My super-talented Triple Aquarius Mega Mystic member Anna Biller – the writer/director of The Love Witch has done an absolutely epic post that makes me think simply “Lilith transit”. Or Lilith activated. Lilith being the ultimate in free-living, ground-breakingly independent female energy. Called simply The Horrors of the Japanese Hostess Bar, it is evocative as fuq.
By their early twenties the girls start lying about their age, and by that time they start getting bad reviews on the online forums if they seem phony, unenthusiastic, strung out, or in any way a variation on the young, nubile, eager, clean, innocent, subservient, un-ironically man-worshipping Playboy bunny that men feel they are entitled to.
From the age of nineteen to the age of twenty I experienced that transition myself, from being the fresh young thing to being the used-up whore, although all I had really done to merit that new judgment was to become weary of the men and their bullshit and to be unable to hide it as well. I could tell, when I came back to work there the second year, that they all assumed I was strung out on drugs, doing tricks, and had no future. Their response to my imagined plight, and to my more mature understanding of the dynamics of the bar, was a unanimous disgust.
It’s taken years for me to get over the trauma that working in that bar caused me. The reason it was so traumatic is that I experienced men practicing mental cruelty and gender brainwashing en masse without even realizing it. Their entire goal in paying girls to talk to them or sleep with them seemed to be to destroy girls’ self-esteem one girl at a time, and to turn all girls into objects to be used for men’s pleasure and then ruthlessly discarded. It was like being in prison, in the sense that you are constantly reminded that you are worthless just by the reality of your situation. These men continually reinforced the notion that their desires and whims were more important than a girl’s very life.
This is what objectification truly means.
When I returned to Los Angeles after that nightmarish semester working at that bar, my friends back at school were extremely judgmental. They lectured at me that it was wrong to take a job like that, as if it was my fault. It’s true that the experience changed me — for at least a year I felt that I should be paid every time I talked to a man — but what none of these male friends could grasp is that my life was intrinsically different from theirs.
That really was the only job I could get, and my mother before me at my age, and my older sister who was a single mother. This is due to a very real conspiracy to create an underclass of girls who are made for men’s pleasure and consumption, by ensuring that no other viable opportunities exist for them. When I first took that job I saw it as a kind of performance art, but over the months I was unable to maintain that distance or to properly dissociate, and the job became me; I became the job. It was like those harrowing postwar Japanese movies about prostitutes (STREET OF SHAME, WHEN A WOMAN ASCENDS THE STAIRS, THE LIFE OF OHARU, GINZA COSMETICS), all highly recommended films.
Not only that, everything in my life had been funneling towards servicing men, including the way I’d been treated by nearly every boy and man I’d encountered since I’d reached puberty. It was as if I’d consulted the Oracle at Delphi, and the priestess had said, “Your life’s burden will be to please men at the expense of your own goals and identity.” The job had not felt like a chance happening, but like a destiny. The implicit lessons I’d already learned from men and boys, with their own pussy-grabbing, attempted rapes, sexist jokes, and belittling of girls’ minds and accomplishments, were the same as the lessons I learned at Club Subaru: namely, that my life was valuable to others only insofar as I could provide men with sexual entertainment.
You can read the rest here.
Bottom Image: Club Subaru – Anna Biller
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