesses used to get paid to make fun of strippers. And b) as good a time as any to revisit the Bruni Digest's take on this review.
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