Toxic Shock

The other day I was having a chat on social media with a bloke called Peter Whitfield. Nice lad; never had a cross word with him, so I respected his comment that my opinions aren’t representative of the wider Newcastle United fanbase. I thought about this and replied that as I’m a published poet, a lifelong supporter of the impossibilist position of the Socialist Party of Great Britain and companion parties in the World Socialist Movement, a zealous opponent of both toxic masculinity and the patriarchal narrative, not to mention an unapologetic contrarian who is educated to Master’s degree level, I have to agree with him. However, it is my contention that NUFC would be vastly improved if there were more supporters like me about. Peter said I’d just talked myself out of a dinner party invite to his place; we laughed and left it there.

While the above exchange can be described as semi serious at most, there is a kernel of truth at its heart; many of my social attitudes and the values I hold may be dismissed by those whose opinions vary, as wilful contrarianism. However, to do so would be wrong; the belief system I’ve developed has been rigorously applied in order to ensure I am in constant opposition to macho posturing and all manifestations of phallocentrism.

To illustrate this, I initially considered making a list of those, overwhelmingly male, public figures I find most distasteful, but this is more about ideas than personalities. Consequently, I have compiled an alphabet of attitudes, behaviours and items I regard as examples of toxic masculinity, which I’d like to dedicate to Ian MacKaye, Grayson Perry and John Stoltenberg -:

A is for Alopoecia: Too much testosterone causes a thinning thatch, which is often shaved by those who wish to act the chap, with or without legitimate cause.

B is for Bullying: The default stance of the terminally hard of thinking when out of their comfort zone. Threatening behaviour by any other name.

C is for Chunky Italian Knitwear: Massimo Osti turns in his grave as another self-mythologising middle-aged toughie turns up at the bar pre-match in a snide SI gansey

D is for Dogs: Whether bred for the purpose of social intimidation on urban streets or rural barbarity, these animals are bad to the bone. Avoid.

E is for Expletives: The untrammelled use of curses and taboo words shows a lack of breeding at best. Their use in inappropriate settings compounds the crime.

F is for Fisticuffs: Whether in the bar or boxing room, any man who hits another man is a boor, a braggart and a bully.

G is for Golf: The Tory Party at play. The most ludicrous dress code imaginable.

H is for Heterosexism: Not just homophobia, but the veneration of male dominion over females. The macho detestation of love.

I is for Internet Trolling: The key behaviour of the cyber barbarian. A virtual space to gang up and persecute anyone who thinks differently to you.

J is for Jackets: The more expensive the better. Half a grand minimum is easily affordable if you’re 43 and still living in a rented box or at your mam’s.

K is for Knuckles: Dragging along the floor or clenched to make a frightening fist

L is for Lager: White power in a glass. Fosters is Pegida peeve.

M is for Motor Cars: Penis replacements for the socially inadequate. As bad as Golf.

N is for Nationalism: Union Jacks in the garden and on the Motor Car. Help for Heroes hoodies and metal poppy pin badges all year round. Makes me ill.

O is for On-Line Gambling: Whether it’s football, horses or poker, it’s another posturing approach to the interpretation of maleness I reject.

P is for Poppies:  Less than a decade ago, they were optional. Now there’s an annual witch hunt directed towards James MacClean and insidious media pressure to accept the narrative that venerating the military is essential behaviour.

Q is for Queen Elizabeth: A parasite. Get her in the cellar with the Romanoffs.

R is for Reputation: I wish I’d had a quid for every radgie whose screed of empty threats began with “do you know who I am?”

S is for Ska: The irony of Jamaican working-class music being appropriated as the soundtrack of the ageing racist dregs of white slum society seems lost on the lumpens.

T is for Tattoos: They look common on women, but even worse on men. See also Tabs.

U is for Unforgiven: “That Corbyn supports the IRA,” except that he didn’t, and they’ve been at peace this entire millennium anyway.

V is for Violence: Implied or actual, it is the preserve of evil men.

W is for Watches: Not to tell the time. Just to imply status. As bad as Motor Cars and Golf.

X is for Xenophobia: The default philosophical position of toxic males everywhere.

Y is for Yobs: They grow into Men.

Z is for Zeugma: tough guys carrying a grudge and a concealed weapon.